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 seconds Bex replied. Uh-oh. How’d your meeting go?
Bree sighed. Was she really that transparent? Then again, she and Bex had been partners for the last seven years, so there wasn’t much she could put past her friend. Meeting was great. Unfortunately, I would have to work with the devil himself. Don’t know if I can do this.
The phone rang within seconds of her sending the text.
“What the hell is going on?”
Bree laughed. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Sorry. Good morning. Now, what the hell is going on? Who was at the meeting that would make you want to pass up this opportunity?”
She sighed, her finger tracing the bar. “Wes Adams.”
“The guy you met at the bar that night in London?” Bex let out a sigh of relief. “I know you’re bummed he didn’t call, but he’s a guy. Don’t take it personally. In fact, you should be glad you guys didn’t sleep together. That’d be awkward.”
“Today was awkward.” Bree balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder as she wrestled with the plastic-wrapped gift basket filled with goodies. She could use some chocolate. Stat.
“Why? Because you guys fooled around a little? You are seriously out of practice, my friend.” She laughed. “I told you not having a life would catch up with you.”
“Volleyball is my life.” Bree ripped open a chocolate truffle and stuffed it in her mouth.
“And it’s a great life, but it won’t always be there. We’re approaching thirty. Time to start thinking about life after volleyball.”
“You aren’t thinking of retiring on me, are you?” Bree mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate.
“No, but this injury has given me a lot of time to think. I don’t want to wake up one day and feel like I missed out on the things that are really important.”
“Like?” Her friend was surprisingly philosophical. It made Bree uneasy. She was usually the one reminding Bex to be more frugal and save for the future, when tournament money, appearance fees and endorsements were no longer flowing in, something they’d both been forced to think about more lately.
“I dunno. Like a husband. Maybe kids.”
“Wow.” Bree’s mouth curled in a smirk. “So what’s his name?”
“Shut up.” Bex fell suspiciously quiet before releasing a long sigh. “His name is Nick. He’s my physical therapist, and he is so cute.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But