19. Hunter
Hunter
W ith one towel hanging low on my hips and another in my hands as I dried my hair, I left the billowing hot steam of the bathroom in our penthouse bedroom.
Across the space, Lottie slept soundly on the bed, the blankets pulled up and bunched in front of her bare chest. Rays of sunlight reflecting off of the taller building beside us filtered in through the open blinds, covering the skin of her back and her hair, an extra bit of warmth for her nap.
She deserved the nap. I’d lost count of how many times she’d come unraveled because of me, how many times she’d moaned my name, how many times she’d clung to me like she never wanted to let go.
When we weren’t fucking, we were talking or sleeping or eating, always close, always wrapped around each other.
I had never experienced anything like this before with any other woman.
There were times I’d come close, times I’d fallen, but never this quickly and this hard.
The warmth that bloomed in my chest as I watched her breathing was familiar, but so wholeheartedly different.
If this were any other woman, I’d have run the second that spark flew.
But two things were holding me in place: the unavoidable agreement we had that would keep us together for at least the next few months, and the terrifying realization that I wasn’t afraid of it this time. With her, it felt good .
That feeling made me want to hold her, keep her close, go above and beyond for her.
Silently, I grabbed the new phone I’d picked up during our outing yesterday from the nightstand, taking care not to rouse her from her nap. She snuggled in deeper, tucking her chin into the bundle of blankets.
I grabbed a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and my old, shattered phone and tiptoed to the bedroom door, cracking it open without a sound and slipping through. I knew what I wanted to do, knew what it meant for me.
I swapped over my SIM card and I called in a favor.
————
While I waited for Lottie to wake up, I spent the majority of my afternoon putting out fires.
“I understand you’re worried about the changeover,” I said, trying to keep my hands from balling into fists from the number of times I’d said that exact phrase in the last two hours. “But I can assure you that nothing will be different. Edward Harris will still be around.”
“But he’s retiring.” Chris, a long-time client, wasn’t happy about any of this.
We’d been supplying him with horses, feed, crops, and machinery for nearly twenty years to his farm on the outskirts of Colorado, and now, because of the Keelings, he doubted us.
We’d never failed him before. “Whoever takes over will inevitably want to change shit and I don’t think I want to be around when you crash and burn because of it. ”
“Nothing will be different,” I repeated, trying to drive home the point. I only partway believed it myself. If my brother managed to win over my father, there was a good chance the company would crash and burn. “Either me or my brother, Fred, will be taking over.”
“Edward hasn’t chosen a replacement yet?” Chris boomed, irritation dripping from each word. “Christ. The Keelings were right—you are underprepared.”
“The Keelings are very good at what they do,” I ground out.
I flexed the muscles of my hand, pain blooming from the tightness.
“This is how they thrive. They convince a company’s clients that the company will fail.
They convince them to bring their business to their company instead, and when the former company eventually crumbles from a lack of clients, they swoop in and purchase the business for pennies.
Do you honestly believe that sticking with us will be more of a hassle than changing hands twice? ”
A moment of silence hung between us as he mulled it over. All I could hear was the whistle of his nose as he exhaled and the scraping of something metal against concrete. “I guess not.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and stood up from the couch, watching as the people below, small as ants, made their way toward their destinations. “We’ll be here every step of the way to reassure you that nothing will change.”
“I’ll give it some thought.”
“Chris,” I groaned, dragging my hand down my face.
“Please. You’ve no idea the amount of fires I’m having to put out behind the scenes because of this nonsense.
The Keelings are just desperate for your money.
I’ll have my father send over some of the outlines for the changeover, alright?
That way you can feel a bit more secure knowing we’re handling it. ”
The bedroom door creaked open behind me.
“Alright. I’ll hold off. Just don’t fuck me over, Hunter.” The line beeped once, twice, and when I pulled my phone from my ear, I realized he’d hung up. The temptation to crush the piece of metal and glass gnawed at the back of my mind as I stuffed it into my pocket.
Warm and soft arms wrapped around my waist. “Morning,” Lottie mumbled, her voice muffled from her face pressing into my back. The ache in my chest bloomed again.
I did my best to wipe the stress away and spun around in her arms, cradling her into my chest instead. “It’s basically evening,” I chuckled.
“Let me pretend it’s morning.”
Lifting her chin with one bent knuckle, she looked up at me with the haze of sleep still buzzing in her.
Fuck. The back of my throat tightened, that telltale sign that there were things I wanted to say to her that wouldn’t come out.
The fact that this woman had somehow wormed her way into my head from the very first night, was still unreal to me.
I leaned down, pressing my lips to hers, cherishing the moment of calm without the overwhelming need to be inside of her. I couldn’t blame it on anything, it was just a want, pure and demanding.
“You should get ready,” I whispered against her mouth. My fingers dragged through her hair, my body betraying me and keeping her close when I needed her to go and prepare for the evening. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
————
Of course Charlotte decided to wear the sexiest possible thing she could just to get a rise out of me.
She leaned over the hotel kitchen’s workspace, her long black hair piling against the stainless steel countertop and her breasts practically falling out of the top of her dress.
I’d shoved my phone into a glass to act as an impromptu speaker, and the same playlist I’d had on during her interview back on Oahu played calmly in the background as she watched me work.
“How much did you have to pay them for this?” she asked, her teasing grin widening as she pushed her elbows closer together.
I had to physically stop myself from looking directly at her breasts. “That is a secret I will take to my grave.”
Her eyes flicked upward, a half roll. “Come on. They had to close the restaurant. That’s staff pay, cover for the profit they would have made, enough on top to sweeten the deal…”
“I’m not telling you,” I laughed. Dark alcohol cascaded from the top of the bottle I held in my hand, deglazing the bottom of the pan before I tilted it on its edge, catching it on fire.
Charlotte’s little gasp reminded me far too much of the noises she’d made that morning and I had to direct my thoughts away from it before I caught my dick on fire, too.
“Does it bother you how much I might have spent?”
Her head shook back and forth, her hair flying. “No. Not on something like this.”
The alcohol burned off quickly and the flames died down. Grabbing a spoon, I started basting the top of the steaks
with the liquor, butter, and herb combination. “What does that mean?”
She pushed up from the counter, stretching her arms in front of her. “It means that if you wanted to take me on a date, this is the kind of thing I like. Not fancy restaurants with teams of photographers, something more personable.”
The tiniest drop of guilt took form in my chest. I hadn’t thought to ask her what kind of dates she preferred, but in fairness, private things wouldn’t work very well for the image we were trying to present.
We needed coverage, and coverage came with being in public so the press could photograph us.
I had assumed that fancy dinners were something most women enjoyed.
I guess I hadn’t stopped to consider that maybe she didn’t.
“I’ve just never been one for over-the-top, lavish dates.”
“Booking out the hotel kitchen and restaurant for two people isn’t over-the-top or lavish?” I chuckled, taking the pan off the heat to give the steaks time to rest. I pulled open the oven, checking on the baby potatoes and roasting tomatoes.
“No,” she grinned. “Because you did it to cook just for me.”
————
“Have you ever had a stable girlfriend or have you always fucked anything that moves?”
I had to cover my mouth to keep the red wine from coming out of my nose.
Lottie didn’t even bat an eyelash as she cut into her perfectly cooked cut of steak, plopping a bite into her mouth with a satisfying hum.
“You can’t just ask me that out of nowhere,” I laughed, half to cover up the minor uncomfortableness of the question and half because her pupils dilated as she chewed.
“This is so good,” she said around a mouthful, her hand blocking my view of her lips.
“I know it is.”
“Come on, then,” she pushed. “Answer the question. I’m just curious.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. There was only so far I’d been willing to go into my past with other women, only so much I was willing to tell. But talking with her felt like talking to an old friend, like speaking with someone who knew everything about you. “I had a fiancée.”
Her eyes widened further and her body stilled.