Ella gave the younger woman a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad that Drew is someone who inspires others to protect him, and if I have to prove to you, someone who has worked for him for so long and he can’t live without at work, that I’m more than some money-hungry bimbo, then I’m up for the challenge.”

“I don’t—I really don’t think that about you.”

“Maybe not in those terms, but you weren’t happy when my husband introduced us, and I want to change that.”

Ella was torn between laughing and crying. The woman wanted to be, for lack of a better word, friends with her. But would Hannah want to be friends if she knew about the emails? Would Hannah want to be friends if she knew that Ella was in love with her husband?

She felt like such a fraud in this moment, but maybe this was what she needed to move on from Drew. Maybe if she could learn to like Hannah, she would stop—she would just stop. That was all there was to it.

With an inward sigh, Ella gave Hannah a friendly smile. “Thank you for asking me. I’d love to get to know you better.”

*

Six hours later, Ella flopped face-first onto her bed. She’d been buffed, polished, manicured, and pedicured to an inch of her life.

Oh, and she had a new best friend in Hannah Miller.

Gah.

Okay, so her day hadn’t been that bad and Hannah was really fun. If Ella hadn’t felt so damn guilty the entire time, she would have enjoyed herself a lot more.

Flipping onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling as a fan with carved wooden palm leaves circled lazily, feeling completely sorry for herself.

Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her pocket.

Blake: Are you allergic to shellfish?

She pursed her lips, debating on whether she should answer him. Knowing Blake, he would start calling her room phone and if that didn’t work, he’d simply show up and pester her until she answered him.

I’m only allergic to you.

Blake: Excellent. See you in two hours.

Grimacing, she tossed her phone to one side.

All she wanted was to be left alone so that she could get over Drew in private, not dragged to a resort and certainly not tricked into dating the man she couldn’t stand most days.

Only life never gave her what she wanted and that story she’d made up about Knight’s Way and Beechum’s Drugstore—she laughed bitterly—it was straight out of a Hallmark movie.

Ella Simpson had never grown up in a town like Knight’s Way—if there was such a place. Oh, no. She’d grown up on the wrong side of the tracks in Raleigh, with her aunt taking care of her. Well, when she wasn’t strung out or too drunk to remember she had a niece.

However, none of that matter now.

Besides, if she could survive growing up in hell, she could survive ten days in paradise.

Chapter Four

Ella had come dressed to do battle with him, Blake wryly observed as she swept inside his room. He had plotted and planned all day for their dinner, but never in a million years would he have expected her to come dressed in a barely there wrap dress that clung to her curves.

Gone was the usual bun, replaced with soft curls that cascaded over her pale shoulders like a river of molten lava. She had to be made of fire because he burned for her.

Her perfectly made-up face turned to him, black lashes so thick that she appeared to struggle to blink. The effect gave her a come-and-get-me look that he wanted to act on.

However, he would be a gentleman. No matter what she wore... or didn’t wear. She expected him to be a cad, to fall back on their usual banter, but tonight, that was not going to happen.

“You look beautiful¸” he said, taking her hand in his and lifting it to his lips. Pressing a kiss to her knuckles, he led her to the table he had his personal room butler prepare for them.

“Thank you.” She pulled her hand out of his grip and seated herself before he could do the honors. “I assume we’re having oysters.”

Cupping her shoulders, he leaned down to whisper, “How predictable, Ms. Simpson.”

She glanced up at him. “Well, we are talking about you.”

Not an inch. Damn, the woman was determined to keep him out. “I hope you brought your appetite. George will serve us tonight while we dine.” He removed the cloche from the large platter filled with her favorite things.

Her gaze flew to his. “Junk food?” She gingerly picked up a nacho laden with beef, refried beans, and cheese, examining it as if she really couldn’t believe it was there.

“Your favorites.” He knew what she ate when she was stressed or when she worked late nights. Americana-style appetizers.

“How did you—?” Her eyes narrowed. “Snooping, I see.”

“Actually, I’ve known you for three years. Every Friday night, you have one of three things delivered: nachos, chicken wings, or potato skins.”

“You paid attention to that?”

He paid attention to everything about her. “Yes.”

“Oh.” With a slight cant of her head, she bit into the nacho. Her eyes closed momentarily in pleasure. “This is good.”

He sat in the chair beside her and began to eat as well. George popped into the room, a tray of beverages balancing on the tips of his fingers.

Ella’s face registered surprise. “Cherry cokes?”

“And your favorite beer,” Blake said with a smile.

“I haven’t had these in weeks.”

“You don’t need to diet,” he pointed out.

She grinned, taking a bottle of beer and the glass of coke with cherries floating on the top. “But I do need to live past thirty-four.” She made a little face. “And fit into my bridesmaid’s dress.”

“Me too.” He scooped up a generous portion of nachos and crammed it into his mouth. Normally, he wouldn’t eat so... cave-manish, but she seemed to be more at ease and that had to be a point in his favor.

She giggled, and the sound made his heart flip in his chest. “Whatever. Men like you can wear anything and look good.”

“Really?”

Nodding happily, she began to munch on a potato skin. “Yeah, Prince Charming doesn’t need to worry about calories. Besides, don’t you run eight miles a day before work?”

“I do, but how do you know that?”

“Maybe I’ve been snooping.”

Rather shocked at her sudden change in attitude, he began to study her. “Why is that?”

“Come closer and I’ll tell you,” she said with a secretive smile.

He leaned in, and the smell of vodka hit him. The damned woman was drunk, or nearly there. “Have you been drinking?”

“Three shots before I went out the door,” she chirped, and then she began to whisper. “I’m not a big drinker, but I don’t think they’re working.”

Blake didn’t know whether to laugh or be furious with her, but what he did know—she lifted the bottle of beer to her lips, and he plucked it out of her hand—she needed to get more food in her stomach.

“Hey!”

“Drink the cherry cokes, love, before they go flat.”

She pushed out her bottom lip in a pout, and it was all he could do to keep from biting that lip. Tempting witch. “Fine.”

“And have a bit more to eat.” He attempted to feed her, but she grabbed his hand and bit his finger. “Ouch!”

“Sorry, thought you were my food.”

“Do you know who I am?” This had to be a joke of some sort. Even though Ella was clearly drunk, the liquor having finally made its appearance, she wouldn’t be so flirty with him.

“Blake York. Hot. British. Single.”

Well, that put that theory to rest. “Is that how you think of me?”

“That’s how alllll the ladies think of you. Oh, and Dave in Marketing.”

He didn’t give a damn about what all the ladies and Dave thought of him. He wanted her opinion and wanted the liquored-up truth of it. “What about Ella?”

“Ella. Me.” She snorted. “You don’t even like me anymore.”