Wearing a string bikini.
And nothing else.
I can’t help but stare at her for a moment, her long tan legs and the flat planes of her stomach, round breasts encased by a pair of spandex triangles that leave very little to the imagination. Just for a second I imagine untying the knot at the back of her neck, ducking my head to her nipple, and—
“What the hell are you doing here?’ she yelps, seeing me standing there for the first time.
I clear my throat, trying to ignore the sensation of all the blood in my body rushing southwards. “I could ask you the same thing,” I manage, trying to sound stern. “Especially since I’m not the one who’s been lying to my employer all week about being too sick to come to work.”
Eliza’s eyes narrow. “I am working,” she says defiantly. “And I can explain.”
“How, exactly?” I raise my eyebrows.
Eliza sighs. “Look,” she says, lowering her voice and motioning for me to come closer. “Verity sent me the finished manuscript for Rock Hard earlier this week.”
“She did?” Right away I feel myself brighten. “We’re still way ahead of the new deadline. That’s great news!” But Eliza isn’t smiling. I pause. “Isn’t it?”
“Not exactly,” she says, and I can tell from her tone that she’s trying to soften the blow. “We’ve got… a ways to go with rewrites before the book is ready for the world, I think. Or before the world is ready for the book.”
“I see.” I try to keep my voice steady. “So how much of the book is done, exactly?”
“Conservatively?” she asks. Eliza winces. “None of it.”
“Are you kidding me?” I exclaim, my voice rising.
“I wish I was,” she says, then lays it out for me bluntly: The book is a train wreck. Excruciating. Utterly unpublishable. “I’ve been here for days trying to get things back on track,” she finishes. “But Verity is… temperamental.”
“You can’t be serious,” I protest. “I mean, according to you, this woman is a legend. Everything she writes turns to gold.”
“And I stand by that assessment!” Eliza insists. “She’s going through a creative dry spell, that’s all.” She sighs. “Look, I know you wanted this turned around ASAP. But I think if we can just give her until the fall—”
“The fall?” I gape at her. “There’s no way.”
Eliza sets her jaw. “You don’t understand how publishing works, okay? This schedule of yours is completely insane—”
“This schedule of mine is hardly the only chance she’s had to put words on the page,” I counter. “She’s had years!”
“I know that!” Eliza argues. “But she’s still not done! So, at this point, what’s another couple of months?”
“We don’t have another couple of months!” I explode. “How am I the only one who can get that through his head? Sterling is going to fold by the end of summer if I don’t turn this around. We need a smash hit by yesterday or there won’t be a company to publish anything come fall.”
Now it’s Eliza’s turn for her mouth to gape in disbelief. “I…I didn’t realize,” she says, her eyes wide. “It’s really that bad?”
“It’s worse,” I admit, sinking down onto a lounge chair. “I’ve run the numbers a dozen different ways, and we’re sinking faster than I can bail the boat out. Getting this book published—and getting it published soon—is our only hope of keeping things on track.”
Eliza takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she says, and I can see her brain working overtime. “I get it. But try not to panic, okay? I meant it when I said Verity was a tricky customer, but we really are making progress. I’ve been putting together a solid plan for a rewrite. If I can stay out here and manage to keep her on task, we’ll get something down on the page in time.”
I raise my eyebrows, surprised. I have to admit that her words are unexpectedly reassuring. I’m not used to losing my cool in front of anyone, and it’s doubly unfamiliar to have someone here to talk me down.
Still: “Something good?” I can’t help but ask.
“Something great,” she insists, then holds a hand up. “And before you say anything else: I don’t want to hear about how this just goes to show that all romance is trash that caters to the basest instincts of sex-starved housewives, okay?”
I shake my head. “That’s not what I was going to say at all, actually.”
Eliza looks at me suspiciously. “It’s not?”
“No. I know you believe in what you do, and you’re obviously very good at it. So, if you say this book is going to be a masterpiece—that it will hold its own against any so-called literary novel—then I believe you.”
“Okay then.” Eliza nods, relaxing. “She has one more incredible novel in her. I know she does. I just haven’t figured out how to access it yet.” She takes a deep breath. “Look, Liam,” she continues. “While we’re on the subject… I don’t know if anyone has said this to you, or if you’ll even care, but I think it’s really admirable, what you’re trying to do here.”
I turn to look at her more closely, surprised. “Really?”
She nods. “This company means a lot to a lot of people. And it meant a lot to your dad. And I know he wasn’t always the kind of parent you wanted, or that you deserved. So for you to come in and try to save it, even when people like me are giving you a hard time about it…” she trails off. “Anyway, we’re in this together, okay? We’re a team. And whatever else has or hasn’t happened between us… I’ll help you save the company however I can.”
I smile at her. I can’t help it. Nobody has ever said anything like that to me before, and for a split second I allow myself to sink into another fantasy. This time, though, it isn’t about lying Eliza back in her lounge chair and sliding her bikini bottoms down her long, tan legs—although, make no mistake, I want to do that too. But right now, I’m imagining what it would be like to have an actual partner. Someone on my team. Because I’ve been playing solo for as long as I can remember, and although I told myself it’s better this way, I have to admit, it feels nice hearing that she’s got my back.
“Eliza,” I say, my voice coming out slightly strangled. Forget decorum, I think. Forget keeping a safe professional distance. “I just want to say—”
“Peaches!” calls a voice behind me. “I was wondering when your tight little ass was going to make an appearance out here.” I turn and there’s Verity strolling across the patio, one of her many assistants wheeling a fully stocked bar cart behind her. “How about cocktail hour?”
I gaze at her for a moment, and then back at Eliza. “In this together, right?” I mutter.
Eliza grins. “Just try and keep up.”
13
Eliza
Verity insists Liam stay at her place through the weekend. “It’ll be a party!” she proclaims, then smiles innocently. “A productivity party, peaches. All work, all the time.”