“We’ll show you to your room, and then you can meet us on the balcony once you’ve freshened up,” Roseanne announced.
The interior was homier than I expected, with comfortable-looking furniture interspersed with antiques. It was welcoming while also giving off the impression of extreme wealth, with beautiful finishes and tasteful artwork. We were led along wide hallways to a gigantic suite. It was the Garcia house all over again, but with huge sliding glass doors that opened onto a private patio.
Roseanne left us with more words of welcome, and as soon as the door was closed, I threw myself on the bed and sank into the comforter with a satisfied groan. The bed dipped as Jared crawled over me, his lips curled into a smile.
“I see I should have taken you on vacation earlier.”
“I don’t know how I’ll ever go back to my regular life after all this,” I said.
“You won’t have to.” He planted a kiss on my forehead then got up and moved to the bathroom. I heard the shower turn on and busied myself unpacking the small bag I’d brought for our weekend. There was a little welcome tray with more chocolates and goodies on the nightstand, and I had one while I waited for Jared to finish. Once I’d showered and changed into a loose sundress, we went off in search of our hosts.
We found them on the balcony they’d pointed out before, relaxing on lounge chairs as they watched the sun dip closer to the horizon. Wilbur smiled at the two of us and offered us drinks, and Roseanne jumped up to uncover plates of chopped vegetables and other finger foods.
Jared sank into a two-seater couch and brought me down along with him, and I couldn’t resist the urge to rest my head against his shoulder.
“Your home-your island
-is unbelievably beautiful.”
“That’s all Roseanne,” Wilbur said affectionately.
“If it were up to Wil, we’d be living in some box in New York City.”
I laughed awkwardly, thinking of my own box back home. The one that had felt like impossible luxury compared to my older, dingier box.
“I know enough to listen to you when you insist,” Wilbur said, smiling, “and you insisted on this place.”
“When we bought it, there was just the guest house.” Roseanne waved a hand toward the roof that poked out through the trees, the one I’d spotted on the way up. “Building the main house, the docks, and the landscaping has been the work of a decade.”
“Looks like it’s worth it,” I said, smiling.
“Watch out, Branson,” Wilbur warned. “You’ll be buying an island next door before the weekend is out.”
Jared glanced at me, grinning. “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.”
I laughed, giddy. Who casually talked about buying islands and building lavish residences on them? How was this real life?
But I was here, and all I could do was enjoy the weekend. My brief for this trip was to be myself, and to make sure the Monks couldn’t find fault in myself or Jared. Jared would work on closing the deal with Wilbur and finally secure the older man’s business.
Over the weeks I’d been working at Branson, I learned this deal was important. A lot of the huge clients had cut their advertising budgets and moved to smaller campaigns for social media. The Branson Advertising Agency could offer those services, but landing a huge, multi-year, multi-campaign client like Wilbur Monk, whose company had many subsidiaries, would sustain the business through the next half decade.
It was a huge deal. But as I watched the sun go down and chatted with the other couple, it didn’t feel like we were here to close a deal worth nine figures. It felt like we were visiting old friends.
After a delicious dinner of grilled fish, Jared and I retired to bed. He wrapped me in his arms and tugged me close, smiling at me in the darkness of the bedroom.
“They love you,” he said quietly.
“I think they love you too.” I brushed my lips against his. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
His chest rumbled in agreement, and he returned my gentle kiss with a more demanding one of his own. We didn’t talk for a while after that, other than whispered praise and desperate urgings. Later, just before falling asleep, I felt him stroke my hair to push it off my temple. His touch was gentle-loving. I never would’ve guessed that my gruff, arrogant boss could be so tender, or that I’d be the woman who brought it out in him.
This was shaping up to be the best weekend ever.
Iris’s POV
It was not the best weekend ever. The next morning started out pretty good, with a morning kayak on glass-still waters and only a bit of queasiness when I sat down for breakfast. Our hosts were gracious, and we ended up going on a nature walk with them after our food, where they pointed out the natural rock formations on the other side of the island.
Lunch was lovely.
In the afternoon, Roseanne stole me away while Wilbur and Jared disappeared in the older man’s study to talk business, and I found myself watching her press her fingerprint into a scanner to unlock her closet vault.
It was my own personal utopia. The woman had taste. Every designer was represented, even some that I’d never heard of. She’d been collecting clothes her entire life and excitedly showed me her favorite pieces from decades gone by.
We started pulling clothes from hangers and creating outfits. I felt like I was back in my old job, helping a client find the perfect gem they didn’t know they wanted. I couldn’t stop smiling. When I paired a black-and-white houndstooth blazer with a silky green jumpsuit, Roseanne tilted her head and considered it, her finger tapping her chin.
“I think you might be a genius, Iris. I’ve never thought of putting those pieces together.”
I laughed. “I wouldn’t say genius. Maybe obsessive.”
She showed me a few outfits she’d created herself, and I suggested a few simple tweaks to style them, like rolling the sleeves of an oversized blazer a few times, forgoing a belt that had come with a pair of pants in a matching fabric for something that coordinated in a slightly different way, tweaking and manipulating clothes to create more flattering silhouettes.
Roseanne’s eyes sparkled as she snapped photos of the outfits we put together. “I feel like I have a whole new set of clothes!” she exclaimed.
There were a few pieces that belonged in a museum. A vintage Alexander McQueen dress covered in thousands of hand-sewn fabric flowers, for example, was worthy of its own display mannequin. I didn’t even dare touch the fabric but clasped my hands at my breast in appreciation.
Her wall of shoes was a gorgeous, perfectly organized shelving unit with strategically placed lighting along every shelf. She had them split up by color and occasion, so they were almost an art installation instead of wearable garments.
It was fun. We were two grown women-me in my thirties, her in her sixties-and we were acting like little girls who got to play dress-up. Her jewelry collection was a mix of costume and fine jewelry. The woman loved rings that were just shy of gaudy and earrings that dangled all the way to her shoulders. I wanted to be her when I grew up.
Things went wrong when I let out a breath and sat down on the round ottoman in the middle of the room as a wave of fatigue hit me. It had been sunny this morning, and I thought I was feeling the effects of being outdoors for longer than I was used to.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.