only open seat with an information packet placed on it.
The night they’d met in London, her eyes, flecked with gold, had gazed dreamily into his. The coy, flirtatious vibe she exuded that night was gone.
Bree’s face dripped with disdain. Anger vibrated off her smooth, brown skin—the color of a bar of milk chocolate melting in the hot summer sun.
Wes only realized he’d been staring at Bree when she cleared her throat and opened her information packet.
“Well, I...” Miranda’s gaze darted between Brianna and Wes. “We’re all here. Let’s get started, shall we?”
The meeting was quick and efficient. Miranda and Lisa were respectful of their time and promised they would be throughout the course of planning and executing a celebrity volleyball tournament over the next six months.
Six entire months.
Liam had laid out a dream project for him. The perfect vehicle for expanding his successful UK event planning and promotions company to the US. However, working with Bree Evans for six months would be as pleasant as having an appendectomy, followed by a root canal. On repeat.
The meeting concluded with a full tour of the expansive Pleasure Cove Luxury Resort property. After they toured the main building, the four of them loaded into a golf cart. Wes slipped into the backseat beside Bree and tried not to notice how the smooth, brown skin on her long legs glistened. But her attempts to keep her leg from touching his only drew his attention.
The Westbrooks had gone all-out with the property. In addition to the main building there were four other buildings on either side of it that housed guests. There was a pool and spa house, four different restaurants, a poolside grill, tennis courts and two workout facilities. Large rental homes and a building with smaller, connected guest houses completed the vast property.
“Here we are at the guest houses, where you’ll both be staying. Your luggage has already been taken to your individual guest houses,” Miranda announced. “Wes you’re in guest house five and Bree, I believe you’re right next door in guest house six.”
Of course.
“Makes it convenient to chat about the project whenever you’d like.” Lisa grinned.
“It certainly does.” Wes loosened his tie and stepped out of the golf cart. He extended a hand to Bree, but she stepped out of her side of the cart and walked around.
“See you at the next meeting. If you want to knock around some ideas before then, just give me a call,” Miranda said. She and Lisa waved goodbye as they zipped off in the golf cart.
Wes took a deep breath before he turned to Bree. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call—”
“You’re an ass.” She shifted the strap of her purse higher.
She wasn’t wrong.
Still, the accusation felt like a ton of bricks being launched onto his chest. “Bree, you’re obviously angry—”
“Don’t call me Bree. We’re not friends.” She folded her arms over her breasts, dragging his gaze there.
Wes raised his eyes to hers again. “Okay, what should I call you?”
Psycho? Insane? Ridiculously hot in that tight little black dress?
The corner of her mouth quirked in a grin that was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. She’d caught him staring and seemed to relish his reaction. “Call me Brianna or Ms. Evans. I don’t really care.” Though, clearly, she did.
“All right, Ms. Evans.” Ms. Jackson, if you’re nasty. He bit his lip, scrubbing the image from his brain of her moving her hips and striking a pose. “I’d like to sincerely apologize for not calling when I said I would. It was rude of me. I should’ve called.”
“You shouldn’t have promised.” Her voice was shaky for a moment. “Don’t promise something if you don’t intend to carry it out. That’s one of the basic rules of not being an ass hat.”
“Noted.” He chuckled as he pulled his shades from his inside jacket pocket and put them on. “We good?”
“As good as we need to be.” Brianna turned on her tall heels, which added length to her mile-long legs. His gaze followed the sway of her generous hips. She opened the door of her guest house and glanced over her shoulder momentarily before stepping inside and closing the door behind her.
Wesley sighed. He’d spent more than a decade building his event-planning-and-promotion business from a ragtag team of university misfits planning pop-up events for a little extra dosh to a company that routinely planned events for some of the hottest celebs and largest corporations in the UK. Taking point on the planning of the Westbrook’s new celebrity volleyball tournament would help him establish a name with major players in the US more quickly.
But would Bree’s animosity make it impossible for them to work together effectively?
He’d lived in London the better part of his life, and he loved living there. Still, the blue skies, warm sun and salty breeze drifting in from the Atlantic Ocean made him nostalgic for home.
But then he hadn’t really gone home. He hadn’t even told his mother he was in North Carolina.
Maybe he only missed the idea of home.
Either way, it was time to find out.
* * *
Bree tossed her purse onto the nearest chair and flopped down onto the sandy beige sofa. It was the same color as Wesley’s pants. Not that she cared. She just happened to notice the color, and how well the material had hugged his firm bottom.
No. No. No. Do not think about his ass or any other parts of his anatomy.
She kicked off her shoes and headed to the bar. It was well-stocked, courtesy of Liam Westbrook. But she also had Liam to thank for bringing her and Wes together on this project.
The stunned look on Wes’s face indicated that he was just as surprised to see her. Liam obviously hadn’t told his friend that he’d invited her to work on the project.
But why?
They were best friends. Which meant Liam probably knew what had happened that night.
Her cheeks stung as she surveyed the bottles of wine. No. It was too early to drink chardonnay alone. She pulled out a split of champagne and a bottle of orange juice.
It’s never too early for mimosas.
She took a sip of the cocktail and felt she could breathe for the first time since she’d laid eyes on Wesley Adams. His six-foot-three frame had filled out the navy jacket and beige pants as if they were made for him.
Bree checked the time on her phone. It was still early out in California. After a recent shoulder surgery, her best friend and volleyball partner, Rebecca Jacobs wouldn’t be following her usual early morning workout routine. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to text.
Bree sent a text message with one hand while nursing her drink in the other. Bex, you up?
Within
