Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SEAMUS
I instinctively sidestep her, and the look of shock on her face when she nearly knocks her head against the door tells me she’s not a woman who’s used to getting rejected. Shit. Shit . She’s obviously capable of holding a grudge, so our week might be over before it even starts.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “You’re gorgeous. It’s just—”
“Oooh,” she says. “You’re gay.” Shaking her head, she steps back. “ Of course you’re gay.”
“Of course?”
“I should have known right away. Straight men don’t dress like that.”
I glance down at my outfit, which seems perfectly generic—black sweater, black jacket, jeans. Nothing about it screams gay or straight or anything. But maybe me being gay is the only explanation she’s willing to accept for why I didn’t want her tongue in my mouth within five minutes of meeting her.
“I’m not gay.”
“Sure,” she says. “Of course you’re not.” Then, angling her head, she asks, “What happened to your head, anyway?”
“It’s no big deal. Someone hit me with a paperweight.”
“Well, you don’t need to worry about anything like that happening here,” she tells me, reaching out to pat my hand. “I don’t hit my assistants, no matter how cold my coffee is. But I still can’t seem to keep a PA. Jeffrey, that’s the asshole, tells me it’s because I’m too nice. He says people walk all over me because they know they can get away with it.”
“And did he walk all over you?” I ask.
“Oh, didn’t he ever,” she responds with a sigh. She takes my hand and pulls me deeper into the chaotic house. I step over a bra and a tube of tinfoil. “We’re starting the night at a brewery, aren’t we? Buchan or something. That’s what Nicky said.” She scrunches her nose. “Please tell me they have a full bar.”
“I’m sure we can arrange something,” I say, because I’m not above sneaking in alcohol for her. Tipsy people are talkative.
“Oh thank God for you. You’re nice to look at, and you know what it takes to be a good assistant. This is good. This is going to work.” She snaps her fingers and pauses partway to the couch, nearly tripping over a fuzzy discarded scarf or possibly the rabbit. “Midori,” she says. “Some Midori sours would be just the thing tonight.”
“I can definitely arrange that,” I say with a smile, thinking of the indignities my poor flask has suffered.
She steps over the fuzzy, unmoving object, and I decide it’s safe to do the same. Finally, we reach the immaculate couch. “Why don’t you take a seat here and get to know Carrot? I’m going to have to ask you to hold him in the car. I can’t get fur on my outfit, of course, but he gets carsick if he’s in a cage in a moving vehicle, the poor thing. I’ve already given him CBD treats and medicine to help with his anxiety.”
She motions for me to sit on the couch, and I do, and am handed an armful of gray fur from within the rabbit retreat. Carrot sniffs at me but makes no other movement that speaks of life, so he’s either a stuffed animal or stoned out of his mind.
“Oh my gosh,” she says, beaming. “He loves you. This is great, totally fantastic. You’re adorable together. My Reeders will love it.” She fishes a phone out of the pocket of her almost nonexistent robe.
“No photos,” I say, lifting a hand to cover my face. No one’s looking for my brother, my sister, and me anymore—and if they were, I seriously doubt they’d be scoping out Ellie Reed’s social media accounts to find us. But I don’t want my brother and sister to get freaked out if they see me all over her social media.
“What?” she says, her tone no longer so nice.
“I prefer to stay behind the camera,” I say with a firm smile, “but I’d be happy to take photos of you and Carrot.”
“But you’re supposed to be my assistant. I’m a social media influencer .”
“Which is exactly why I’d never try to upstage you.”
Her forehead creases with obvious annoyance. “My viewers all know I’m supposed to be going on vacation with Jeffrey. I can’t just be alone. They’ll think I’m lonely.”
“How could anyone be alone if they have Carrot?” I ask as Carrot continues to sit comatose in my lap. How much CBD did she give him, anyway?
“I can’t be alone,” she says, her tone brittle. “Who would want to watch that? Me sitting alone at a restaurant. Me drinking Midori sours. Me dancing in the moonlight by myself. Boring . Pathetic.” She crosses her arms under her tits, giving them a lift.
It’s hard not to think of Emma, whose childhood wish was to be independent. Who gave away most of her trust fund because she didn’t like relying on anyone other than herself.
I almost remind Ellie that she definitely, one hundred percent does not need a man in her videos. Most of her viewers are probably men, and most of her most-viewed videos are of her doing mundane shit by herself. But I have a feeling her objection runs deeper. She wants to make herself look good. I get it. Hell, I’ve been there. Maybe I’d be more sympathetic if she didn’t seem so self-involved.
“I can talk to you from off-camera,” I suggest. “I talk a good game.”
She lifts the phone up, and for a second, I think she’s going to ignore my objection and snap a photo of me. I guess I’d have to let her unless I want to punt the bunny and grab the phone—a maneuver that would surely get me ejected from both this house and Operation Love Destroyers. But instead she dials a number and lifts the phone to her ear.
“Dan.” she says as she starts stalking in the other room. “We have a problem …”
Dan being the name she knows Damien by.
Her voice trails away, and I shake my head at the little rabbit. “Well, that didn’t take long, did it?”
Ellie emerges in a silver shift dress half an hour later and informs me that “Dan” came up with an ingenious solution. I’m going to wear a mask on camera, and it’s going to be a whole bit for her fans—Ellie and her mystery masked date. Who is he? Why is he wearing the mask? Why the fuck are we watching this?
“People will be all over it,” she says with a grin. “This is going to be so lit. I mean…how much hotter is it to go on vacation with a masked man than some boring suit daddy? You’re okay with flirting with me, aren’t you?”
“Enchanted.”
Her goal, of course, is to make Jeffrey jealous.
I could give a shit about that, but hopefully his jealousy will draw him into Nicole’s web. It may not be useful to us if only Ellie shows up at the Grove Park Inn.
So I smile and nod—even though I know my brother would tell me to get the fuck out of here, pronto. Playing the driver is one thing, putting my face in vicinity of her camera is another one, given her social media reach. But I’m not going to back down now.
We hustle out to the car, but the two-hour trip to the Grove Park Inn is anything but quick. The first time we stop, it’s to purchase a mask. Ellie spends an hour considering various alternatives, from horror movie staples to ex-presidents, before I convince her to go with a simple ski mask so I can eat and drink on camera. The next time we stop it’s because Carrot has decided to prove he is not a stuffed animal by pooping on me. It triggers my vomit reflex—and I sit by the side of the road dry-heaving for a few minutes after changing my shirt, watched by Ellie, Nicole, Carrot, and probably hundreds of people in passing cars. Thank Christ I brought a few changes of clothes.
The third stop is for Cracker Barrel, which is just “precious,” followed by two scenic overlooks that are “on the way” yet somehow add half an hour each, and we have to make a sixth stop because Nicole downed five energy drinks and needs to pee so badly she pulls over on the side of the road and hikes down an embankment. By the time we finally arrive at the valet parking stand at The Grove Park Inn, an enormous hotel that resembles a gingerbread house, my head is pounding and I regret being born.
What might have been mildly amusing if I didn’t have an injury has become excruciating.
Ellie releases a high-pitched squeal that punctures my eardrums as a man approaches up with a rolling cart for the bags. “Ooooh, it’s soooo cute.”
Nicole glances at me in the rearview mirror, her eyes lit with humor.
“Let’s get you checked in,” I say. I put the bunny in his wire cage, much smaller than the habitat at Ellie’s house, then get her three huge-ass bags situated on the cart, leaving my duffel inside the trunk.
Ten minutes later, I’m leaving with the bunny.
No matter how docile or drugged, Carrot is not welcome. Only service animals are permitted.
Ellie went full Karen on the staff. She pleaded, she cried, she called her therapist and asked him to testify that Carrot was medically necessary for her. But he refused, and she fired him on the spot.
Truthfully, I feel there was a chance they’d have accepted Carrot as a guest if she hadn’t insisted that I livestream the whole thing on her phone. No one wants to bend the rules on camera.
In the end, I felt I had no choice but to offer to find separate accommodations for the rabbit. I figured Ellie would object, but by then, she was content to let Carrot become my problem.
She kissed him thirty times—while he emoted as much as a furry potato—told him Mommy would miss him, and took off to freshen up so we can get to Buchanan Brewery by seven. Which is less than an hour and a half away given how much time it took us to get here.
So now I’m standing in the hotel garage. Nicole said she’d meet me here to pick up the rabbit, who we’re going to pawn off on Chuck. I don’t want to spoil his dinner date with Mrs. Rosings, especially since he spent at least two hours at the grocery store agonizing over which special ingredients to buy for their crème br?lée-fest, but Carrot can be left at the apartment without supervision. This bunny has as much personality as a hot water bottle wrapped in a scarf.
I lift the fluffy rabbit, who watches me docilely and without interest. His eyes blink lazily, so at least he’s conscious.
“You’re still stoned as fuck, aren’t you?” I ask him.
“So you’re talking to animals now?”
I look over and see Mr. Nicole—Damien—emerge from behind one of the big cement pillars with my duffel bag. He looks completely relaxed, like maybe he spent the day at the spa with Emma. Or perhaps this is just what people look like when they haven’t spent the entire afternoon in the car with a motion-sick bunny and a self-involved woman.
I glance around, but no one else is near us, just a sea of cars—some stupidly expensive, some cheap, but none truly extraordinary. Most are utilitarian and black, grey, or white—the kind of car purchased by someone who wants to get around, not someone who enjoys the thrill of the journey. “What are you doing here, man?”
“Nicole sent me to chauffeur the rabbit. She asked you to meet her in one of the supply closets on the second floor. It’ll be the second one from the closest elevator.”
“Left or right?”
He shrugs.
“Wouldn’t it be easier for her to meet me down here…like she told me?”
“Sure,” he says with an easy grin. “But my wife lives for this cloak-and-dagger shit. She’ll be there.”
Sighing, I hand over the rabbit and then his cage. “He shouldn’t give Chuck a hard time.”
Damien grunts as he studies the rabbit. “No shit. I’ll run him by the apartment and talk to Chuck. Ellie say anything to you?”
“Nicole hasn’t kept you updated?”
“She told me she saw a man with an orange toupée and gray sideburns at Cracker Barrel and then asked me to meet you here to grab the rabbit. That’s what I’m working with right now.”
I quickly explain the breakup situation, and Damien swears under his breath before saying he’ll drive up to Charlotte to tail Jeffrey after dropping Carrot off. He takes off, and I find my way to the elevator to search for the supply closet, which is even more complicated than it sounded, because this place is stupidly large. I have a natural sense of direction—an internal compass, my father called it—but it needs something to work with. There are plenty of unlabeled doors here, and the first one I open, two to the right of the elevator, is a bust. So I turn and head in the other direction. I’m about to reach for a door when it creaks open. An arm reaches out and grabs me inside.
Emma’s arm.
She shuts the door, leaving us standing inches apart in the dim dark, the glow from the top and bottom of the door frame providing the only illumination in the crisp space, which smells of laundry detergent. The closet is a few footsteps deep, with clean towels stacked up on shelves bracketed to the sides and backs.
It's the best kind of shock to the system—to be expecting Nicole and to get Emma instead. She’s so close to me, and in a private space, shut out from the outside world. Ours but close enough to theirs to make it feel hotter. She’s wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweater. There are fuzzy little slippers on her feet, and she smells like an herbal cocktail. It’s a softer look for her. A very touchable look, like her fuzzy outfit from the other night.
I’d like to throw her over my shoulder and leave this place. But she’d have definite opinions about that, and besides, I’m here to help her. If I did that, I’d be the kind of man who helps only himself.
“Nicole told me to meet you two here,” she says in an undertone.
“How’s Shadow?” I ask, edging closer.
“Insane.”
“My mother gave her catnip and she jumped three feet into the air. It was impressive.”
“Tell that cat her daddy’s coming home for her real soon.”
She gets the euphemism of course, and shakes her head and rolls her eyes to tell me what she thinks of my “charm.” I’ll be damned if that’s not all it takes for my dick to get hard for her. Then again, I’m working on two months of self-denial. I usually don’t go this long without touching a woman, but no one has appealed to me since I got a taste of Emma. I’d like to think the two things aren’t connected, but shut into this room with her, I can’t deny the truth.
“You smell good,” I tell her, leaning in a little more, because damn, does she ever.
Her brows knit together in the near dark. “You don’t.”
“I guess that’s inevitable when a rabbit shits on you.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yeah, but at least I had a change of clothes.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but did the rabbit also shit on your change of clothes? Because you still smell like it.”
“Rabbits work in mysterious ways.” I barely know what I’m saying. My mind is only slightly functional after the day I’ve had, and the small space is completely consumed by Emma, the same way my mind has been.
No, dammit, I’m not going there. I should have let Ellie kiss me earlier. Because maybe that would have ended this madness. Then again, maybe not, since even the thought feels wrong.
I clench my jaw and stop myself from saying something stupid.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.
My fingers rise to her cheek, tracing it, and her lips part. I can feel my will crumbling, so I say, “You’re not wearing any makeup.”
I like seeing her like this, but I know she’ll misunderstand me, which is for the best. Better for her to think I’m a dick than for me to think with my dick.
She pokes me. I’m reminded of the other night, after she won the first hand of poker. She looked at me with a glimmer of victory in her eyes, and the need to kiss her punched me in the gut. But I didn’t go for it. If I didn’t then, I can hold back now.
“I think Jeffrey and Ellie might be on the outs,” I say.
“Nicole told me,” she replies. “She also told me about the mask. I don’t buy that Jeffrey will come running just because he sees her with another man. He’s too prideful.”
“But if she’s feeling relaxed, loose, she might let something slip,” I say. “I want to know what they were arguing about today. Plus, Damien’s going to Charlotte to follow him. See what he does when she’s out of town. Maybe figure out a way to get him here.”
There’s a sound of approaching footsteps. The door opens a quarter of an inch, but Emma grabs the knob, tugging it inward. “Occupied.”
“ Come on ,” a woman whispers on the other side, her tone annoyed. “You’ve got to stop sexting your boyfriend from the supply closet, Ashley. It’s not your personal break room, for God’s sake. I need fresh towels.”
Emma watches me, her eyes dancing with mirth. Her expression seems like a dare—her way of saying what’s next?
I arch my brows at her. Dare accepted. I’ve yet to meet one I could walk away from, however much it might have benefited me.
I swing the door open and hand a startled red-headed woman a stack of towels. “Sorry—” I glance at her badge. “Madelyn. That’s a nice name. Look, Madelyn, we’re trying to hit up one supply closet on every vacation. You know how it is. It’s on our bucket list.” I wink at her. “We’ll be done soon. I’ll make sure my lady keeps quiet.”
I shut the door and give Emma a wry, what-do-you-think-of-that-? grin.
“They’re going to have to fumigate the whole closet,” she tells me in a whisper.
“I don’t feel guilty. They probably should anyway, since there’s rats.”
She gives a little squeak I find very gratifying and glances around before shoving my chest hard enough that my back hits the shelves. Emma steps between my sprawled legs, making my body buzz to attention. For a second, I entertain a very pleasing fantasy about her making good on my lie, but she wrinkles her nose and then offers me her soft hand. “Come on. I’ll sneak you into my room so you can take a shower. I’ll text Nicole.”
Well, fuck me, sometimes reality’s even better than my depraved imagination.
My mind whirring, my control very much slipping, I grab one of the towels.