Just Sign Here - Cara Dee Page 0,41

the colder air that the ceiling fans sent my way.

Guests were enjoying a late lunch in the dining area that opened up to a large patio. The hostess desk caught my attention, and I thought, yes, there could be a small sign encouraging the guest to ask the hostess about her favorite meal, or perhaps her favorite dessert.

“I see Mr. Poitier over there, sir.” Peyton gestured toward the patio.

“Lead the way, then, love.”

He sent me a curious little smile but made no mention of my slip.

I was suddenly in a good mood. Bennett’s email was inspiring me, and more than that, it was reminding me of the fact that I actually loved my job. The biggest bonus walked slightly ahead of me, and perhaps I shouldn’t be calling him love during work hours, but fuck it.

“What’s it say theu?” Julia pointed at the document I was reading.

“It says that Daddy deserves ice cream after dinner,” I replied.

We would be landing in Nassau shortly, and I’d gotten absolutely nothing done during our flight, because my daughter was slipping into a familiar phase where she started screaming if she couldn’t sit on my lap. And by “sit on my lap,” I meant “climbing all over me,” naturally.

It’d been a long month, and it was wearing on Julia. No amount of pool fun or shopping for souvenirs and candy we didn’t have in Boston could eliminate the fact that she missed the stability of being at home.

In fact, the traveling was beginning to wear on all of us. Well, except for Mathis. He would spend his life on the road if he could.

“Me too!” Julia said. “Does it say I can have ice cream too? Right theu?” She pointed at a graph on the document.

“Yes.” I nodded. “That’s exactly what it says, darling.”

She nodded too. “Good.”

I smiled and gave her a smooch. “Are you ready to return to your seat? We’re landing soon.”

“The pilot hasn’t said nothing.” She’d picked up on that, huh? Terrific. Julia kneeled on my lap and looked out the window. “Only water out here, Daddy. Peyton tolded me the blue is water. It’s the ocean. It’s so big!”

I glanced over at Peyton, who was watching her with a fond little grin.

If I was in trouble before, it had nothing on now. In the past three or four days, I’d started listening to archived episodes of his radio show by the pool and before bed. He was such a passionate historian, and he was funny too. Engaging. Animated. His storytelling had me hooked.

He liked working for me; he’d enjoyed his job at Hilton, too, but I couldn’t see his future as easily as I did when I listened to his show. I could picture him in a classroom full of high school students with perfect clarity, however. He’d thrive there one day, when he was ready.

In the meantime, I supposed all I could do was hope for the best while I fell recklessly in love with my assistant.

I didn’t have any work commitments the first day in Nassau, so I suggested we all have dinner together in the restaurant by the biggest pool. We’d been spoiled by fantastic seafood all month, but this resort actually had a great pizza-and-burger place to cater to the many families that stayed here. It was, in general, a more family-friendly paradise. Several pool areas, activity clubs for children as well as teenagers, and free transfer into town that was fifteen minutes away.

Julia jumped from lap to lap throughout the evening. Right now, she was helping Peyton finish his pepperoni pizza and interviewing him about his beer and why there were water droplets on the outside of the glass.

Cathryn swayed lightly to the music playing and watched the couples on the dance floor with a soft smile.

I made a mental note to dance with her later. She’d married the love of her life, but he happened to hate dancing.

“Damn,” Mathis said, reading something on his phone. He grimaced. “You’re gonna like this, boss. My youngest nephew’s decided he’s gonna start playing football this fall.”

I grinned and tossed a crust onto my plate. “He’ll be a Patriot in no time, then. Good.”

“Gross,” Peyton muttered with a wince.

I shot him a look while Mathis laughed.

“Don’t tell me you’re a Seahawks fan,” I told the punk.

Peyton raised his brows. “What else would I be? Of course I am.”

Mathis tipped his beer as a silent hear-hear. He was one of those “Anyone but the Patriots” guys. Originally from Philly,