Chapter 8 Roman
CHAPTER EIGHT
Roman
Should I move? Do something to make this super cute woman more comfortable?
“So, whose room have you come from?”
“Huh?” A bright red blush floods her cheeks. “Room? My room.”
I furrow my brows. “Your… oh wait, are you the new chef?”
Her eyes widen, and if I wasn’t looking closely, I might’ve missed the way her lips press together in frustration.
She’s trying to keep it together. I can practically see the thoughts running through her head as an internal battle between wanting to be professional and wanting to strangle me.
I grin.
“Yeah,” she huffs, shaking her head, “that would be me. The new chef.” She straightens, finally lifting her eyes to meet mine. “The one who doesn’t need to see you naked.”
“And yet here you are… spying on me.”
She groans. “I wasn’t spying.”
“Right,” I say, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. “You just happened to wander into my room while I’m naked. Totally innocent.”
Her eyes dart anywhere but at me. “I was just… there was music…”
I glance toward the speaker still playing in the corner. An old Stones track hums quietly through the static. Figures she’d come running for that.
“Good taste,” I tell her. “Didn’t peg you for a classic rock girl.”
She glares, clutching her phone as a lifeline. “You could at least put something on.”
I look down, pretending to think about it, then back at her. “And ruin the view? Seems unfair.”
Her jaw drops. She grabs her phone from the floor and starts typing furiously. Probably texting whoever she was talking to that she’s alive, traumatized, and in desperate need of therapy.
I take a step closer to see if she’ll flinch. She does. Barely. But her eyes flick up anyway. There’s a spark there. Something that looks suspiciously curious.
I smirk. “Relax. I’m not gonna bite. So, who are you?”
She mutters something under her breath I can’t quite catch, then finally exhales, the tension bleeding out of her shoulders.
“My name is Sloane Katz.”
Sloane.
The name hits me as a punch to the gut. I pause, my brain scrambling to catch up. Sloane Katz… why does that sound so familiar?
I search her face again, trying to place it. The name alone is enough to make me think of something, but her eyes. Those hazel eyes that flicker with impatience and more I can’t quite read, those are the real giveaway.
A memory clicks into place, sharp as glass.
A memory that hasn’t really gone anywhere if I’m honest.
It’s been a decade, back when things were a lot less complicated. A one-night stand that had been unexpectedly… memorable. Wild and reckless, the kind of night you don’t forget. And I haven’t.
The soft touch of her hands, the way her laugh was music in my ears, how everything just clicked between us. I’d liked her. A lot, actually.
She wasn’t just some random hookup. We’d spent the night talking, laughing, connecting. But then, nothing. I never saw her again.
And here she is, standing in front of me, the same woman. But older, more guarded—not the carefree girl I remember.
Sloane Katz.
I blink, trying to stay cool. “Wait… you’re… you’re the journalist.”
Her eyes narrow instantly. “What?”
The pieces are falling into place faster now, and I can’t stop myself from grinning.
“You were the one who…” I cut myself off before I say too much. “You were the one who did the story on us at EchoFest. The one who…”
Dominated me and unlocked a kink I didn’t even know I had before then.
Her face goes pale, then hardens, and I can see the walls going up around her. “Yeah, that was me.”
“I’m just saying… Small world.” I shrug, though my mind is reeling. “I didn’t realize you went from digging up dirt to… what, cooking for a rock band?”
She straightens even further, clearly trying to keep some distance between us. “It’s a long story.”
I can’t help it. I lean in just a little, speaking just loud enough for her to hear, “One I’d love to hear sometime.”
She shoots me a look, narrowing her eyes. “Not gonna happen.”
Her lips press into a tight line, and I can see she’s trying her hardest to keep her calm. But the tension’s there, thick between us. I can feel it as static in the air.
And that only makes me want to push harder. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone who could actually get under my skin, and now that I’ve found her, there’s no way in hell I’m backing off.
I take another step closer, watching her eyes flicker to me, then quickly dart away. I can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corners of my mouth.
“You sure about that?” I say, teasingly. “Because something tells me you’re dying to tell me all about your long story.”
She sighs, trying to fight a losing battle. “Not interested in playing games, Roman.”
“Oh, but I am interested in playing them.” My grin widens. “And I’m pretty damn good at it, too.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, clearly trying to shut me down, but it’s not working. In fact, it’s making me want to go even harder. She thinks she’s immune, but I can see the little cracks.
Her eyes betray her, just for a second. She’s trying not to react to me, but her body’s not listening. And honestly? That makes this whole thing even more fun.
“I’m just here to work, that’s all.”
“Nice try, Sloane. But let’s be real here, you wouldn’t be standing this close if you didn’t want me to push. So, tell me, what’s it really gonna take to get you to talk?”
She looks at me, about to rip my head off, but I catch that flash in her eyes, the one that says she’s more curious than she’s willing to admit.
I take a step back, just to let the tension hang for a second longer, and then I tilt my head, watching her.
“It’s okay,” I tease, lightly, “You’ll tell me, eventually. You can’t resist the charm for long.”
She rolls her eyes, but I see that tiny spark of amusement flash in them. “Keep dreaming, West.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” I reply smoothly. “But trust me, you’ll be in that dream with me sooner than you think.”
And just like that, I turn to leave, giving her one last glance over my shoulder. She’s trying her hardest not to look at me, but I catch the way her gaze lingers just a little longer than it should.
Yeah, she’s definitely not as immune as she’d like to think.
And that’s the best part of all.
Even as she spins on her heels and stalks out of my room, I know I’m not done with her. So, I grab a pair of sweatpants off the chair and pull them on, not bothering with a shirt. I don’t need one.
When I finally push open the door, I look over to find her still standing there, hands clasped in front of her, trying to hide the fact that she’s still a little… well, shaken.
“So, what’s on the menu?” I ask casually, ignoring the way her eyes seem to narrow at me.
She’s already started making her way to the kitchen, her back straight, all business, but I can tell she’s still running the whole encounter through her head. Can’t blame her. I’m hard to forget.
“Food’s already here,” Ezra calls out to me. “It’s glorious.”
“Is it safe to eat this, or is it all just going to be protein-heavy, tasteless garbage?” I ask with a wink, reaching for my fork. “How much has Creed gotten to you?”
She doesn’t even look up, sighs, clearly annoyed. “It’s just breakfast hash, Roman.”
I chuckle, stabbing a piece of egg and bringing it to my mouth. “Mm, you sure about that? I’ve had some questionable breakfast situations in my day, but I’ll admit… this is looking decent.”
I take another bite, letting the flavor linger.
Damn. She actually knows what she’s doing. It’s good, really good, and the last thing I expected from a journalist. I’m trying to keep the edge off my expression, but she can probably tell by the way my eyebrows lift.
I glance over at her as I chew, watching the way she’s scrubbing something down on the counter, looking all businesslike. “Hey, this isn’t half bad. You sure you’re not secretly a Michelin star chef who wants to play it cool?”
She pauses, then glances at me, one eyebrow raised. “Right. Because that’s exactly what I’m doing. Keeping my Michelin star a secret. It’s all part of the ‘mysterious chef’ routine.”
I can’t help but laugh. She’s a tough one to crack. But I like that. There’s something about the way she keeps her guard up, as if she’s already figured me out before I even say a word. Makes me want to break through that much more.
Even as she exits the room, her back straight and stiff, I can’t help but laugh. I love watching her squirm, but damn if she isn’t good at keeping her cool. It’s just too fun.
“Roman, don’t ruin this for us,” Ezra warns. He’s got a fork halfway to his mouth, but he’s still watching me with that sharp, cynical eye of his. “Don’t go anywhere near Sloane. I already have a fondness for her cooking, and I’m not about to let you mess that up.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “A bit late for that.”
Ezra stares at me as if I’ve grown another head. “Already? You are kidding me…”
My eyes follow Sloane as she disappears down the hallway to escape whatever craziness I just created. “Don’t worry, Ezra, not now. But a decade ago, yes…”
Ezra raises an eyebrow, his expression shifting from confusion to a mix of disbelief and curiosity.
“A decade ago?” he repeats, his words getting a little too high. “Roman, what are you talking about?”
I take my time, enjoying his reaction, but I know I’ve got to spill the beans now. “Yeah, Ezra, a decade ago,” I repeat, the smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. “Sloane Katz. The journalist who did that big piece on us at EchoFest. The one who—”
His eyes widen. The realization dawns on him, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his head.
“No way,” he breathes. “That was her? The one who…”
“Yeah, that one,” I cut him off, leaning forward now, letting the memory play out in my mind. That night. That damn night. “The one I wrote Under Your Command about.”
“Wow…” I think Ezra is speechless. “That’s…”
“I know,” I laugh. “But don’t worry. Her food is good, so I’ll behave. We need Sloane if we’re ever going to get this album done.”