Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Who are you?” Sam clutched the sheet to her chest.
“I work with Owen.” The woman rose from the couch and took a few steps closer to the edge of the bed. “I’m Jessica. He asked me to stay with you until he got back.”
“You’re capable of protecting me?”
“The pistol strapped to my leg should hold back any intruders.”
Sam had no idea if the woman was kidding or not. “Did he tell you why I’m here with him?”
“I got the CliffNotes version.” The light crease in her forehead deepened as her brows drew together.
“Where’s Owen?”
“He needed to hit something.” She angled her head, a pinch of irritation snapping across her face. “He’s at a boxing gym with a friend.”
“Oh.” Guilt came down on her like a sledgehammer, yet again.
“Listen.” Jessica held a palm in the air. “I’m sorry about Brad and everything you’ve been through, but I can’t have anyone screwing with Owen’s head. Not now. Not ever. Don’t lie to him again.” She tipped her head. “Understood?”
Before Sam could muster an appropriate response, the door clicked open, and Owen came into the room, his gray V-neck drenched in sweat. He didn’t make eye contact with Sam, and she had to wonder if his anger had gone back to nuclear now that the sun had risen.
“Thanks for keeping an eye on her,” he said to Jessica. “Any news?”
“No word, but I’ve started looking into things on my end.” Jessica glanced Sam’s way. “You want me to stay, or—”
“No, you should work. Besides, I’m not ready to face Luke.” He messed up his hair, swiping a hand over the shorter locks as if he’d forgotten his longer hair was gone.
Jessica sidestepped him. “I’ll catch up with you soon.” And she left without another word.
Sam dropped her legs to the side of the bed and stood as steadily as possible once Jessica was gone. “You told her, huh?”
He nodded and leaned against the TV stand. He finally found her eyes as she moved around the bed, only a foot away. “You sleep well?”
“Probably better than you on that couch.” She took a second to observe the tee clinging to his muscled chest, and when she found his eyes, he arched a questioning brow as if she’d been caught cheating on a test.
“I’ve slept on much worse.” He cleared his throat and pushed away from the TV stand. “I’m going to clean up, and then we’ll go get the original photo back. We can’t have this picture floating around out there.”
“It’s Sunday. I’ll have to see if Javier has it at his home or not.”
“Find out where it is. I don’t want to wait.” He brushed against her, and her skin tingled at the sensation of the slight touch, and it was as if he felt something too, because he paused mid-step for the span of a heartbeat before going into the en-suite, closing the door behind him.
She remained still for a moment, listening to the sounds of the water running, and she hated herself for even flashing back to Owen standing in a towel in the hotel room the other day.
Her fingers massaged her forehead as she tried to get a grip. A few seconds later, she forced away her guilty thoughts and grabbed her phone to text Javier.
Midway through typing it, her phone buzzed with an incoming call.
Blocked.
She slowly raised it to her ear. “Hello?”
“We need to talk.” A deep tone touched her ears, as if altered by voice-changing software.
Shivers rushed over her skin, and she turned to check the bathroom door was still shut. “Who is this?”
“That doesn’t matter right now. Check your phone—you just got a text.”
She sank onto the chair by the window, her eyes widening as she scrolled through ten images. “Where’d you get these?” Her hand trembled as she brought the phone back to her ear.
The photos had been stored in only one place—her laptop at home.
Her stomach roiled, and she pressed her hand to her abdomen.
“Kill your proposal.” The command had dropped through the line in a rush. “If not, these photos being leaked to the press will only be the beginning of what is to come.”
She blinked a few times. “Screw you.”
“Thought you might say that.”
“Did you send me the photo to my office?” She shook her head. “Was it you? Why?”
Silence met the other side of the line, and she realized he’d already hung up.
Her heart thundered, the beat pulsing up and into her ears.
It took her a minute to pull herself together, and when she did, she hurried to the bathroom. “Owen!”
“Yeah?” he hollered from the shower.
“We need to talk. It’s important.”
“One minute.” The water turned off, and a few seconds later, he opened the door wearing only a towel wrapped around his hips. The water dripped from his face and down his chest.
She backed up farther into the hall until she hit the wall. Breathe, she reminded herself as his smell touched her nose, reminding her of their time on the boat together a few days ago.
She hated that she missed the lie between them—when she had just been Sam, and he had just been Owen, and they hadn’t been two people with baggage that pretty much exceeded airline weight-limit standards.
He propped a hand on the interior of the doorframe and angled his head, his eyes thinning. “What’s wrong?”
Eyes off the happy trail. Focus. “I got a call.”
“And?”
“It was from the delivery guy. Well, I think it was him. He texted me some photos.”
“Why didn’t you get me?”
Her shoulders rolled back. “I was too stunned.”
“What’d he want?” Lines appeared in his brow.
The water kept rolling down the hard planes of his chest and to his abdomen, and there was no way she could talk to him nearly naked. “Could we talk when you’re dressed?”
“Fine.” He cocked his head to the side, his gaze falling upon her chest. “Maybe you could get clothes on, too?”
She looked at her long tee, realizing her nipples pressed hard against the nightshirt.
The coldness of his hard stare sent blustery chills down her back, and then he turned, closing the door behind him.
She fumbled with the hem of her T-shirt as she walked to her overnight bag.
After throwing on a pair of shorts and a V-neck pink tee, she sat in the chair near the window and tapped her phone against her thigh as she waited for him to return.
Owen came into the room shortly after and dropped onto the bed. “You ready to talk?”
“Yeah.” She handed him her phone to show the photos she’d been texted. “He’s threatening to leak these to the press if I don’t withdraw my proposal.”
Owen stood and swiped through the images. “Where’d he get these pictures of you?” His eyes stayed on the screen instead of looking at her.
“They’re my photos. The saved files from my computer at home.”
“Well, they’re mostly of you at clubs and stuff. A few guys in pics, but I don’t see anything incriminating.”
“Not with the event scheduled next week—a couple party pictures might seem like nothing, but it’d taint my reputation, and the work I’m trying to get done.
” And my father would lose his mind. “But I can’t give in to him.
If I abandon the proposal, I’d have to cancel the event in Russia on Wednesday.
” Of course, her dad still needed to land Senator Abrams’s vote for the event to be considered a true success, so there was a chance everything could end up in flames next week anyway.
“What’d you say to him?” He clutched the phone tight in his hand.
She stood. “I told him to go screw himself.”
“Did he mention the other photo he sent to your office?”
“He hung up just as I was asking about it.” The hairs on her arms stood and chills passed over her skin. “It can’t be a coincidence, though, right? But does that mean the picture is fake . . . or does it mean it’s real?”