9. Claire
9
CLAIRE
The shiver his deep voice coaxes from my body is enough to snap me out of my trance, and my face folds into a scowl.
“Get your orgy off my bed!”
I screech the sentence, and the women jump at my intrusion, but Jonah grins. He reaches over the blonde’s body and smacks her ass cheek. When she yelps, the sound is gargled, smothered by his dick.
“There’s room for you,” he taunts, then he pulls out of the blonde’s throat and wraps his hand around what I’m sure is a very slobbery erection. “You can be next.”
It takes everything in me not to trail my eyes down his sweaty, tattooed torso to his crotch. Barely two days and already this man has had his cock in his hand twice in my presence. The thought makes me lightheaded, and then my anger returns.
The eager expression that takes over his face as I walk toward him boosts my confidence. He actually thinks I’m going to take him up on his invitation. And he’s excited about it.
Idiot.
I close the distance until my thighs are pressed to the mattress and I’m inches from his chest. He’s kneeling on the bed, so he’s got over a foot on me, but I tilt my chin up and meet his gaze. His full lips are curved in a wolfish smile that transforms his face. Jonah’s an attractive man anyway, but this smile makes him deviously sexy. It’s almost enough to make me forget that there’s oral sex taking place a foot from where I’m standing and his bare dick is jutting between us coated in the blonde woman’s saliva.
Almost .
I force a smile that mimics his, just so I don’t sneer at him, then I hook my index finger in the leather necklace he’s wearing. Slowly, I pull his face down until our lips are almost touching. He smells like alcohol, but there’s also a hint of some expensive cologne that gives me pause. For a fraction of a second, I want to press my nose to his chest and smell him. I want more of it. When he wraps the hand not on his dick around my waist, I almost say fuck it and do it.
But then I blink away the disturbing thoughts and push forward.
“Jonah Hendrix,” I whisper sweetly. His grip on my waist tightens, and my breath hitches just the slightest bit.
“Yeah, Claire Davis?”
I brush the tip of my nose against his, then speak to him like a lover would. Pillow talk.
“I find you absolutely repulsive. The only way you’d get me at the end of your dick was if I were dead, and you were committing another felony.”
He chuckles. I drop his necklace, take a step back, and turn to face the women. Their eyes are already on me, and as weird as it is, I’m glad that I don’t have to go out of my way to get their attention. Having to interrupt yet another sex act would be an inconvenience.
“Ladies. Did you sign a non-disclosure agreement?”
I try not to focus on the fact that the brunette’s whole face is glistening with the blonde’s arousal, and they’re both completely naked. I can still see their big breasts in my periphery, and I hate to admit it, but it makes me self-conscious. So Jonah likes women with big boobs. Typical.
They look at each other, then back at me before the brunette speaks.
“Um...no?”
“For fuck’s sake, Hendrix.” I shoot him a glare and find him staring at me with narrowed eyes. “You don’t have them sign NDAs?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes.”
I take that to mean never. I look back at the naked women.
“Come with me, please.”
Both women look at Jonah for permission, and he jerks out a nod. Arrogant asshole. I grab my tablet and pull up the premade non-disclosure agreements. Both women sign without reading them. I roll my eyes again.
“It says you’re not allowed to talk about being here with Jonah Hendrix or any other part of your interaction with him this evening. That includes this conversation. If you do, you will be sued for an exorbitant amount of money. Do you understand?”
They both nod eagerly. I can tell they think they’re going to get back in bed with Jonah. My bed. Too bad I have to crush that hope.
“Good.” I point to the door. “Party’s over. You need to leave.”
Three jaws drop. Two on a gasp and one on a bark of laughter. The laughter grates on my nerves. He is such an asshole.
“Excuse me?” the brunette squeaks, looking between Jonah and me. I keep my face serious while Jonah looks amused. “You can’t do that. He invited us up here.”
“And I’m uninviting you,” I say calmly.
“We came all the way from Virginia for this,” the blonde argues. “You can’t just kick us out.”
Of course they came from Virginia. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if they grew up near me? I have to bite my tongue on a laugh.
“Look...” I glance at the NDA for her name. “Danielle. I’m sorry you traveled all the way to Sweden just to suck Jonah Hendrix’s dick.” I flick disinterested eyes at Jonah and cringe. “I would be disappointed too since he’s clearly not worth the plane ticket.” I look back at the women with a sad smile. “I would recommend the Vasa Museum or Stockholm Old Town. I’m sure they’ll be more satisfying.”
“You’re not in charge here,” the brunette argues, then she looks at Jonah. “Tell her.”
Jonah’s eyes lock with mine, and I arch a challenging brow.
If I back down now, it will set the precedent for the rest of my time here. I need to put my foot down. I need him to take me seriously. I’m ready to fight tooth and nail to win this one, but just as I open my mouth to tell him as much, Jonah speaks.
“Get out.” The command is spoken plainly, without emotion, and at first, I think he’s talking to me. Then he breaks our stare and looks at the women. “Get out.”
“But, Jonah?— ”
“Get. Out. Now. Or I’ll call security.”
I blink. It’s surprising, to say the least. The last thing I expected was compliance from him. Or such harshness to the women he was about to fuck. I don’t want to assume victory, though. I don’t trust him not to have something else planned. Something cruel or annoying or challenging. I watch quietly as the dejected women hurriedly gather their clothes and rush out. I actually do feel bad for them. It’s not their fault Jonah is an asshole who needs a babysitter.
Once the door closes, I turn back to him. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough to put up with you.”
I bounce my eyes between his, looking for the signs I know all too well. He’s definitely on something, but it’s hard for me to tell what or how much. I don’t know his tolerance, and he’s better at hiding it than the emotional, self-destructive teenager I used to know.
The thought threatens to pull memories I’d rather avoid, so I look away from him. His blue eyes are unsettling. In this moment, they’re too similar to my brother’s, despite the different shade of blue. The same troubled fog is there. The pain. And because I’m old enough to recognize it for what it is now, it messes with my head and my heart.
I take a deep breath and try to approach this professionally. This is a job . He is my assignment . He is not my older brother.
“Jonah, the only way this will work is if you follow my plan?—”
“Fuck your plan. It’s not going to work for me.”
I grit my teeth, and my nostrils flare as my breathing accelerates. I hate being interrupted—especially when it’s by an entitled, over-privileged manchild—but I try to ignore his attitude and press forward.
God, do I try.
“No more groupie flings without signing the non-disclo?—”
“NDAs kill the mood.”
“Too fucking bad,” I snap, anger boiling hot in my stomach. “NDAs are going to save your dumb ass from more slutty tabloid stories, and you know it.” I stomp around the room and pick up his clothes as I argue with him. “You’re lucky I don’t require all your conquests to provide medical records of their sexual health. You’re lucky I don’t badger them about birth control before they’re subjected to ten minutes of subpar sex. ”
I turn and toss his pants at him. They hit his chest, then hit the floor. He makes no move to pick them up.
“Sober sex only from now on,” I snap. “You and your partner. Never in my bed. And you’re getting tested. Celibacy until we get the results back.”
His brows rise. “That’s a violation of my privacy.”
“While I’m here, you have no privacy.”
He takes a step toward me, humor giving way to something more sinister. “You’re not in control here.”
“I am. It’s my job to?—”
“Fuck your job and fuck my father.”
The sudden vitriol in his tone makes me flinch, and for the first time since I walked in here, I’m actually worried about what he’s going to say next. His biceps flex, and I have a feeling if I glance down, I’ll find him picking at his thumb again. I don’t, though. His hands are too close to his possibly diseased penis.
“I looked you up, Claire Davis. You know what I found?”
My eyes widen and sweat prickles the back of my neck as he continues. Every cruel sentence is a blow to my confidence.
“Just a poor, small-town girl from Podunk nowhere with big city aspirations, right? Majored in marketing at a throwaway university in a throwaway town. Graduated middle of your class. Rented a shitty apartment you couldn’t afford in Manhattan because that’s the dream. Now you’re a little country bumpkin mingling with the rich city socialites in your secondhand Manolos. You want so bad to fit in, don’t you, Davis?”
I keep my spine rod-straight and my face stone. I don’t cry. I don’t even blink. But every word out of his mouth makes me shrink down further inside myself, and I know he can see it. His sharp blue eyes are carving at my skin, exposing bone and muscle, hitting every nerve.
“Then you get hired as a junior creative developer at Innovation Media, one of the best marketing firms in the world, despite not attending a prestigious university. Despite not graduating with honors. Who’d you fuck, Claire? Was it your boss? Did your boyfriend make some calls? I bet he’s some rich prick investment banker with a wife and kids at home. Bet you’re his pathetic little side piece.”
I hate him. My eyes sting. My chest throbs. I hate him .
He huffs out a laugh and tilts his head to the side as he runs his eyes over my face, then lowers his voice and speaks to me like a lover would.
“I bet you’re the success story of your shitty little town. Bet your family just loves to show you off during the holidays. Do they know about the two-month stay at a ‘wellness facility?’ What about your hospital stay? Are you just a pretty little lie, Claire? Keeping up appearances for your married boyfriend?” He shakes his head, eyes dragging over my face in an almost curious manner. Collecting data. Testing a hypothesis. Studying. “I don’t think you’d be so celebrated back home if they knew the real Claire Davis. Do you?”
I glare at him for what feels like hours, and he stares back. It’s infuriating how unbothered he is. His face is placid with just a hint of amusement, and his muscles are relaxed and loose despite having just eviscerated my insides. He’s standing here completely naked, and yet I’m the one who feels exposed.
I. Hate. Him.
I force my breaths to slow. I wait until I think I can speak without my voice cracking.
“Congratulations,” I clip out, fury and pain licking up my insides, burning in my throat. “You know how to do a background check. You know nothing.”
He shrugs. “I know you need this job. I know any position you’d get if you’re fired from Innovation would be a serious downgrade.”
“I won’t get fired.”
“You will if you fail to polish up the CEO’s son into something shiny and presentable.” He reaches toward my face, but I swat his hand away, and his cruel smirk returns. “Play it my way, or I’ll fuck everything up for you.”
I narrow my eyes and stay silent. When he realizes I’m not going to reply, he must think his threat scares me because he continues.
“You’re going to take five giant fucking steps back. You’re going to cancel every PR stunt that we can’t fake. You’re going to let me do whatever the hell I want, and after a month, you’re going to lie. You’ll tell Hammond and my father that I’m fine. That they never had anything to worry about at all. And then you’ll disappear. Got it?”
The fucking audacity of this man. The absolute arrogance. I’m usually against violence, but I’ve never wanted to punch someone so much in my life. I clear my throat.
“Are you done?”
He fucking grins. “For now.”
“Okay. My turn. Thank you for that riveting offer, but I’m going to decline.”
His grin falls. “Excuse me?”
“I won’t be doing any of what you just suggested.”
“Do you realize that I can end your entire career with one phone call?”
“Do you realize that I know all about your deal with your label? The morality clause and how your stupidity put you at risk of violating it. How your selfish actions could screw over not just you, but your entire band. Remember that, Jonah? Because I sure do, and I read the whole contract. I know about every single consequence you’re set to face if you don’t cooperate. And here’s the thing. I know that scares you. Who are you if you’re not in this band? If you’re not this cocky, broody, asshole rock star who gives zero fucks? Hm?”
I pause and watch his jaw pop. His eyes are narrowed to slits as he juts his chin, telling me to go on.
“Without the rock star facade to hide behind, you’re everything you hate. Just a spoiled little rich boy from upstate New York. Youngest of two sons. The baby. Set up for success by your parents in every possible way. Went to the best private schools on Daddy’s generational wealth. Got a legacy acceptance to Yale. A trust fund, a mega yacht, a summer house in the South of France, and absolutely zero consequences for any of your bad behavior. The perfect little pride and joy. Until now.”
I mimic his earlier gesture by reaching for his face, but unlike me, he doesn’t swat at my hand. He lets me run my fingers over his jaw, then toy with a strand of his long blond hair.
“You’re not the only one who can do an internet search, Jonah Theodore Henderson, but I have to say, I was surprised to see you with brown hair and glasses in your school pictures.” I look back into his blue eyes. “Do you wear contacts?”
He swallows, and my attention drops to his Adam’s apple. There’s an anatomical heart tattooed on his throat, and it almost looks like it’s beating with the movement. I drop my hand to my side and step back before I touch that, too. I make eye contact again, steeling my face to appear more resilient than I feel.
“I’ve watched women I love be manipulated and mistreated by men like you my whole life. I’ve watched them become husks of who they were, turning themselves inside out for selfish men who didn’t appreciate them or see their worth. Men who couldn’t see past their own wants or weaknesses. Their own addictions. You won’t do that to me, Jonah. I won’t let you. I’m here to do a job. I will do it my way, and I promise you, if I go down, I’m taking you with me.”
While I’m talking, I watch Jonah’s face grow devoid of emotion. It’s just as fascinating as it is haunting. He goes from sinister to shocked, to pained, and then to... nothing . Indifferent. Completely shut down.
I wonder if this is how serial killers look just before they snap. Weirdly enough, though, I’m not afraid of him. Not even a little. Maybe my anger makes me stupid.
“Do you understand?” I ask slowly.
He nods.
“Sure, Davis.” He takes a step toward me, and then a new smirk forms on his still-swollen, thoroughly kissed lips. It throws me so far off guard that my poker face slips, and I find myself frowning at him. “Now what do you suggest I do about this?”
His shift in mood is so disarming that it takes a second for me to realize he’s talking about his dick. We’ve just hurled insults and threatened each other’s lives, and now he’s...coming on to me? Is that really what’s happening right now?
I give my head a shake. He wanted to shock me, and he succeeded. I’m momentarily speechless. I was so entrenched in the argument that I even forgot he was naked, but now I have to fight to keep my eyes planted firmly above his chin.
I don’t want to know if he’s still hard.
I don’t care.
Instead of deigning to give him a response, I grab the phone and dial the hotel concierge. When they answer, I ask for two new pillows and for my bed linens to be changed as soon as possible. Then I hang up and move to my suitcases.
“I’m taking a shower,” I say over my shoulder. I don’t look at Jonah again as I roll my bag into the bathroom with me. “You have an appointment with your trainer in the morning. Good night.”
The moment I shut and lock the bathroom door behind me, my body nearly collapses. I hadn’t realized how fiercely I’d been fighting to stay upright, but now I’m exhausted. My fingers tremble, and tears form once again in my eyes.
I turn on the shower, leaving the glass door wide open so the water sound is louder, and sit on the edge of the tub. I drop my head between my knees and breathe. When I don’t think I’m at risk of passing out, I drop to the floor in front of the toilet and empty my stomach into the bowl.
I flush. I rinse my mouth. I take a Xanax. I rinse my mouth again. I brush my teeth. Then I step into the shower and stand under the steady stream of hot water.
I force everything Jonah said in that bedroom out of my head—everything that was wrong, and everything that was not—and I focus instead on the task at hand. I visualize my calendar for tomorrow. I run over my mental checklist. I plan.
By the time I’m drying my body with one of the fluffy hotel towels, I feel better. I’ve successfully removed my past from my present, and despite very strong-armed attempts at devastation, I’m once again in control of my emotions.
I dress in pajamas, take a melatonin supplement, and climb into my freshly made bed. The hotel room is dark, silent but for Jonah’s steady breathing, and just before I succumb to sleep, I steel my resolve.
I don’t know if I’m going to succeed with Jonah Hendrix, but goddamn it, I will die trying. He’s a brand. Nothing more. As long as I remember that, I’ll at least get out with my sanity intact.