by Anna Edwards
“I’ll have the same as him, and he’s paying,” I replied sweetly. “You’ll just expense that back to the corporate account, right, Chaz?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Happily, Jill. Since it’s your trip, it’ll go on your expense report.”
My fingers curled into a fist. “We’ll see about that.”
He lifted his drink and said, “Already done. Cheers.”
The flight attendant passed me a cup before I could reply, and I considered dumping it on his arrogant head. Except that would probably just make him more appealing. And something told me dropping alcohol all over him would cross a line we’d never come back from.
It would also well and truly label me as a brat.
Asshole, I thought at him.
I busied myself with downing the liquid, enjoying the burn and fixing my gaze on the black sky outside.
Gideon didn’t try to talk to me again, something I was both thankful for and regretful about. Why couldn’t I just act normal around him? Professional? We were coworkers, for crying out loud. It should not be this difficult.
Just get through the flight. Sleep it off. Wake up tomorrow with a fresh mind-set to make this work.
Yeah, that sounded reasonable enough.
Okay.
I had a plan—a practical one.
How hard can it be to pull off?
Chapter Three
Chase
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Jillian’s sultry voice was really starting to grate on my nerves. The woman never said anything positive, and now was no exception.
“What my colleague means is, that’s fine,” I said, smiling at the clearly flustered receptionist. “We’ll figure it out.”
“We most certainly will not be figuring this out. I reserved two rooms. We will be getting two rooms.”
“Ignore her,” I murmured, flashing another grin. The poor girl behind the desk appeared ready to cry, and I could not handle two hysterical women. Jillian alone fulfilled my quota for the entire month. “As I said, we will figure it out.”
“Are you not—”
“Jill,” I interjected, my patience hanging on by a thread. I allowed her to see that with a glance, hoping my expression would be enough to convey that we were done having this discussion. “There is nothing she can do. We’ll come back in the morning, as she advised, to see if anything else has opened up. Got it?”
The late hour left us with no other alternative unless Jillian wanted to find a new hotel, which her expression said was very likely.
And so not going to happen.
After a five-and-a-half-hour trip from Baltimore to San Francisco—in coach class—I was not in the mood to play. Especially after my companion decided to ignore me every time I tried to discuss the itinerary for this conference.
Jillian intelligently gave a stiff nod, while her eyes said she had a lot more to say on the matter. I could play the silent game far better than she could, something she would learn tonight if she so much as tried to debate this point further.
“Here are the keys,” the receptionist said, her voice shaky. “Again, I sincerely apologize for the scheduling error. I’ve left a note for my manager to review as soon as she arrives in the morning. Fortunately, the suite has a couch.” That last part was offered with a wobbly smile.
“A couch,” Jillian repeated. “Yes, that makes it all better.”
My lips pulled tight into a forced grin. “Thank you”—I glanced at the thin woman’s name tag—“Gretchen. We understand this was not your fault, and we’ll make sure your manager knows that in the morning.”
A flash of relief crossed her porcelain features, and Jillian snorted behind me.
At least I’d pleased one female tonight.
I accepted the envelope of keys with a parting smile and led my disgruntled coworker toward the elevators. We’d both packed light, needing only one suitcase each, so I waved off the bellhop when we arrived.
The ride up to the twentieth floor was intensely quiet. I knew better than to allow it to bring me comfort because it only meant Jillian was gearing up for a speech.
Except her lips seemed too busy parting in awe to speak when we stepped into the suite. The night view of the San Francisco Bay Area stared back at us from floor-to-ceiling windows adorning a plush living room that belonged in a penthouse, not a standard suite. A kitchen sat to the left, as well as a door leading to the oversized bedroom with a giant king bed.
My lips flattened.
There was no way these arrangements were a “scheduling error.” Someone had clearly interfered, and I knew exactly whom to accuse.
I dropped my suitcase near the couch and pulled out my phone. What did you do? I typed, selecting Whiskey’s name and hitting Send.
Dots appeared instantly, as if he’d been waiting for my message.
Depends. What do you think I did?
Coy bastard. He knew exactly what he did. I took a photo of the room and shot it over to him, no words needed.
Niiiiiiice view, he replied. You’re welcome, buddy.
I snorted. Jillian is going to kill you.
Nah, you’ll put her in a good mood for me. He added a winking face to the end, causing me to roll my eyes.
She hates me, dude. This is not helping.
You’re blind, C. Trust me. This is exactly what you both need. Now stop talking to me and focus on Carmichael. Chick could do with a good fucking.
I coughed as I read that last part, nearly dropping my phone.
“What?” Jillian demanded, hands on her slender hips. “What did I do now to offend you? I’ve been quiet since you essentially told me to shut up downstairs. I’ve not argued or pointed out how unbelievably inappropriate these arrangements are. All I’ve done is—”
“For Christ’s sake, do you ever relax?” Jesus. Whiskey was so wrong about this situation. I’d call him tomorrow and demand that he fix it because, otherwise, I might end up throwing Jillian through those glass windows.
Or fucking her up against them.
I shook my head.
“We need to get some sleep. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.” Which started at the crack of dawn with registration. “You take the bed. I’ll be on the couch.”
I didn’t wait for her response, or acknowledge her in any way. Just pulled what I needed from my bag, went to the bathroom off the living area, and shut the door.
I’d sort out her attitude in the morning.
Until then, I needed a few hours of space.
By some miracle, Jillian actually listened to me, because the living space was empty when I returned. She’d closed the bedroom door, likely even locked it.
Because that would stop me from getting in there if I wanted to.
Fortunately for her, I didn’t have any desire to be close to her. The woman was unbearable. She demanded I read all her notes prior to the flight, then proceeded to ignore me when I wanted to talk through some of them. All I wanted to do was divide the schedule.
Our client—Richard Owlburn—provided a list of his employees attending the convention, and Jillian had hacked into the schedule to determine where each one was headed. Most of them were following the innovations path, but a handful wanted to review the business courses. I tried to suggest she handle the first track while I took the other, but the woman acted as if she couldn’t hear me.
Jillian was always short with me in the office, but this operated on a whole different level of annoyance. Her educational background and internship experiences had painted her as a prime candidate for technical analytics. Dawson had personally recruited her from a cushy agency job, offering to triple her salary. She’d negotiated agent training into her acceptance, something she’d been working hard on these last few months.
Dawson only approved her last week.
Not that I’d followed her career path at all.
Or observed any of her combat classes.
Okay, maybe one or two. Her prior martial arts training came
in handy, as did her knowledge of how to fire a gun. The woman was a natural, if a little green around the edges. This case was her big test. And so far? Yeah, I’d grade her performance as a straight zero. She needed to learn to improvise in all situations, which included ignoring emotions. Something she clearly couldn’t do with me.
“Do you, uh, need a pillow?” she asked from behind me, the door having opened without a sound.
I’d been staring at the couch like an idiot, thinking about her.
“Or a blanket?” she hedged, her lip catching between her teeth as I turned to face her. I’d lost my jeans in favor of gym shorts and left my shirt on.
“Are there extras in the closet?” I asked. Most hotels kept a few stowed away, especially in a suite this nice.
“Oh, uh, let me check.” She padded barefoot back into her room, clad in nothing but a pair of silk shorts and a tank top. Both of which looked delicate and soft against her pale skin.
I’d been right about her legs—long, smooth, athletically crafted. It was a bit of a shock to actually see them, considering her penchant for pants. She even wore them to the gym for fight training.
Good to know she could relax a bit in bed.
Not that I wanted to think about that.
Oh, hell, who was I kidding? Of course I wanted to think about that. And did. Often.
“Here,” she said, coming out of the closet and pausing at finding me waiting for her on the threshold.
I unfolded my arms and held out my hands for the items. “Thanks, Carmichael.”
She passed them over, swallowing. “Yeah. Any, uh, time.” She cleared her throat. “I should get to sleep, as you said.” She ran her fingers through her dark hair—which she’d finally let down. “Uh, night.”
I didn’t move away from the door but instead tilted my head to the side. “I’m not sure if you’re nervous because you don’t trust me to stay in the other room or if it’s related to this being your first real case. Which is it?”
Another swallow, this one slower. “I, well, both?” She shook her head. “It’s not trust, it’s just… This is incredibly awkward, right?”
“Sharing a room on an assignment? No, not really,” I admitted. “I mean, I usually work alone, but when I have a partner for a task, we sometimes share space because it’s easier to keep the other informed.” I leaned against the doorjamb, grinning. “It’s called teamwork for a reason, Jillian.”
“But it’s going to look strange that we’re sharing a room at a convention, right? Most companies separate their employees, I think.”
“Not always.”
“When wouldn’t they?” she wondered, her forehead puckering adorably. “I mean, providing privacy for a work trip is a pretty standard requirement.”
“Sure, unless the coworkers are fucking or have some sort of friendship that allows for it.”
She blanched at my blunt reply. “B-but we’re not… I mean… We hardly… This isn’t going… I…”
“Chill, Carmichael,” I said, amused by her flustered response. It was a nice change from the bitchy side she so often bestowed upon me. “You wanted an example; I provided one. That doesn’t mean we are engaging in the exception; it just provides a cover story should anyone ask. A tip, Jillian: Improvisation is often required when in the field. Roll with it.” I shrugged and pushed off the door. “I want to review the agenda in the morning. But first, I need some sleep. Try to do the same.”
She whispered something unintelligible in response, causing my lips to curl.
Point one for Chase.
About fucking time.
Chapter Four
Jillian
Chase stood in the doorway to my suite, arms folded, his lips quirked up at the sides. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Afraid of a little role play?”
Yes. I wiped my clammy palms against my silk shorts, my heart hammering in my chest. “This isn’t a good idea.” I kept my voice steady, a miracle considering my knotting insides.
“And why’s that?” he asked, a devilish glint in his gaze.
Because I’m attracted to you, I thought. And you just suggested we pretend to be dating to cover up this room situation. “You’re sure there’s nothing the manager can do?”
He shrugged. “I’ll be honest, Jillian.” He pushed off the door frame, taking a step in my direction. God, he was so big. Tall. Broad shouldered. Solid muscle. “I didn’t actually talk to her.”
I swallowed, trailing my gaze up his too-tight shirt to his strong neck and upward to meet his navy irises. “Y-you didn’t?”
He shook his head, shifting closer, causing me to back up into the bed behind me. Gideon caught my hip to keep me from falling, the heat from his body hot against mine. “I didn’t,” he murmured, his voice low, stroking sinful urges across my warming skin. “You feel this, don’t you? This connection? This need?”
My lips parted.
Did he…?
Is he…?
“I…” I had no reply because all I could think was, Yes. But he couldn’t possibly be talking about the attraction I felt for him. No way did he return the feelings.
I can barely stand the woman, he’d said just yesterday.
This had to be some trick of my mind. Some misunderstanding because—
“Jillian,” he whispered, his palm lifting to cradle my face. “Put me out of my misery here, sweetheart. Tell me you feel it, too.”
I gaped at him. Sweetheart? “I… I’m not…” All the words were trapped in my throat, sounding like gibberish from my tongue.
I am not this woman.
Gideon pulled me against him, hard, fast, the hand not cupping my face going to my lower back.
He feels firm and strong and so damn hot.
My nipples were stiff points against his rock-hard chest.
Where’d his shirt go?
Oh, who cares… His lips hovered a hairsbreadth away from mine, his breath minty and seeping into my waiting mouth.
He’s going to kiss me.
Fuck. Yes. Please.
He grinned. “Yeah, you feel—”
A blaring alarm sounded, cutting off our embrace. I shook my head, clearing it, finding the dim room around me empty.
I blinked, my heart racing in my chest, my lips fucking tingling with the memory of…
A dream.
I turned off my beeping phone and sat up, my silk tank top stuck to my chest. Everything had felt so hot, so overwhelming, so real.
It had taken me over an hour to fall asleep after Gideon’s comments regarding coworkers fucking because all I’d wanted to say back to him was, Yes, sir.
Something is very wrong with me.
My attraction to Gideon was in no way mutual. He’d only used that as an example to calm me down about sharing rooms, which, of course, had done the opposite. I wanted space from him, not to share space with him.
“Ugh.” I ran my hand over my face and I rolled out of the bed, a task list forming in my head.
Shower.
Dry hair and apply minimal makeup.
Change into something presentable.
Grab breakfast downstairs.
Find the event registration.
Avoid Gideon for the rest of the day.
Beautiful.
The first three items went by without interruption. I was on my way to complete task four—breakfast—when I ran headfirst into a sturdy chest.
A wet sturdy chest.
Strong hands gripped my hips, holding me in place as my balance swayed.
“Going somewhere?” a deep voice rumbled.
I cleared my throat, taking a step backward. Gideon stood before me, drenched. His white shirt revealed all the sinewy muscles beneath, his gym shorts stuck to his strong thighs, and his shoes were soaked through.
“What the hell happened to you?” I asked, shocked.
“Went for a run.” He cocked his head toward the water-streaked windows. “Got caught in the rain.”
I nodded dumbly. “Right.”
“Let me grab a quick shower, then we’ll go over the agenda.” He started toward the bathroom.
“Oh, I was going to grab breakfast and, uh, register. I figure we can just regroup later?” The last part was added awkwardly. “So. Yeah. I’ll just—”
He stood in front of me again. “I already ordered breakfast. You’re going to stay here and wait for me. Then we’re going over the agenda.”
I bristled at the command in his tone. “No, I’m going downstairs to eat breakfast. You can do whatever the hell you want.” I started around him, only to find my bicep in his unyielding grip.
He pulled me against the wall, crowding me with his much larger body. “I’m not in the mood for round two today, Carmichael. I slept maybe three hours. So this little attitude of yours? It ends now. Understand?”
“No,” I snapped, yanking my arm out of his grip. “I don’t understand. What the hell is your problem? All I want is some breakfast.”
He pressed his palms to the wall on either side of my head, effectively caging me in when I tried to sidestep him.
“Look, you can continue fighting me at every turn and tank this entire mission. Or, you can work with me to solve this case in record time, head home early, and never have to deal with me again. Your choice.”
How did the man smell this good post run? I mean, seriously. He should be completely appalling, but I found myself wanting to lean closer, to peel the wet shirt off that fine, chiseled body and survey every inch of his torso with my hands, fingers, and tongue.
“Ignoring me was not one of those choices, Carmichael,” he growled. “If you want to fail your first op as an agent, fine. But it won’t be because I didn’t try to coach you. You wanted me to read your notes, and I have. We need to divide the schedule for this to work. But I can’t do that if you won’t fucking talk to me.”
Shit. This man truly thought the worst of me. And honestly, I could hardly blame him. I’d been nothing but a bitch to him since we started.
No wonder he could barely tolerate me.
His comments to Dawson yesterday had hurt. Rather than face them intelligently, I’d allowed his sentiments to send me down this path of failure without a backward glance. All because a man I found attractive clearly didn’t return my feelings.