Free The Reality of You by Jean Haus Page B

as you—the view.”
    “Well, don’t let me interrupt your pleasure.” I sounded
snotty yet didn’t care if it pissed him off. I was buzzed up and tired as shit. I turned around and
took another swig of bubbly. The sun had turned into a thin slice of orange
above the water but still looked pretty.
    Lowering the bottle,
I almost dropped it when Reese took a step closer and crouched next to me,
elbows on his knees, close enough that the breeze caught his delicious scent.
    “I suppose I’m
interrupting yours,” he said lightly. “Your one break of the day.”
    “Suppose that’s
true,” I grumbled.
    He took a sip of
wine then gestured toward my bottle with the glass in his hand. “You always
enjoy libations on your breaks?” His tone was low and slightly condescending.
    Who the hell said
libations? I looked up at him, an innocent expression purposely on my face.
“No, but then I usually don’t pull three fifteen-hour days in a row.” My
expression turned level. I shoved the bottle of champagne in the sand. “I’m a
definite eight-hours-a-day type of girl.”
    His mouth twisted as
if he were holding in a frown or maybe a smirk. “Can’t handle the workload?”
    Though I tried to
stay calm—Kara’s voice in my head attempted to shut me up—my glare turned murderous.
“Oh, I’ll get done. Come Sunday morning, you’ll have all your charts, reports,
and whatever else you demanded.”
    “Demanded?” he
repeated dryly.
    I shrugged.
“Required?”
    “Yes, fulfilling
requirements would be why you were employed.” He shifted his squat to stare
down at me. His hazel eyes were simply stunning in the setting sun. The brown
in them had turned to a lovely golden hue.
    Bastard.  
    “Seriously?” I said
cynically, and Kara’s voice in my head echoed, screaming at me to shut up. I
ignored it and glared at him. “Had I known you were running a sweatshop, I
would have never taken this job.” Actually, I wouldn’t have taken this job at
all except for my three losing aces. My hands began to move furiously as I
spoke, cutting the air between us. “I mean, really, seriously?” My head reared
back. “I expected to work and work hard, but…but the last three days have been
ridiculous! I’ve averaged four hours a night of sleep. I’ve subsisted on room
service. My room is plastered with every chart imaginable. And other than this
short break, I haven’t left my room except to print massive amounts of useless
crap.”
    Except for a tic in
his cheek, Reese’s features remained stoic.
    Now that my
irritation had been liberated, I couldn’t stop. “Beyond exhausted, I’m going
stir-crazy stuck in a room for three days! So yes, I’m drinking on my break.” I
lifted the bottle up and asked in a flat tone, “Do you have a problem with
that?”  
    His brows rose the
tiniest bit. “Useless crap?”
    My lids lowered.
“Are you really going to go through those documents?”
    He nodded. “Every
one.”
    “Huh,” I said,
deflating. He appeared so somber that I believed he would ridiculously go through each chart and document.
    “My company is
serious about promoting brands that can deliver.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” I let
out a huff as I took in the very last slice of the sun over the water.
    He cleared his
throat. “However, I could probably do without your reviews on the resort.”
    “Sure you could,
because most of them will be on room service,” I said snottily.
    “Or wreaking havoc,”
he said sardonically.
    “Ha, ha,” I muttered
and scowled. “But yes, those reports will be useless.”
    He shifted until he
sat closer, bringing his dark, delicious scent closer. “I offered to lighten
your workload. Appear pleasant about it, at least.”
    “Thank you,” I
replied from a tight jaw, since I had a mountain of proofing to do and his
mouth inches from my ear had caused a surge of unwanted anticipation that such
a jerk shouldn’t produce.  
    “Perhaps you could
get done early and spend part of the last