3. Ayana
CHAPTER 3
Ayana
G ood news: Vuk didn’t kill me during our flight to San Francisco.
Bad news: We had roughly twenty-eight hours left together, and I couldn’t guarantee his murderous tendencies wouldn’t pop up sometime between a slice of chocolate cake and our return to New York.
Due to morning traffic and unforeseen storms across the Midwest, we took off and landed later than expected. We didn’t have time to check in to our hotel before the tasting, so I freshened up in the jet’s bathroom instead.
Moisturizer, check.
Lipstick touch-up, check.
Swap out my flats for a pair of killer Louboutins, check.
When Vuk and I finally left the jet, a black Rolls-Royce was already idling on the tarmac.
He waited for me to slide in first before he joined me—though “joined” was too generous a term for the way he sat as far from me as humanly possible. He was pressed so tight against the opposite side of the car, I was surprised he and the door didn’t fuse together like some sort of weird billionaire-vehicle hybrid.
“I don’t have a contagious disease,” I said. “You can sit like a normal person. I promise I don’t bite.”
No response.
Shocker. He’d acknowledged me with two seconds of eye contact when I showed up for our flight and proceeded to act like I didn’t exist.
I considered touching him briefly to see if he’d melt like the Wicked Witch of the West at my audacity, but since I wanted to arrive at the tasting in one piece, I pulled out my phone instead.
My plan to catch up on my favorite fragrance blogger’s latest posts disintegrated when I saw the name flashing on my screen.
Four letters, instant stomach-churning nausea.
“Hi, Hank.” I kept my tone even as I turned my back to Vuk and lowered my voice. He could still hear me, but the illusion of privacy was the only comfort I had in that moment.
Every time I talked to my agent, I wanted to crawl out of my skin. I couldn’t believe there’d been a time when I thought he was on my side.
That was one of the hardest parts of growing up—realizing the people you trusted to have your back were often the ones stabbing it.
“Ayana.” His oily greeting oozed over the line. “Did you make it to Cali okay?”
“Yes. We’re on our way to the tasting now.”
“Excellent. And I hear you’re with Vuk Markovic?”
My shoulders tensed. I hadn’t told Hank about my change in travel partner, but he knew. He always knew.
I was so paranoid about his inexplicable omniscience that I’d swept my apartment and devices for surveillance bugs a few months ago. I hadn’t found anything, which was somehow worse than if I had.
“He was kind enough to fly with me after Jordan couldn’t make it.” I didn’t ask how he found out about Vuk.
Hank pounced on the smallest sign of weakness, and if he picked up on how much his seeming omniscience unnerved me, he’d double down on it.
“How generous of him.” A door slammed, followed by the sound of an espresso machine brewing in the background. “Well, I hate to interrupt your weekend…”
I almost snorted out loud.
He had no qualms about interrupting me when I was doing anything. He’d once insisted I run downtown for a last-minute casting call while I was in the middle of a dentist appointment.
“But I’m calling to make sure you’ll be back in time for the Delamonte Cosmetics shoot Monday morning.” Or else . Hank paused, letting his unspoken words fill in the silence before he continued. “They’re a big account. The agency will be very upset if you jeopardize this campaign, especially given your recent distractions.”
My nails dug into the leather seat. By “distractions,” he meant my wedding preparations.
Hank and the agency’s management hadn’t been thrilled when I told them I was engaged, but they hadn’t put up a huge fuss until this past month. That was when the wedding prep went into full swing and filled up my schedule. They’d been breathing down my neck ever since.
“I haven’t jeopardized a campaign yet,” I said. “I’ll be back by Monday morning. Don’t worry.”
“Good. Because if you’re not, we’ll be forced to deduct the lost earnings and the cost of time and labor from your next paycheck.”
Anger surged up my throat. I swallowed it before it spilled out in a deluge of curses that would make a trucker blush.
“Understood.” Still calm, still even. I would not let him hear me panic.
He hung up, and I forced myself to take a deep breath before I unclenched my fist and dropped my phone back into my bag.
Hank hadn’t called because he was worried I would miss Monday’s shoot; he’d called to reassert his authority over me. To remind me that I was beholden to him because of the stupid contract I’d signed when I was nineteen and hadn’t known any better.
My anger spread into my stomach and mixed with nausea.
Six more months.
I had to deal with him for only six more months. After that, I could break my contract and free myself from the agency forever.
I’d wanted to leave for years, but that hadn’t been possible until Jordan came to me with his proposal.
I took another deep breath and faced forward again. I barely had time to compose myself before heat scorched my cheek, and I turned to see Vuk staring at me.
Was that your agent?
I’d known he could hear my end of the conversation, but I was so startled by his sudden desire to converse that it took me a second to respond.
“Yes. We were talking about—about an upcoming photoshoot.”
You sounded upset.
First, he initiated conversation. Now he was concerned about my emotional state?
I almost checked the car for hidden cameras in case we were on a prank show, but Vuk Markovic would never deign to go near reality TV.
Instead, I did what I did best—I deflected.
“Not upset. Just a little stressed with everything going on.” I flashed the same smile that’d landed me a coveted deal with Delamonte Cosmetics. “What about you? Anything exciting going on at work?”
Not the most inspired of topics, but it was the only one I could come up with on the fly.
What did he say to you?
So much for deflection.
“He was reminding me of Monday’s schedule.” I wasn’t going to spill my deepest, darkest secrets to Vuk, of all people. Even Jordan didn’t know how bad things were with Hank. “Why are you so interested in what he said? Don’t tell me you’re looking for an agent.”
I meant it as a light-hearted tease, but Vuk’s glower only deepened.
Hank Carson. That’s his name?
I nodded, hiding my surprise. My agent’s name wasn’t something the average non-industry person memorized.
Vuk’s face shuttered, turning cold and remote. A flicker of darkness passed through his eyes, and goosebumps peppered my flesh.
I crossed and uncrossed my legs again, my stomach warm despite the sudden chill. It was like he was imagining Hank’s murder because…of me?
No. That couldn’t be right. He didn’t even like me.
So why did the thought of his hypothetical protectiveness send a tiny flutter through my chest?
Because no one has ever protected you since you moved to New York. Not without wanting something in return.
Clearly, I was delusional. There was no world in which Vuk would feel protective of me.
But the silence pounded as surely as my heartbeat, and there was a second, just one, when I thought he might?—
A car horn blared outside. Vuk’s expression hardened, and he sat back and took his phone out like nothing happened—because nothing did happen.
He’d confirmed my agent’s name. That was all.
I turned and stared out the window while I waited for my rapid heart rate to return to normal. Eventually, my pulse calmed, and the world righted itself as we crawled through afternoon traffic.
Nothing happened.
Still, a whisper of warmth remained in my stomach for the rest of the ride.
* * *
We made it to the bakery with less than a minute to spare. The receptionist checked us in and led us to the back, where the tasting area was already set up with coffee, tea, and an assortment of cakes.
“Hi.” Sammy Yu greeted us with a broad smile. He was a handsome man, tall and square-jawed with short dark hair and a laid-back demeanor. “You must be Ayana and Jordan. It’s wonderful to meet you.”
“It’s great to meet you too.” I shook his outstretched hand. “Jordan actually had a family emergency and couldn’t make it. This is Vuk, his best man. He’ll be, um, sitting in for Jordan today.”
Vuk greeted him with a curt nod.
Sammy’s eyebrows rose.
I guess it was unusual for a groomsman to take on such an important wedding activity, but Sammy was professional enough not to comment on it.
We settled into our seats. The receptionist brought out glasses of champagne, and I spent the next hour discussing the wedding with Sammy and sampling the cakes.
He’d created six flavors based on the preference profiles Jordan and I filled out beforehand.
Each and every one was mind-blowing.
No wonder people traveled out here to see him. I was afraid he’d be overhyped, but the cakes were definitely worth the hype.
“Once you choose a flavor, we’ll tackle the cake design,” Sammy said. “I’ll send you a few sketches next week. Do you have a favorite so far?”
“I love all of them, but I’m leaning toward this one.” I gestured at the raspberry almond. “Vuk, what do you think?”
He’d taken one bite of each cake and given exactly zero feedback for them.
That’s your choice?
I frowned. “Do you not like it?”
It’s not about what I like. His gaze sharpened. Jordan hates almonds.
Fuck . He was right.
Jordan’s aversion to the nut had completely slipped my mind, but as his fiancée, I should’ve been on top of it.
That being said, why the hell hadn’t he mentioned it on his preference profile? We’d filled ours out at the same time, so I knew he’d submitted his.
“Right. I guess we forgot to include it in our forms.” I tried to play it off with a laugh. “We filled them in right after the Met Gala, and we were exhausted. I should’ve remembered today, but I have plane brain. You know how it is.”
Vuk stared at me, his face dark with suspicion.
My pulse tapped a frantic rhythm against my veins.
It’s fine. He doesn’t know. So what if I forgot Jordan hated almonds? It was a small mistake. It’s not like I threw his ring in the trash and said I hated him.
Even if Vuk found out about our arrangement, he wouldn’t run to Jordan’s grandmother and tattle on his best friend…unless he hated me so much he would use that as an opportunity to kill our engagement.
If it were anyone else, I would’ve dismissed the idea as far-fetched.
But this was Vuk Markovic. I wouldn’t put anything past him.
After a tense, drawn-out moment, he shifted his attention back to Sammy.
I should feel relieved, but the knot in my gut only tightened. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Vuk was adding the almond slip-up to some mental folder he’d compiled just for me.
Sammy watched us with a bemused expression. “So, no almonds. I’ll make a note of that.” He tactfully avoided commenting on my end of the conversation. “Do you have a second favorite flavor?”
“I think either the hazelnut with chocolate buttercream or the rose and Earl Grey.” The latter was more aligned with my tastes, but this was a two-person decision. I attempted to engage Vuk again. “Which do you like better?”
It doesn’t matter. I’m not the one marrying you .
I didn’t lose my temper often. My parents taught me never to make a scene in public, and I tended to be more nonconfrontational than not.
However.
Vuk was being an asshole , and after a seven-hour flight, a phone call from Hank, and so much sugar I might’ve gotten a cavity, I was done tolerating his passive aggressiveness.
I signed my reply instead of verbalizing it. No need to make things awkward for Sammy.
I know that. I’m simply asking which one Jordan would prefer. Also— my hands cut sharp slashes through the air— while I appreciate you taking the time to accompany me, I don’t appreciate your uncooperativeness. You agreed to be here. Either act like a decent human being and pick a damn flavor, or leave. I’ll find my way back without you.
Sammy’s eyes darted between us. The room was so quiet I could hear the receptionist typing up front.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
My heart thumped in rhythm with her jabs. I wasn’t entirely convinced Vuk wouldn’t storm out and leave me stranded in California, but he looked almost amused.
He tilted his head toward the rose and Earl Grey without taking his eyes off me.
Jordan won’t care. But that one suits you more.
How did he…
Never mind. There were two choices. He had a fifty-fifty chance of landing on my favored one. It didn’t mean anything.
“Option number two it is.” I smoothed a hand over my skirt and smiled at Sammy. The poor guy was probably regretting taking us on as clients already.
“Perfect. I’ll finalize the details with Vera up front. In the meantime, please.” He gestured at the remaining spread. “Enjoy the drinks and food. I’ll be back with more champagne to celebrate.”
You’ve been holding that rant in for a while, Vuk signed after Sammy was gone.
My face flushed. “Only because you’ve been so…so…”
Uncooperative? I could practically hear his mocking tone.
I glared at him, but my biting response died a quick death when he reached up and brushed a thumb over my cheek.
I froze.
He’d never touched me before. Ever. He didn’t even shake my hand when we first met.
My muscles instinctively tensed, torn between the impulse to flee and the desire to lean in.
His hand was rough. Strong. But his touch was surprisingly gentle as he rubbed the corner of my mouth.
Then it was gone, and oxygen flooded my lungs like I’d been holding my breath for hours instead of seconds.
I unconsciously touched the same spot he’d brushed. A ghost of warmth lingered.
Vuk’s lips thinned. He wiped his hand on a napkin and tossed the crumpled paper into a nearby trashcan before scribbling something on a fresh napkin.
He pushed it toward me, his eyes cool.
You had frosting on your face.
Right. That made sense.
Heat scalded my neck and chest. What was wrong with me today? Why was I making our interactions into a bigger deal than they were?
Thankfully, Sammy returned at that moment and saved me from responding.
Vuk and I both declined one more glass of champagne. We wrapped up the paperwork, and fifteen minutes later, we were on our way to our hotel.
We’d booked Sammy’s last appointment of the day. The sun was already setting by the time we left, and though we could’ve flown straight back to New York, staying overnight seemed preferable to taking a round-trip cross-continental flight in under twenty-four hours.
I put my body through enough during Fashion Week and unhinged photoshoots, so I tried to let it rest when I could.
“Mr. Ford and Ms. Kidane, welcome to the Winchester,” the front desk agent chirped. I’d given her my ID for check-in, but I’d forgotten to change Jordan’s name on the reservation. Neither Vuk nor I corrected her. “I see here that you’re booked for one night in our Regal Suite. I’m happy to confirm that your room is ready. Here are your keys. The elevators are down the hall to your left. If you need anything at all, please dial zero for the front desk and we’ll be happy to help.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. Shit .
Jordan and I had booked a one-bedroom suite for appearance’s sake. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten to change our sleeping arrangements after Vuk replaced him on the trip.
Beside me, Vuk went rigid.
“Apologies, there’s been a last-minute change in plans. I should’ve mentioned this earlier, but it’s been a long day.” I gave the desk agent a sheepish look. “Can we add an extra suite to our reservation? We—that is, we’d like separate rooms if possible.”
The agent’s smile wavered. “I’m so sorry. The hotel is fully booked. There’s a Riley K. concert this weekend and every hotel in the area is slammed. The Regal Suite is our only availability for the night. But ”—she brightened again—“it does have a cot, so it sleeps two. Would that work?”
Vuk’s hands curled into fists on the counter.
I gulped. I hoped he wasn’t imagining strangling me. If we had to share the same room, I wanted to wake up in one piece.
“Miss?” the agent prompted.
“Um.” I glanced at Vuk. One call from him would definitely free up a suite somewhere in the city. Hell, he could buy this entire hotel right now if he felt so inclined. But he hadn’t offered, and I didn’t want to ask. “That does work. Thank you.”
Our suite occupied the top floor of the hotel. It boasted a living room, a dining room, a bedroom with an ensuite marble bath, and yes, a cot.
A very small, flimsy-looking cot.
To be fair, it would’ve been adequate for anyone other than Vuk. The man was six-five and weighed at least two hundred pounds. He could crush that thing between his bare hands.
“You can take the actual bed,” I offered. “I don’t think you’re going to, uh, fit on that.”
I’m not taking the bed.
Fine. I wasn’t going to argue.
As bad as I felt for him, I liked my silk pillowcases and Duxiana mattresses more. Sue me.
I was unpacking my toiletries and debating what to order from room service when the inevitable happened.
Vuk tossed his duffel onto the cot and sat.
The frame bowed with an ominous creak.
And, before either of us had time to register what that forebode, the cot promptly collapsed.