She leaned back into me, shifting so she could tilt her head back and meet my eyes. “You’re annoying me, Brett.”
“You’re the one wearing your underwear in my bed. I warned you what would happen if you did that.”
“Yes, you did. Except you told me you’d fuck me and not let me sleep, not annoy the shit out of me when I’m trying to work.”
“Right. But if you lie on your stomach and let me stare at your ass while you work, I’ll let you work.”
She wrinkled her face up. “I’m dating a pig.”
“Even worse? You’re in love with me.”
She sighed. “You’re right. I must have done something terrible in a past life.”
“You did. You didn’t let your boyfriend stare at your ass while you worked.”
She stared at me for a few seconds before she started laughing. Her entire body trembled with her giggles, and she pushed right up and kissed my jaw. “You’re crazy. And don’t say it now either.”
“I’m crazy for your ass.”
“Sneak.”
I grinned.
“Fine, let me go.”
I did as she asked, and she did as I’d asked. She straightened the covers, then she flipped over onto her stomach to work.
And she was wearing a black thong to match her bra.
I felt like punching the air.
Five minutes later, I said, “Lani?”
“No, we’re not having sex just because you made me lie like this.” She said it without looking over her shoulder. “Will you just have some patience, please?”
“Can’t.” I got up and smacked her ass. “Come down when you’re done.”
“Asshole,” she muttered, reaching back to rub her ass cheek.
I smirked.
“He’s published it.” Camille’s words cut through the silence of the living room.
Lani and I both stilled and looked up at her. “I thought it was being printed in the paper?” Lani questioned.
“It is,” Camille answered, jumping into the armchair. “But Dad just got an email notification. He published it on the Whiskey Key Daily website almost as soon as Dad told him to go ahead and do it.”
“He was going to do it anyway,” I said slowly. “He didn’t care about the money or whatever.”
“What does he have against you?” Lani looked at me. “He never told me and I can’t make sense of it.”
“Neither can we. I guess it’s just one of those things. He heard a rumor and wouldn’t let it rest.”
“Exactly,” Cam agreed. “I don’t think it’s that he has anything against us, per se. He just likes gossip. I don’t think he cares who he hurts as long as he can make money, even if he has to lie to make it.”
“Lying. It’s not exactly a journalist’s best trait,” Lani muttered.
“Oh, shut up. You never would have told him that and you know it. You said it yourself—if it would hurt us, you wouldn’t do it.”
She tilted her head. “True. It was kind of a pipeline dream. Hurt the guy who hurt you.”
“For the record, all you have to do to hurt me is work in your underwear.” I tugged on a lock of her hair and slipped my hand between her thighs. It was warm and comfy there. “I’m still upset.”
Lani rolled her eyes. “Settle down, Casanova. You asked me to do that. And it doesn’t matter, because I’m about to save your bacon.”
“Oh yeah. With the article you said I could read but I haven’t read yet.”
“You sound like a grumpy child.”
“Only because you make me feel like one.”
Camille looked between us. “You two sound like an old married couple. How’re the grandchildren?”
I flipped her the bird.
Lani laughed while she sat up and swung her legs around. She pulled her laptop onto her lap and started it up.
“Are you publishing it now?” Camille asked, getting up and sitting on the other side of her.
She nodded. “On your dad’s website.”
“Dad’s website?” I asked. “Why not yours?”
“Nobody here knows my website,” she replied simply, typing in her password. “Plus I kinda...sorta...work for him now,” she muttered.
I leaned back and looked at her. “What? When?”
“I spoke to him earlier. When you were avoiding everyone because you had a hard-on.”
Camille shuddered.
“He read the article and offered me a job.” Lani shrugged. “I couldn’t say no because, well, I don’t have one.”
“Were you going to tell me about this?”
“I hear the grumpy child,” Camille said, nodding. “Right there.”
“Why are you still here?” I asked her.
Lani mimed breaking us up as her browser loaded. “Of course I was going to tell you, but it just happened an hour ago. He’s evicting Anton Reeves from the newspaper building tomorrow, and he’s going to lease it to me. He doesn’t think Anton will hang around much longer when my article goes out, which leaves the Key without a newspaper. I get to start another one.”
“That’s all very convenient for you,” I teased her.
“Isn’t it? I planned it all along, can’t you tell?”
“Went off without a hitch.” I snorted and cupped the back of her neck. “So what exactly are you doing for Dad?”
“Well, for one, I have to hire your cousin as the photographer. He graduates this summer, right?” She looked to me for confirmation and continued when I nodded. “Right. So I’m giving him work experience until then, and when he’s graduated, we’ll hire him full time.”
“We?” Camille asked.
“Oh. Right. Your dad will own the paper. Well, mostly. I’ll own some.” She worked her way into the blog of our business’ website and pulled up a post. “So that’s how I technically work for your dad. It’s complicated. But I’ll also do the press releases for your businesses and blog on the website. I told you it was complicated.”
“I think I have a headache,” I groaned.
“But you’re staying, right?” Camille asked. “That means you’re going nowhere?”
Lani laughed. “Like Connie would let me go. But yeah, I’m staying. Right, here you go.” She handed me the laptop. “Read this.”
“Did you publish it?”
“Yes.”
“Why am I always the last to read things about myself?”
She shrugged. “It’s more fun this way. Plus you can’t make me change things.”
I side-eyed her, but she grinned. The smile reached her eyes, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about the one that formed on my face right back to her.
She leaned her head against my shoulder and I turned my attention to the article she’d aptly titled “Mistakes.”
Mistakes. We all make them.
Sometimes they’re little ones. We forget a doctor appointment. We don’t put the empty shampoo bottle in the trash and so forget to buy another bottle. We don’t wash our socks and can’t find a matching pair.
Sometimes they’re big ones. We accidentally turn the fridge off before leaving for a two-week vacation. We leave the flat iron on—and not on a heatproof mat. We say things that could hurt other people.
Some people are more prone to mistakes than others. The reasons why are nobody’s business but the people who make the mistakes, but there is one thing almost all these people believe: A person is not defined by their mistakes.
They’re judged, sure. They’re ridiculed or belittled and perhaps even disregarded as bad people.