10. In Terms of Turbulence
10
IN TERMS OF TURBULENCE
SOPHIE
We hadn’t even hit cruising altitude, and already I was in love with Richard Buchanan’s private jet. The magnificent luxury aircraft impressed me, not easy given I’d traveled on luxurious crafts growing up, often accompanying Mom and my stepfather on his business trips around the world. But I seldom admitted my true family connections to anyone—not even to Maisy, who knew me better than most.
Keaton stretched out all the way with his seat reclined like a bed. “I could get used to this kind of comfort.”
Plush cream leather with velvet navy pillows and gold cords as accents surrounded us. A staff member smiled nearby, dedicated to our every whim in the air. A bedroom in back for… well, I doubted Keaton and I would make use of it.
Not that a little fun in the bedroom hadn’t tempted every corner of my mind since our first kiss in Vivian’s pantry.
My eyes scanned the decor, only serving as a momentary distraction to the man lounging beside me, his long legs sprawled, while tapping something on his phone. His casual dark jeans, fitted rock band T-shirt, and trimmed beard with a baseball cap on his head backwards were more suited for a concert.
Out of this entire aircraft fitted for sixteen passengers, he had to sit in a seat directly next to me? Worth it for the view, not to mention his enticing spicy cologne.
Mm. I needed to stop ogling him, or my body would have a mild in-flight meltdown. This trip was all business, not pleasure. No matter how soft and persuasive Keaton’s lips were, I could remain a boss babe and keep my urges at bay.
Speaking of, we had yet to talk about the kiss in the closet at all. I’d been at Hops each morning, per usual, taking care of last-minute arrangements for Vegas, between talks with the producers, finalizing interviews with local media, and such. So he had ample time to say something like, Hey, about that kiss…
He never did, and I didn’t bring it up for fear I’d open my mouth and admit every lust and desire-filled thing my soul wanted with him.
“You’re staring, Soph,” he observed without taking his thumbs or eyes off of his phone.
“Nope. Just wondering what you brought to wear to the different functions this weekend.” Good cover up. I scanned again over the itinerary the show producer, Melanie, had emailed.
I hadn’t realized how many events Keaton was expected to appear in, focused solely on his branding relaunch celebration as I was. Keaton had made all the arrangements to get the newly labeled beer cans shipped to Vegas, while I handled all the party details, and even managed to land a few product placements at the wedding reception thanks to my friendliness and negotiation with the producers.
If everything went as planned, Brewed for Love’s eight million viewers would go wild for Keaton’s brand. Even more, I had Keaton’s fan club of social media influencers at the ready to post and created a buzz the minute the show aired.
Yes, he had a fan club online, and if anyone asked, I may or may not deny that I had started it back when I became hooked on his season with the show.
My entire plan fell into place, exactly as I liked it.
Just a few… minor details remained to sort out.
“Okay, Kingston,” I said, closing my laptop down and preparing for this important conversation. I laced my fingers in front of me with all the seriousness of a lawyer entering negotiations. “Terms and conditions. What are you thinking?”
Keaton smirked without looking up, his mouth snapping his gum. “About?”
“If we’re going to sell this?—”
“Sell what, exactly?” He cocked a brow and dragged a glance across my face.
“The idea that we’re dating. You wouldn’t take a random woman to Vegas. That’s an expensive trip, an entire weekend thing.”
“I think you are pretty random. No one knows I was seeing anyone.”
His minty breath enveloped me and I resisted the urge to toss something at him. Like, say, the throw pillow wrapped in blue velvet with a B monogrammed in gold braiding perched invitingly on the arm of my seat.
“I mean that, obviously, we should act like we know each other. We have to be convincing,” I explained.
“But we do know each other. You’ve invaded my brewery every morning, and we’ve talked. Hell, we even danced and kissed.” He set his phone aside and pushed the button to sit back up, as if he finally took an interest in this conversation. “I know more intimate details about you than I knew about my last girlfriend.”
“Like what?”
“Like how you take your coffee. How we have similar tastes in pie. And that nervous tic you have when you wear your glasses and push them up your nose.”
I resisted doing that now. After crossing an ankle on his knee, he leaned into me, over the armrest between us, taking up the outer boundaries of my seat space.
“About that kiss…” My voice got breathy.
“Admit it was good. ” The corner of his mouth lifted in a tease. I guess we were getting close, as he’d adopted my word lately.
“I wish we’d have talked about it.”
“What was there to say? ‘Gee, Sophie, the next time I want you to give me a little more tongue?’” He chuckled.
My mouth went dry. “We might have to—be expected to, in certain situations—kiss again in front of people.”
The idea of kissing him again, anytime, anywhere, already undid me. And what was the difference between fake and real? I wasn’t sure I’d be able to tell once my lips were attached to his.
“I’m counting on it. You should be prepared for plenty of them. Should we practice now?” He questioned casually, another tempting offer.
“Here?” I croaked, eying how far away the attendants were.
He shrugged a shoulder with a tilt of his head. “Why not? I’m game if you are.”
The cabin heated from the exchange of looks between us.
Another kiss or two? I didn’t need to arrive in Vegas with my panties any wetter before we landed.
“No.” I forced a laugh. “It has to be spontaneous. More natural that way.”
He looked amused. “Spontaneous, huh?”
“Yep.” I crossed my arms, trying to look professional and not at all like I was imagining exactly what his lips would feel like again. And because my nipples decided to play a game of peek-a-boo through the thin fabric of my blouse.
“I like that,” his voice changed to husky. “You’ve given me a blank slate. You may be powerless to stop how often I decide we need to kiss. Of course, feel free to lay one on me anytime, Soph. I’d never turn one down.”
The plane suddenly suffered from a bout of turbulence. I grabbed the armrest between us, but landed on his hand instead. He flipped his so our fingers laced. “I got you. If we go down, we do it together,” he said.
My breath caught, shocked by the kinetic energy between us. I swallowed hard, mind racing for a switch of topics. “I meant to call ahead and have a cot brought into the hotel room.”
“A cot? Bad idea. Once the hotel personnel puts two and two together, rumors will spread like wildfire that we aren’t sleeping together.”
“So? Just because we’re supposedly dating doesn’t mean we’re doing anything more.”
“Doesn’t it? People will be skeptical we’re together if we’re not actually together. Besides, those cots are uncomfortable and I don’t need to throw my back out and make our weekend miserable. I get enough of that hauling beer kegs around, and I’ll be damned if I brought you into this weekend just to have you sleep on a cot. We can handle sleeping in the same bed, can’t we?”
“With a line of pillows between us, maybe.”
Then he broke out into a chortle. “You’re not accounting for those certain acts of spontaneous shared combustion taking place, beyond kissing?”
“No, I’m being practical. Leaving things open can lead to certain things happening. And I’d hate for either of us to have any regrets later.”
“Regrets? ” Why did his question skitter out like gravel, sexy and sly. “You think being with me would be a mistake?”
“Regret might be the wrong word. A lot can happen in one weekend.”
“Well, you know the saying… what happens in Vegas?” He winked at me, then yawned and stretched his arms overhead. “I’m taking a nap. But feel free to snuggle up to me and nap, too, if you’d like.”
Oh, I’d like. “But the terms and conditions?—”
“Are covered under the spontaneous clause. Let’s see what happens and go with it.” He was much more laid back about this than I felt at the moment.
Not tired, I ran through the details of the weekend one more time. He slept the rest of the way. When we landed in Vegas, it was early evening. The desert heat hit us like a brick wall, refusing to budge as we stepped out of the jet. A shiny black car whisked us from the private airport hangar to the massive resort hotel hosting the wedding and the entire production.
Inside, the lobby sparkled with chandeliers and brass. The sound of activity in the casino reached us, with reels spinning, bells and whistles, and payout celebrations.
I kept pace beside Keaton, trying to look as cool and casual as he was, as his date.
We checked into our room, where in the middle there stood a plush king size bed. Which I ignored for now. After a quick freshen up, taking turns in the bathroom, we headed down to the welcome reception. I fidgeted in the elevator.
“Hey, relax. You’ll do great,” he assured me, reaching out and giving my hand a squeeze. “And you look gorgeous tonight, by the way.”
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach from his attention, multiplying my nerves. I stepped out of the elevator car on shaking legs and held onto his arm for dear life.
The event space gleamed in polished gold and champagne towers. A string quartet played near a giant floral arch where couples posed for professional photos.
Keaton had changed into navy suit pants and a crisp blue button-down shirt. He’d combed his hair back in a way I hadn’t seen before, and it totally gave him a cool vibe as if he wasn’t cool enough before.
I’d chosen a little black dress, sleeveless with a plunging back, convenient, for his hand found the small of my back as we walked in. Casual. Natural. Devastatingly familiar, like he’d been doing it our entire lives.
“Smile,” he murmured.
I let out a breath I’d been holding. “I feel like I’m walking into the lion’s den, having to meet all your friends.”
“They’ll love you,” he assured me, as if we really were a couple and I had to pass the friend test.
Not once since meeting the reality star crush of my dreams did I ever imagine walking right into his reality show hand in hand. People stared at us, or should I say, women glared at me like I had no right taking Keaton off the market for the weekend.
We made it to the open bar where Vanessa and Ben stood. The winning couple from Brewed for Love and now bride and groom greeting people, all smiles.
“Keaton!” Vanessa hugged him on sight. With her tall and willowy frame and pale blonde hair, her smile beamed so perfectly and white it looked photoshopped, even in person.
Ben had the debonair and handsome, charming way about him that made you think he should be acting in spy movies. They made a gorgeously sweet couple. No wonder they won, although my fan club had a certain percentage of comments about these two being way too perfect. Many believed they had to have skeletons in the closet, and flaws that they were very good at hiding.
I plastered a grin on my face as introductions were made.
“This is Sophie,” Keaton said, pulling me closer and kissing the back of my hand. “My girlfriend.”
Girlfriend… my stomach performed a somersault.
“So nice to meet you,” Vanessa said with a gleam in her eye. She seemed so authentic. I really wanted to believe she and Ben had found true love.
“You two look amazing together,” Ben added warmly. A part of me wanted to uncover cracks underneath all of their sparkle. But something at the open bar caught my eye—product placement number one.
“Keaton, look. Here it is. Happy Couple Ale by H.C. Hops, a little surprise placement that I arranged for you,” I proudly announced.
“I didn’t expect to see this here.” Keaton smiled from ear to ear. Suddenly, a guy with a camera nearby zoomed in as Keaton held up the can to admire it. He handed it to Ben, who performed as if on cue.
“We have a lot to celebrate this weekend. Here’s to my bride, of course, but also to Keaton and his great tasting brews. Nice work, my friend.”
“We’re so proud of you, Keaton,” Vanessa admired.
“Thanks. The new branding looks great, doesn’t it? Sophie designed it.”
My breath caught. That was never part of the plan. This was his big weekend to shine, not mine. My accolades would come after, when my job was done. When he’d hopefully write me a glowing referral letter, and I’d have clients lining up ready to work with me.
But part of me thrilled at the recognition. The way he said it, like I was someone who mattered.
The guys clinked cans and drank, and then I caught the eye of Melanie, giving her a nod. I’m sure she appreciated how much Richard Buchanan paid to sponsor this entire weekend in the name of Keaton’s craft beer business.
“You must be so excited about your big wedding day,” I exclaimed to Vanessa.
“I am. The biggest day of my life, even bigger than the day I became a Dallas Cheerleader,” her Texas accent drawled, thick and lovely. Her beauty radiated, as one would expect of any Cowboys cheerleader. What else could I say? She lived in a completely different world than me.
I only had to keep up appearances another minute before Melanie insisted they had to move on to greet others for the cameras. Then another couple joined us.
“Hey, you big idiot,” a guy said, clapping Keaton on the back.
I recognized Anthony, Keaton’s best friend from the show. I remembered him clearly. Always the life of the party.
If there’d been no Keaton on the show, I’d probably have crushed on bad boy Anthony.
His date, Cassandra, hung back a step, giving Keaton a slow, sultry once-over that made me suspicious.
“You clean up nice,” she purred, stepping forward and leaning into him a little too close, holding onto him in a hug a little too long.
Keaton chuckled, clearly used to her antics, and tossed back some flirtatious comment I didn’t catch because I was too busy grinding my teeth.
Anthony didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t care.
“You must be Sophie,” he said, turning to me. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All lies,” I said smoothly.
Anthony laughed. Cassandra didn’t and tossed her hair, glancing away.I smiled sweetly anyway.
Before I could decide whether to trip her with my heel, another familiar voice cut through the crowd.
“Well, well, well.”
I turned, and there she was. The one woman I worried I’d have an issue with all weekend—Starla, the show villain herself.
How she and Keaton even ended up together was beyond me. I saw through her from the beginning, but I’d wanted Keaton to win so badly, and Starla was a superb actress, playing the role of his love interest well, at least on screen.
Stunning, of course, she tossed her glossy blonde locks too often. In a dress cut to show off exactly the right amount of everything, her ice-cold eyes zeroed in on Keaton like a heat-seeking missile.
“So you showed up. Thanks for letting me know. And with this on your arm,” she said, voice syrupy sarcastic.
Keaton stiffened.
“Contractual obligation to be here, you know that. Didn’t mean I had to bring you,” he said coolly.
Starla’s gaze slid to me, assessing, calculating. “And you are?”
“Sophie,” Keaton said shortly. “My girlfriend.”
His lips were suddenly on mine, in a swift move I hadn’t expected, sending prickles of heat down my spine. We were on display for the world to see. I relaxed into it after the initial shock wore off.
He kissed me like he meant it. The heat, the pressure, the ownership in it rocked me to my core. Pretending got a whole lot harder.
Starla’s mouth twisted, but she covered it quickly. “Charming,” she said, tone dripping with insincerity.
Keaton’s hand tightened at my waist, warning me and reminding me. This weekend would be a challenge, but we’d get through it together.