Page 71 of The Money Shot

Regards,

Evelyn Van Alen

P.S. Try not to let the island’s relaxing atmosphere distract you from the task at hand.

I stared at the screen, her words sinking in like little barbs under my skin. The approval was there, sure, but she couldn’t resist the digs. She never could.

I leaned back in my chair and sighed. Why was I doing this awful job again? Oh, right. Because I wanted to be a success. Because I thought working for someone like Evelyn Van Alen would make me feel like I’d made it. Because my father expected it. Hell, the entire world expected it.

But was it worth putting up with her? The constant snide remarks, the impossible expectations, the way she made every accomplishment feel like I’d just barely avoided failure?

The sharp trill of my phone jolted me out of my Evelyn-induced haze. I snatched it up and saw the name on the screen: Andrea. Great.

“Hello?” I said, keeping my voice as neutral as possible.

“Jack, my office. Now,” she said, her tone clipped and no-nonsense, as always.

“On my way,” I replied, already gathering up my files, notebook, and anything else that might be relevant.

The walk to Andrea’s office felt longer than usual, though I chalked that up to the dread pooling in my stomach. When I knocked on her doorframe, she looked up from her computer, her expression unreadable as always.

“Sit,” she said crisply, gesturing to the chair across from her desk.

I did as I was told, trying not to fidget.

Andrea leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “First off, Jack, good job.”

I blinked. Compliments from Andrea were about as rare as a thank-you email from Evelyn.

“Thank you,” I said cautiously, unsure of where this was going.

“Four other associates worked on Evelyn’s account before you, and not one of them lasted longer than six months. You’re the only one who’s been able to meet her demands and keep things on track.”

I nodded, trying to look professional, even as my brain screamed, They failed because Evelyn is a complete psycho.

Andrea glanced at her monitor, then back at me. “She’s approved your trip to St. Kitts, right?”

“Yes,” I said, grateful for the segue. “I just got the email. When are we leaving?”

Andrea raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yeah,” I said, frowning. “Evelyn mentioned you’d be coming along.”

Andrea coughed, looking anywhere but at me. “I can’t go. It’s my wedding anniversary.”

“Oh,” I said, thrown off.

“But the hotel rooms and tickets are already paid for,” she continued. “If you have a girlfriend—or someone else responsible—you’re welcome to bring them. Just remember: your top priority is work.”

My mind went blank for half a second. And then, just like that, an image of Liam popped into my head. Liam. On a tropical island. Wearing a speedo. We could have an amazing time. The beach. The sun. Liam sprawled out on the sand.

“Jack?” Andrea’s voice snapped me back to the present. She was waving a hand in front of my face.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, clearing my throat. “Got it. Work first.”

Andrea gave me a skeptical look, then pushed a folder across her desk. “Here are your plane tickets, hotel reservations, and all the other travel details. Don’t embarrass me, Jack. I’m counting on you. Oh, and don’t tell Evelyn I’m not going.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, standing up and clutching the folder.