"You aren't supposed to be here," wasn't the best first set of words to say to someone, but yet, there I stood, on the beach in Costa Rica, staring at Laurence as he came into ear shot, unable to hide my surprise and irritation.
"You never go to shoots," I added, my voice tinged with a hint of disbelief. It was as if the rarity was the only solid explanation for why I felt strangely angry and flustered that he was there.
His presence was a disruption, a threat to my focus. I couldn't afford to have him nearby, not now. Laurence had a way of pulling my attention away from where it needed to be, and this was no exception.
As if to prove my point, everyone else on the beach seemed to freeze, caught in a moment of confusion. They were used to Laurence being the boss and were suddenly uncertain of whose direction to follow. Even Michale, who was unflappable, stopped taking practice pictures and spun, staringâ well more like gawkedâ at Laurence Royal as he came up the beach.
"Back to work! Nothing has changed," I called out, trying not to look momentarily hurt when everyone seemed to glance at Laurence for a beatâseeming to ask for permissionâbefore they fell back into motion.
Spinning, I grabbed Laurence by the arm and tugged him several feet up the beachâ which was extremely difficult because Laurence clearly weighed far more than I didâ before turning to stare up at him. My sandaled feet did nothing to help our height difference and I was finding it very difficult to look intimidating when I was clearly so much shorter.
"Laurence," I said by way of greeting. No, 'Mr. Royal'. Just Laurence. A taboo that I refused to be afraid of diving into. If we were on the same level, I wouldn't show nerves. I couldn't afford to. "WHAT. ARE. YOU. DOING. HERE."
Laurence looked momentarily confused, eyes assessing my expression. "You're angry."
"Yes," I said, trying to keep my voice at a normal volume and failing. "Shoots are my responsibility. And you coming here feels like a power play." I attempted a scowl for good measure, but apparently it had the opposite effect because I watched the corner's of Laurence's mouth twitch.
"That's not why I'm here."
Crossing my arms, I tried to look intimidating again. "Then what?"
He surprised me by pushing his hair out of his face, sending strands falling out of place. "Miss Winter's email."
I raised a brow. "What email?"
Laurence reached into a leather messenger bag at his hip and pulled out his phone. He scrolled for several seconds before holding it out to me. I stared at the screen, dumbfounded. "She changed the budget. You've been working with new numbers. Half a million more than what we can afford. I tried callingâ"
"My phone doesn't work here. I don't have an international plan," I said, still scanning Allie's email.
"That explains the lack of response," he said more to himself, sounding distracted. "I called the hotel on the way here. They said you were already setting up and have a policy against bothering guests."
He looked past me at the shoot, brow puckering with concern, hair slightly wild from having raked his fingers through it. I could see him scanning the details, putting a price tag on every item, like someone in a showroomâ Do price tags float above everything he looks at?
This time it was my turn to fight a smile. "Laurence... I never got Allie's new budget numbers."
His gaze snapped back to me, forgetting about the shoot in the background for a moment, his eyes refocusing.
"The internet doesn't work on my phone," I continued. "Again, no international plan."
I raised a brow, pursing my lips to keep from smiling. "Did you really think I'd agree to Allie's attempted budget change after she signed off on the one we came up with? Especially without consulting you first?"
I enjoyed watching the realization that dawned on his face. Allie Winters had pranked him and he had fallen for it, badly. His sudden arrival made sense. It had a category, a column on a chart that my brain could understand.
He is here for work reasons. To stop Allie from tanking the company. Not for nefarious reasons or other reasons that my brain won't allow me to fully process... Yep. Normal reasons. Normal Laurence Royal reasons.
I shifted my weight, hands falling on my hips as I stared up at him, fighting a laugh. "Did you honestly fly all the way down here to stop me from using the wrong budget numbers?"
"I..." He stared at me for a long moment, trying to wrap his head around everything. "It was half a million dollar change, Miss Autumns."
"Still," my smile grew, seeming to break past my self control.
He closed his eyes for a beat, seeming to compose himself. "I am starting to deeply regret selling Royal Fashion to Allie Winters."
I burst out laughing, unable to stop myself. He leveled me with a flat stare that made me laugh harder. "Your compassion is inspiring."
"I'm sorry. I just... can't believe it didn't cross your mind that she could have been torturing you!"
He sighed, taking his phone back from me and shoving it into his bag. "I have come to expect too much from our office environment. I'll try to be more paranoid next time I receive an email from the CEO."
I nodded sagely. "Probably the best move. She enjoys rattling you."
His mouth quirked up again as he looked down at me, but the smile lasted for only a heartbeat before he turned to look back at the shoot. "I truly didn't mean to throw you, or the shoot." He looked back at me, his face unreadable. "Best of luck on the shoot Miss Autumns, although you clearly don't need it. You have them working like a well oiled machine."
"You haven't been to a shootâ"
An amused expression crossed his face. "I used to run shoots before Allie took over."
My face burned with sudden embarrassment. People often treated Laurence Royal like he had never run Royal Fashion before Allie came along, and there I was, playing into the same assumption when I knew better.
"And you Miss Autumns..." Laurence took a single step toward me, bringing my attention back up to his face. "Are doing a far better job than I ever did."
His praise made me swell with pride, my face burning brighter. Please think it's a sunburn caused by the sunrise.... somehow.
"I... Thank you, Laurence," I said softly, surprised.
He cleared his throat and gave a single sharp nod before turning around. "I'll leave you to it," he said his voice dropping an octave. Then he walked up the beach without a word. I wanted to ask if he was going to fly all the way back after a five minute conversation or if he was going to stay for the shoot. But I couldn't find a non awkward way to phrase it and by the time I wrapped my brain around it he was out of earshot, and shouting questions with everyone nearby watching him walk off didn't seem like the right move.
So after watching him walk up the beach, I turned back to the shoot and tried to tuck him out of my mind.
...
"Please tell me that style is all yours and not Allie playing dress up because I am obsessed with your 1920's style," Michale said as we strolled back toward the hotel, sand between our toes, arms filled with gear, my photographer flushed with excitement after a morning spent shooting in the sun.
As we stumbled into the lobby and I dropped the gear I was carrying as gently as I could, I wiped my hands on said 1920's skirt with a grin. Michale had the ability to make anyone feel beautiful. And I was looking forward to spending the next several days with his bundle of positive energy.
"Yep. This style is all me." I shoved several sweaty long curls out of my face. "Be ready for a whole week of 1920's to 1940's goodness."
Michale placed everything but his camera on the ground, bringing his hand to his heart, eyes bright. "Don't get my hopes up. If you don't deliver, I will be deeply offended."
"I promise to dress to impress."
Something caught Michale's eye and his brow lifted up as he looked behind me. "Speaking of impressed... what is up with Mr. Tall Drink of Perfection standing there?"
Glancing over my shoulder, I found Laurence Royal standing at the front desk, talking to the receptionist in perfect Spanish. I didn't even know he spoke Spanish. The receptionist pushed a box on the countertop toward him, a pleased smile on her face as she responded to something he said.
She leaned across the counter, her low cut top showcasing assets, her smile flirtatious, saying something back.
"He needed to fix something in the budget," I replied after a beat, trying to look away from the reception desk and failing terribly.
"I'm sure that is the sole reason he is here," Michale said in a teasing tone.
"You clearly don't know Mr. Royal," I replied, picking up the gear again. Numbers were his comfort zone. He would do just about anything to keep his parent's business going.
"He's worth gawking over," Michale said, after a beat.
My face burned, which was apparently my newest way of reacting to anything Laurence related.
"He's not flirting back with her," Michale added with a pointed look before reaching down to pick up his equipment again.
"I don't... I'm not..."
"Miss Autumns," Laurence said, suddenly standing before me. I jumped and made a very undignified noise, nearly dropping everything as I stumbled backward. Laurence reached out a hand, taking several items off the top of my pile before they could topple over, his other hand reaching around my waist to keep me from falling backward.
The result would have steadied me, if it had been done by anyone else, but since it was Laurence, I jolted out of his grip, startled by his touch, and accidentally dropped the gear, sending it all toppling onto Laurence as he fell backward. He hit the ground with a loud crack, and a moment later, was buried under several large sets of camera equipment.
"Laurence!" I gasped, dropping to the ground and pulling items away until I found him. "I'm so sorry."
"It's fine..." he said, even as he clutched his shoulder, face attempting an encouraging smile that came across more as a pained grimace.
"Liar," I said. "What hurts?"
"Nothing," he said through clenched teeth, attempting to sit up.
"Don't you dare move," I said, moving into action mode, gently pushing him back down. "Answer the question Laurence."
"Shoulder and wrist."
I scanned him, thinking through the countless times that my older brothers had gotten hurt. "Can you wiggle your fingers?" He complied. "Good. Not broken. Probably a sprained wrist."
"Michale, can you help me sit him up?"
"That's notâ"
"Shush," I said to Laurence. "No talking." Laurence looked momentarily irritated, but then closed his eyes, seeming to lose the ability to protest.
I turned toward the reception desk to find the receptionist staring at us with wide eyes. "Call a doctor please."
"I don'tâ"
"Again, no talking," I said firmly.
"Yes ma'am," Laurence said, opening one eye to look up at me before letting it fall back shut. He looked strangely calm.
I turned back to the receptionist, to find her already on the phone.
Michale helped me get Laurence into a sitting position and for the first time, I hesitated. "This is going to hurt," I warned. "You've dislocated your shoulder. I'm going to pop it back into place."
Then without waiting for permission, I unbuttoned several buttons on the front of his shirt until I could tug the shirt off his shoulders. It fell down around his waist, leaving nothing between me and his fantastic torso.
Don't think about his chest. Don't think about his chest. Don't think about his chest.
I refused to ogle his very fine, very sculpted, very perfect chest. He clearly spent his free time working out and it was a gift that I refused to allow myself to enjoy. Especially since I truly didn't need to add any reasons to why I was attracted to him.
"Hold still," I said, working against every instinct I had developed and placed my hand on his collar bone, his bare skin hot under mine. Then I popped his shoulder back into place, earning a painful hiss from Laurence in between clenched teeth.
Within twenty minutes, we were in the back of an ambulance, Laurence muttering the entire way to the hospital that the trip wasn't necessary, only to watch him wince every time the ambulance took a turn.
...
"A sprain," the doctor confirmed, speaking to me in English when Laurence refused to translate the doctor's diagnosis. "His shoulder will need to be iced and remain immobile. I will prescribe pain medication that will help with the pain, and he will need to keep his shoulder immobile while he sleeps. I suggest setting up several pillows to keep it in place, and he will need to sleep with his hand across his chest."
The doctor glanced down at Laurence's chart, seeming satisfied with his instructions before he left the room.
I turned to look at Laurence, who sat on the observation table, his arm in a special shoulder sling for his previously dislocated shoulder and a brace on his wrist. The sight of him being wrapped up the way he was sent a wave of guilt over me.
Now that the adrenaline of getting him to the doctor had passed, there was little to keep me from focusing on the fact that I was the reason he was spending his free time at a hospital. He was in Costa Rica and all he had managed to do so far was go to the hospital.
By the time we had gotten back to the hotel, it was well past midnight. "Which room is yours?" I asked as we walked into the lobby.
"Why?" Laurence asked, shooting me a skeptical look.
"Because we have a list of doctors instructions and someone has to follow them."
"I don't needâ"
I turned to stare up at Laurence. "Will you follow them?"
He snapped his mouth shut. Laurence wasn't a liar, and his lack of a response was answer enough.
"You are unbelievably stubborn," I said, plucking the doctor's instructions out of Laurence's hand. "Which room?"
"I didn't get one," he admitted.
"What? Why?"
He gave an exasperated sigh, his free hand digging through his hair, all attempt at looking put together gone. "I was planning on returning to California this evening. I missed my flight while we were at the hospital."
"Oh."
"Yes."
I was quiet for a long moment as we walked up to the counter. Great job Lily. Things just keep getting better and better.
"I'll just book another flight. There should be another one in a few hours."
"No," I said. "You aren't supposed to be doing anything. And I'm pretty sure that lugging a suitcase around the airport is on the list of things you aren't supposed to do."
"I don't have a room," Laurence said again, sounding irritated, clearly needing to take his pain medication.
"That's why we are standing at the check in counter," I replied. "To get you a room."
Laurence gestured to a sign I hadn't seen. "And how do you suppose we do it?"
The sign at the check in counter was written in Spanish, leaving me staring at Laurence, waiting for a translation.
"It means they aren't coming back for a while. It's one in the morning." He gave me a hard smile. "Now can I book my flight?"
"No," I said determined. "Come on."
I was back in 'fix it' mode. I had done enough damage for the day. It was time to get things fixed.
I like that I am a problem solver. I like that I help people. I like that I take action when there is an emergency.
Despite how terrible the last few hours had gone, I was enjoying learning new things that I liked about myself.
Laurence shot me a look, surprised as I walked away from the reception desk. "Where are we going?"
"This conversation is stupid. To my room. You have to sleep somewhere. I'll take the couch."
Laurence didn't follow me immediately. And the hesitation made me realize what my 'fix it mode' had caused. I had just ordered Laurence Royal to sleep in my room.
Oh my gosh. What am I thinking. I'll justâ
"Okay," Laurence said. "Lead the way."
---
Thank you for reading chapter eighteen! I hope you are enjoying the story! Or are at least curious to see where it goes! Add this story to your reading list to know when the next chapter drops!
UPDATE DAYS - A NEW CHAPTER EVERY FRIDAY!
It looks like Laurence Royal will be spending the night in Lily's room! Do I smell a 'one bed trope'?!?
Will something happen between Laurence and Lily?
How will the rest of the shoot go?
Will Laurence stay for the entire shoot, or will he try to get an early flight out?
What will happen next?
CHAPTER QUESTION - Who would you want taking care of you if you got hurt?