Mr. Perfectly Wrong (Alphalicious Billionaires Boss 5)

What a pair we are. Me with my dirty, bleeding, and blistered feet, and Adam, bleeding all over the place from his head gash. He still hasn’t said anything. Is it because he knocked himself senseless or because he’s in too much pain? Maybe he’s just seriously pissed. Or really embarrassed.

“Are you ready to have that beer yet?”

That’s the magic word. Adam still grimaces, but he snorts and shoves himself to his feet. “Yeah,” he mutters. “That sounds like a good idea. Let’s find somewhere to buy a case.”

“A twelve-pack?”

“More like a twenty-four.”

“I’m sure there’s an off-sale around here. It’s a campground. Don’t people go camping just to drink?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Do you want me to come down there and help you up?”

“No. No, I don’t want you to come down here. Just stay right there. And if you see any more snakes, stay away from them and the edge.”

“Okay. Point taken.” I back up a couple of steps.

Adam’s a little shaky on his feet when he first takes a few steps, but then he recovers quickly. He keeps one hand pressed to the cut on his forehead. It must hurt, but at least it slows the bleeding down. With the other, he fairly nimbly climbs up the side. He grabs at rocks, trees, and shrubs, whatever he can find. He’s so fit that he makes it look easy. If it were me, I think I would have fallen back down a hundred times from trying. I would probably have died right on the spot if the snake came after me and also from seeing that much blood coming from my own forehead. It makes me panic just watching him climb up even though he moves surely and steadily. I want him to be okay. I mean, who’s going to give me the ten grand if he dies? Yeah, no, that’s not the only reason. I’m just trying to put on a brave face and be sarcastic since that’s what I usually turn to in times of trauma and distress.

“My boots…” I look back over the edge when Adam joins me on the path sans boots. They were in his hands when he went over.

“I’ll carry you.”

“Absolutely not! We had this discussion already. And you’re bleeding. A lot.” Thank goodness I have a sports bra on because when I take my tank top off, it just looks like I’m ready for some serious jogging or to hit the beach. Given that I don’t have shoes, the beach seems logical.

Adam stares at me strangely for a minute. He’s doing that thing where I can tell he’s trying not to look at me, which just makes him look harder. I feel weird, because no, I’ve never stood in front of my boss in nothing but shorts and a sports bra, but then I remember his ex-wife looked like a goddess, and I’m Celery Stephanie. He’s probably just trying to focus his vision after that nasty blow to the head.

“Here…” I ignore the fact that my stomach feels strange, and my hands are trembling. It’s just the blood. I’m so close to all that blood. “Let me wrap this around your head. You can’t walk back all that way, holding your hand there. If it keeps bleeding, you won’t be able to see either. And it’s disturbing and probably a beacon for all the wild animals in this whole place. I swear bears get blood lust.”

“What’s with you and bears?”

“Snakes then. Raccoons. Skunks. Rodents. I don’t know. I’m sure something can smell all that metal tang, and they’ll come for us.”

“Doubtful.”

“Just let me wrap it around your forehead. You can’t walk all that way with blood spurting out every single step.”

“Does it look badass?”

“No. It looks disgusting. Now bend down.”

He finally does, bending his knees a little bit so I can reach up and tie my shirt around his head. It barely fits, but I do manage to secure it by looping the straps together.

“I hope no one sees us walking into the campground like this. They’ll probably call the cops or something.”

“There’s a public bathroom right by the trail. We could clean up there.”

“Good thinking. I could use another shower.”

Adam rolls his eyes, and we set off. I let him lead. I follow behind him because I’m scared to let him out of my sight. I’m afraid he’ll blackout and pitch right over the edge again. Thankfully, he stays pretty close to the safe part of the path—the part without a massive drop off the side. I keep watch just in case he gets all shaky or faint, but he doesn’t. The cut must be pretty small, and the head wound just a graze because he walks with just as much confidence as before. I, on the other hand, limp along with my poor, painful feet.

And I so don’t use Ad

am’s beautiful, denim-clad ass to distract myself from the misery I’m currently enduring. Although if I did, he’d deserve it for dragging me out here. For making me hike even though I hate hiking. For my poor feet. Okay, so that one’s on me because I’m pretty sure he was right about the socks.

By the end of the trail, I decide on two things. One, I am excited about my second shower, or at least my feet are, even if the water and soap are going to sting like a bitch. And two, this campground better have some sort of alcohol for sale somewhere. I don’t normally drink, and I don’t even like beer, but right about now, a beer sounds like heaven.