Big time.
She’d left to save herself, and there’d been no fight about it. No discussion at all, really.
Unbelievably, the silhouettes of the three big tough guys didn’t fight, either. They stepped back from each other and . . . began a game of . . . rock paper scissors?
Less than a minute later Sam strode back in.
“You won,” Becca said, surprised.
He gave her a long look. Nope, he hadn’t won.
He’d lost.
Chapter 11
I called your references,” Sam said.
Becca sucked in a breath. She’d known he would, because no matter what their appearances, he and his partners were not just three fun-loving guys. They were also sharp businessmen and smart as hell. “And?” she asked.
“You were widely beloved at your last job, and everyone was sorry to see you go.” He paused and gave her a long, speculative look. “In such a hurry.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
“Care to explain the hurry?” he asked.
“No.”
“There was a rough situation with your brother.”
She felt herself go still. “What?”
“One of your references mentioned it. Said you were resilient, though, and that I’d be lucky to have you.”
Becca closed her eyes.
“Is he the one who hurt you?”
She opened her eyes and met his, and the concern in them. “I never said anyone hurt me.”
“But someone did.”
“Jase wouldn’t hurt a fly,” she said.
Sam didn’t point out that she’d just given him a non-answer, but it was in his gaze as he poured a mug of coffee, then surprised her by handing it over.
She took it, then began to add creamer and sugar. Sam poured another mug and leaned back to watch her add more sugar to hers. “So you take a little coffee with your sugar then?”
Grateful for the subject change, she shrugged. “I like it sweet.”
He drank from his steaming mug. “I like it hot.”
She got all tingly, damn it. No more tingling for him! Feeling very warm suddenly, she unwrapped the scarf from her neck.
Sam remained silent, but his lips tipped at the corners.
She tugged off her gloves as well.
“Déjà vu,” he said.
At the mention of her striptease in her bathroom, she felt herself blush. “It’s cold here in the mornings. Very cold.”
“Bird bones,” he said.
She opened her mouth and then shut it. “Okay, I’m trying to drum up some outrage at being compared to a bird,” she finally said. “But I have to admit, it’s better than some other things I’ve been told about myself.”
“Such as?”
“I once had a date mention something about a Butterball turkey.”
Sam went still. “Did you kill him?”
Becca knew she wasn’t heavy, but she was curvy. She used it to her advantage when she dressed. It was only in her . . . undressed activities that sometimes her insecurities came out. “No.”
“Want me to kill him?”
“No!” she said on a laugh. “It can be true, from certain angles.”
“Bullshit.” He didn’t make a move toward her, didn’t touch her with anything but his eyes, which were flashing temper now. “You’re perfect.”
She laughed again, and he smiled. “Your body,” he clarified. “Your body’s perfect.”
“But the rest drives you crazy,” she reminded him.
“Everything about you drives me crazy.” He drank his coffee and set down the mug. “So. You’ve made a choice.”
“Actually, that was you,” she reminded him. “I’m not on board with the whole having-to-choose thing. At all.” Deciding to let him digest that, she took a moment to look around.
The hut had a front counter, several stools in front of it, a love seat, and a small refrigerated drink display and snack shelf. One entire wall was taken up with a display: scuba gear, snorkel gear, a paddleboard, a kayak, paddles, and more. “So what’s the routine?” she asked.
“No routine, every day’s different.” He walked with her behind the counter. “But this is where you’ll be most of the time.” He unlocked a drawer and pulled out a laptop. “The schedule’s here, but there’s a problem. It’s never up to date because we end up just scratching stuff down whenever and wherever we answer the phones.”
She looked at the stack of notes on napkins, scribbled on paper bits, and even on a piece of wood.
“Yeah,” he said to her unspoken question. “Asinine, we get that. But the Internet is painfully slow—Cole’s working on that—and in the meantime, this is our way of dealing with it.”
“Because you’re guys?”
He lifted a broad shoulder. “What can I say, we’re messy and unorganized.”
“Which is how both you and Cole showed up for the same job this morning,” she said, boggled at the chaos.
“Actually, no. Cole’s a cheat, and can be bought by a pretty face.”
“A pretty face?”
“The client’s an LA print-ad model whose parents live here in Lucky Harbor. She’s home for a short visit, and as she always does, she’s taking her brothers and dad out fishing.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Which is why you and Cole were fighting for the job.”