King of Sloth (Kings of Sin, 4)

I didn’t sleep well for the second night in a row.

Instead of the bridge dream, I was haunted by images of Sloane’s face before she left last night.

What the hell had I said wrong? She usually took my comments in stride, and she never left a conversation when I had the upper hand.

She couldn’t be that upset about a stupid bad-dancer joke, right?

My foul mood worsened when I woke to an empty villa. Her luggage was still in her room, but she was a ghost from morning to early evening.

I tried to put Sloane out of my mind and focus on Luca. He’d been pretty bummed since he and Leaf broke up, though my sympathy for him had dwindled when I saw him flirting with my fucking publicist at the beach.

She wasn’t even his type.

I brooded over my drink while my friends engaged in their usual shenanigans at the resort’s private beach club.

I should be having the time of my life, but ennui had grabbed hold of me and refused to let go. I’d seen it all and done it all. After the initial rush of a good time, these parties were all the same.

I could’ve given the club owner some tips on how to improve. The sound system wasn’t picking up the music’s underlying bass, and the girl-to-guy ratio was off. The decor, the entertainment, the food…they were good, not great, but how people ran their business wasn’t my business, so I kept my mouth shut.

Don’t you get bored of doing nothing? Sloane’s question echoed in my head.

I pushed it aside, downed my drink and faced Luca, who lounged next to me by the pool, nursing a hangover and a beer. The sun had set, but the beach club was just getting into the swing of things. “Dante know you’re hanging out with us again?”

Luca’s brother and CEO of the Russo Group, the multibillion-dollar luxury goods conglomerate, wasn’t a fan of anyone in our circle.

Honestly, I didn’t blame him. If I’d had a younger brother, I wouldn’t want him hanging out with me either.

“He’s not my warden.” Nevertheless, Luca glanced around like the intimidating older Russo was going to pop out from behind a potted plant. “I get vacation days like everyone else, and I can spend them however I like.”

“Hmm.”

“Speaking of which, where’s Sloane?”

An unpleasant burn ignited in my chest. “Probably reading a boring nonfiction book somewhere. Why?”

Luca shrugged. “She’s hot. She’s single. I could use a distraction from the Leaf situation.”

The burn exploded into a wildfire and set my teeth on my edge. “She’s not the rebound type.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” I slammed my empty drink on the side table. “Go for the Daugherty twins. They’re looking for a good time.”

“Can’t. Their family is in textiles, which reminds me of goats, which reminds of Leaf.”

For fuck’s sake. “What about Evelyn? She just broke up with her boyfriend. You can rebound together.”

“Nah. I hooked up with her years ago.” Luca stared up at the sky with a drunk, dreamy expression. “I think Sloane works best. She’s so…shit!” He bolted upright when I knocked over a champagne ice bucket and its contents spilled across his chest. “What the fuck, man?”

“Sorry. Must’ve had more to drink than I thought.” I stood. I didn’t know why the idea of him and Sloane bothered me so much, but I knew I needed to get out of here before I did something more unforgivable than dousing my friend in ice. “I’m calling it a night.”

“Wait! What about…”

The crowd drowned out the rest of Luca’s words as I stormed out of the beach club and toward the villa.

I’d convinced Sloane to come to Spain, hoping it would break her from her comfort zone, but I was turning out to be the one in over my head.

SLOANE

By the time I woke up, I’d already brushed off my moment of weakness from last night, but I wasn’t in the mood to face Xavier or his friends—who were thankfully staying at their own villa instead of ours—so I actively avoided them all day.

I woke up at the crack of dawn for a hike, holed myself up in a conference room for lunch, and waited until Xavier left for the beach club before I snuck back to the villa.

It was early evening, so I had a few hours to myself before he returned. I was tempted to work, but I’d promised him I wouldn’t, and a pesky sense of honor prevented me from going back on my word.

Instead, I curled up beneath a blanket in the living room and watched the Spanish rom-com onscreen with increasing disgust.

“Te amo,” the actor whispered in Spanish. English subtitles translated what he said. “Nunca te dejaré.” I’ll never leave you.

“Ugh.” I scribbled furiously in my review notebook. “Film an after-the-movie special and see if that’s really true.”

Romantic comedy was the most unrealistic genre in Hollywood. Falling off a seventh-floor balcony and getting up a minute later to chase after the bad guy was more believable than workplace rivals who suddenly “discover” they have feelings for each other and live happily ever after.

The concept of happily ever after was the biggest scam since the advent of the overpriced college textbook industry.

“It’s not The Bachelor, Luna. The after-the-movie special would just be the actors leaving set.”

My head snapped up.

Xavier leaned against the entryway, wearing a pair of linen pants, an amused expression, and nothing else.

“It’s rude to sneak up on someone,” I said, my pulse pounding from his unexpected interruption. Give me a heart attack, why don’t you? “And for God’s sake, put on a shirt. You’re not Matthew McConaughey.”

His laugh did nothing to ease my annoyance.

Two minutes later, he dropped onto the seat next to mine, fully clothed. “Happy? Now you won’t be distracted by my incredible physique.”

“No, I’ll just suffocate beneath the weight of your inflated ego.”

“There are worse ways to go.”

I sighed, my prospects of a quiet, peaceful evening going up in smoke. “Isn’t there a party at the beach club? Why are you here?” Our deal prevented him from hosting parties without my approval, but they didn’t stop him from attending them. That was another oversight on my part. I’m losing my touch. Something about Spain muddled my usually sharp instincts, and it put me on edge. “I was at the club all day, and I wanted a change of scenery.”

Xavier glanced at my notebook. “What have you been up to?” “Relaxing,” I said pointedly.

“Touché.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth, his expression conflicted. “Listen, about last night…I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. You aren’t that bad of a dancer.”

I would’ve laughed at the idea that I was upset over my dancing skills if I hadn’t been so thrown off by his apology. So few people apologized and meant it that a simple I’m sorry stripped away my knee-jerk defensiveness.

“Thank you,” I said stiffly. I didn’t correct his assumption about the source of my upset.

“You’re welcome.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when I didn’t tack on a snarky reply. “Wait, are we having a bonding moment? Is this the start of a new Xavier and Sloane era?”

“Don’t push it.” I tapped my pen against my notebook. “By the way, how’s Luca doing?” I’d texted Vivian earlier about seeing him in Spain, and she’d mentioned how concerned she and Dante were about him. I’d promised to update her on his well-being if and when I could.

Xavier’s dimples disappeared. “Fine.” He shifted, his leg brushing mine. I was so startled by the contact, I almost yanked my knee away before I caught myself. “I didn’t realize you two were so close.”

“We’re not. I was just curious.” A burn spread from my knee up to my stomach. Huh. I knew I should’ve worn more sunscreen while hiking. This was not normal.

“Hmm.” A shadow crossed Xavier’s face. He opened his mouth, then gave a small shake of his head like he’d changed his mind about whatever he was going to say. “So what’s the movie about?”

“Office rivals who fall in love. Your basic rom-com.” A whiff of his cologne floated into my lungs, and I wished it didn’t smell as good as it did. People like Xavier should only smell like day-old pizza and beer. It would be a more accurate representation of his lifestyle than this clean, woodsy thing he had going on.

“I didn’t peg you as a rom-com lover.” His leg brushed mine again, and I glared at it for a second before answering.

Note to self: Buy more sunscreen ASAP. The continued burn on my skin wasn’t normal.

“I’m not. I hate-watch them.” My drawer of handwritten movie reviews at home attested to that.

“Right. And how many have you hate-watched so far?” Hundreds, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Shut up and watch the movie.”

However, as I rewound the parts I’d missed when he showed up, a teeny-tiny part of me was grateful for his company, unwanted leg grazes and all.

It was a little sad to watch rom-coms alone while on vacation in Spain, even for me.

I never had movie nights with anyone other than my friends, but Xavier was a surprisingly fun companion. He was mostly quiet, but every once in a while, he’d toss out a blithe remark about the plot or acting that made me smirk.

As a client, he was difficult, but as a person, he was decent. I’d never heard him raise his voice once in our time working together. When he found out about his father’s cancer diagnosis, he hadn’t cried, and when an ex leaked lurid photos of them to the press, he hadn’t sought vengeance the way I would’ve. He was unflappable no matter what life threw his way.

Then again, maybe his preternatural calm wasn’t a good thing. Maybe it was a different manifestation of the same issues that kept me guarded from anyone outside my inner circle.

Ugh. The only thing sadder than watching a rom-com alone on vacation was psychoanalyzing Xavier while watching said rom-com.

“What do you keep writing in your notebook?” he asked during the movie’s obligatory post-breakup montage of the couple’s relationship.

A needle of self-consciousness pricked my skin. I debated lying but eventually opted for the truth. “I write reviews of all the rom-coms I watch.”

It was nothing to be ashamed of. If Roger Ebert could do it, so could I, but nerves rattled in my veins when Xavier leaned over to read my notes.

“The film strives for charm but falls flat in its attempt,” he read aloud. “Although fiction generally requires some suspension of disbelief, the utter ridiculousness of the balcony scene gives me so much secondhand embarrassment I want to bleach my memory so I never have to think about it again. I have more chemistry with my bedroom lamp than the lead actors have with each other, and the dialogue sounds like that of a parody rather than an actual romantic comedy. If AI wrote and performed a movie, it would look like this.” He was quiet for a second before looking at me. “What the hell have you been doing with your bedroom lamp?”

Laughter rustled my throat, so quick and unexpected it took me a second to realize the sound came from me.

Shock flashed across Xavier’s face, followed by a slow bloom of pleasure. An answering warmth pooled in my stomach.

“Turning it on,” I said in response to his question. I cringed before the words fully left my mouth. “Oh God. That was terrible.” His howl of laughter drowned out my next words. “Do not ever tell anyone I said that. I—stop laughing.”

“Don’t worry.” His shoulders convulsed as he wiped tears from his eyes. “It’ll be our little secret.”

“It wasn’t that funny,” I grumbled. I tried to maintain my sternness, but his amusement was contagious, and soon another smile cracked my face.

If someone had told me two days ago that I’d have a movie night with Xavier Castillo and enjoy it, I would’ve asked what drugs they were on, but Friday’s gala and visit with Penny seemed like a lifetime ago.

Perhaps that was why I rarely went on vacation. It lulled us into a false sense of security only to thrust us back into our regular lives, where we were confronted with a world that kept spinning without us and the realization that our presence didn’t matter at all in the grand scheme of things.

My mood sobered.

“You know rom-coms aren’t supposed to be realistic.” Xavier wasn’t over my review. “They’re supposed to be entertaining.”

“They would be more entertaining if they were realistic.” I pointed at the end credits rolling across the screen. “What are the chances longtime rivals would fall in love just because they’re thrown together on a work project?”

“Less than a hundred and more than zero.” “Your optimism is nauseating.”

“I think that might be the gallon of ice cream you ate.” He cocked an eyebrow at the half-empty carton of French vanilla melting on the coffee table.

Embarrassment crawled over my face, hot and itchy. “You drink your beer, I eat my ice cream. Now, since the movie is over, it’s time for us to part ways and go to sleep.”

Xavier stared at me like I’d asked him to fly to the moon. “Are you joking? It’s only nine.” He tapped his phone. “The night’s barely started.”

I hated how he always made me feel like a buzzkill, but a girl had to draw the line somewhere. “I have no desire to get wasted.” “Who said anything about getting wasted?” He stood and extended a hand to me. “Come on. It’s time for your dance lessons.”

I crossed my arms. “Absolutely not.” That was even worse than getting wasted.

“So you enjoy looking like a malfunctioning robot every time you dance?”

“I don’t…” Breathe. I counted to three and tried again. “I rarely dance. Therefore, I don’t need lessons.”

“You go out with your friends all the time, so that’s not true… unless you’re afraid of failing.” Xavier dropped his hand and shrugged. “I understand. No one succeeds at everything.”

That fucker. He was good.

He was also clearly baiting me, but the competitiveness that’d fueled my rise in the cutthroat PR world bristled at his taunt. Once it was triggered, there was no going back.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” I stood, ignoring memories of Madame Olga’s pinched disapproval and Xavier’s present-day shit-eating grin. “But I’ll allow it just so I can wipe that smug look off your face. Let’s go.”

Who was to say I hadn’t developed a talent for movement overnight?

Xavier was laughing now, but I was going to make him eat his words.