“I have a new assistant,” he says to Karen, giving me a withering glance as he tosses the straw into a trash can. “Yes, another new one.” His lips curve just slightly.

My leg swings with more vigor. Macon’s gaze zeroes in on it, and his lids lower a fraction. I find myself rethinking my decision to wear jean shorts that draw attention to my bare legs and go still.

It doesn’t stop him from staring. His gaze turns slumberous as he leans back in his chair. “Hmm?” he murmurs into the phone.

The muscles along my inner thigh draw tight, and I uncross my legs, switching to the other leg. It’s too hot in this damn room without curtains to mute the morning sun beating down on my shoulders and the tops of my breasts. I fight the urge to fan myself.

A slow smile unfurls over Macon’s lips, and he raises his head until our eyes meet. “Oh, I won’t be having any problems with her.”

On pain of death, his expression implies.

With deliberation, I lift my middle finger and pretend to put lipstick on with it. His smile turns positively gleeful, his teeth catching on his lower lip as if to rein it in. “Call it instinct,” he says to Karen. And then he faces the ocean, taking another long drink of his smoothie.

Karen says something that makes his nostrils flare in clear irritation. “For fuck’s sake, no.” Another pause. “Because she’s my employee and just . . . no.”

He sounds so offended that my insides pinch. Because it doesn’t take a genius to know Karen is asking if we’re screwing each other. Macon rubs his forehead. “She’s not an actress.” He huffs out a truly entertained laugh. “Believe me, she wants no part of this life. You’ll understand when you meet her.”

The smug assurance in his tone rubs over my skin like grit.

“No more questions,” he says with an impatient wave of his hand. “I’m going now.”

Cool quiet falls over the room, and I content myself with listening to the waves crash into the beach. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of asking why he wanted me to listen in on his conversation. We haven’t faced each other since the awkward way we ended things last night. Which is fine—employers aren’t supposed to hang out with the help.

But now Macon sits in his chair like the lord of the manor, his gaze boring into me so hard it prods at my breastbone like a pesky finger, daring me to look back at him. I don’t give in to the urge.

He finishes his drink before speaking. “You put something different in this.”

“It’s arsenic. I’d have gone the powdered-cookie route, but you’re on a diet.”

Amusement gleams darkly in his eyes.

“That mouth.” From under the fringe of his lashes, he assesses me, the tip of his long finger idly stroking his lower lip. “I’d thought my memory exaggerated the sass that mouth is capable of. Clearly not.”