Sinner (Shelter Harbor #1)(120)

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts as she steps towards me.

“You’re here.”

You’re here?

I could punch myself for my choice in opening lines.

“Reporting for duty,” she says with a shrug. “Sorry for hanging up on you last night.”

I nod. “There’s a chance I was a little out of line.”

“Yeah, just a small one though.”

She winks.

“I looked at those documents you sent on the plane.”

“Exciting stuff, isn’t it.”

“Oh, thrilling. I’m probably going to need you to help me play catch up, if we’re being honest. Most of that stuff was a little out of my comfort zone.”

“It’s what I’m here for, Serena,” I say, reaching down and taking her suitcase from her and nodding towards the exit. “If we’re going to be in this together, know that I’m here to help.”

She flashes that killer smile at me again. “Thanks, Landon.”

I grit my teeth and try to clear the thoughts of Serena Roth’s “killer smile” out of my head as we walk towards the car. And again, I remind myself that this partnership is nothing but professional. And in thirty days, we’ll see if I ever even see her again.

In the meantime, if I could keep my eyes off Serena Roth’s legs, ass, and full, perfect lips, things might work a bit smoother.



“Well, huh.”

The test spot finishes on the laptop in front of us, and I watch as her face wrinkles.

“Not great, is it.”

She turns to me, her face scrunched up.

“Not really. Not if you want to impress them.”

‘Them’ is the national soap company who happens to be based in Denver who we’ve been courting for sponsorship going into this season. The board wants a hail mary of a season? Well this is one way to give it to them - hooking in some big name corporate sponsors. And one way to do that, apparently, is to pitch “sponsor ads” to the companies - commercials that’ll play during half time on the big screens that show a team and product partnership.

Think: your favorite baseball player taking a bite of a burger and gushing about how much he loves this local chain, or a soccer star kicking her feet up on a brand new tire and grinning as she casually mentions that “Johnson Tire and Body Shop is the first place I go for a new set of wheels!”

Yeah, it’s that lame.

It’s tacky, and it’s lowest common denominator advertising at its finest. But goddamn do sponsors eat it up, and sponsors clamoring to give you money is a very good thing when you’re about to start a season on a note like this: down a star quarterback, a wishy-washy board of directors, and an owner in a medically induced coma.

Talk about a stacked deck.

Except apparently what we have now sucks, if I can glean anything from that look on her face. And that’s not a good thing going into a season like this.

“Well, shit,” I mutter, easing back in my chair and drumming my fingers on the armrest. “Any ideas? I mean, you are the marketing wiz here.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she winks at me. “Look, I can work on some ideas, but you need to do something for me first.”

I arch my brow as I frown at her. “I wasn’t aware this was a negotiation.”

“Well, it is now.”

“Fine, what is it.”

She turns to face me.

“Lighten up.”

I grin, and that impish smile comes back to her face. This is the same light back and forth we had back in Houston.

I like this back and forth, even if I understand how dangerous it is.

“See?” she says. “I knew I remembered that you were capable of smiling.”

I chuckle in spite of myself, and my stomach grumbles. I glance at the time.

“It’s late, let’s call it for the day. Do you-”

Bad idea. Terrible idea.

I ignore the voice inside my head. It’s completely fine for two work associates to go get a bite after a long day, and Emily’s at a friend’s for dinner tonight anyways.

“Do you want to grab some food?”

“Yes,” she groans. “I’m starving actually. Should we order in?”

“Nah,” I stand, grabbing my jacket and jerking my head towards the door. “There’s a spot I know a few blocks from here.”

“Perfect.”

Serena flashes that grin at me again as she stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder. I open the office door for her before hitting the lights and following her towards the elevator.

Nothing wrong with coworkers getting food.

It would sound better even inside my own head if I wasn’t having flashbacks of that night in Houston the whole elevator ride, and the whole walk over, my cock actually throbbing slightly at the memory.