15. Hadley
Chapter fifteen
Hadley
This bed is super comfortable, and it smells like … My eyes pop open. Why does this bed smell like Weston?
I scramble to sit up, realizing I’m dressed in yesterday’s clothes, relieved to see the other side of the bed is empty.
Why am I in Weston’s bed?
Memories from last night come crashing back.
Dinner. Watching a movie. Moving to his bed so I’d be more comfortable.
I think he tried to wake me. I thought I was dreaming, but no, I think that was Weston trying to wake me up. I usually sleep like the dead.
Shit, I feel bad.
I drop my head into my hands. I hope he doesn’t hate me for our inadvertent bed-sharing situation. But he’s the one who suggested we watch the end of the movie here and who turned off all the lights. Not my fault his bed is comfortable, and apparently, I was tired.
Might as well face the music and get the awkwardness over with. I climb out of bed and wrap my blanket around me.
“Weston?” I call as I walk toward the kitchen.
No response.
I notice a piece of paper propped up against the half-full coffee pot. I snatch it up and read:
Tornado,
I didn’t want to wake you. I went to get a workout in. I’ll be home in time to shower and get ready to go meet John.
*heart* Your Fiancé.
He had to.
Didn’t he?
I fix myself a cup of coffee before heading into my bathroom to get ready for the day.
Once I’m dressed, I head back into the kitchen and help myself to a couple of leftover slices of pizza from the box in the fridge.
Taking my brunch with me, I sit down at the counter and power on my laptop that I left here last night, next to the books I’m currently reading and my current notebooks.
Might as well apply for those jobs I found. I’m still not one hundred percent happy with my portfolio, but it’ll have to do for now.
Once I’m done eating, I start the application process for the first one. Two hours fly by, and I’m finally down to one job left. The one I’m most excited for. The one I’m trying not to get my hopes up about.
It’s a year-long contract with an organization that runs tours around the world.
They’re hiring a photographer to travel with them and take pictures.
Apparently, it’s a new package they’re planning to offer for some of their trips.
While it isn’t my first choice of type of photography, it would allow me to see the world.
Something I’ve been wanting to do for years.
Plus, travel, accommodation, and food are paid for, and I’d get a stipend for any equipment I need, which sounds extremely generous.
I spend quite a bit of time filling out the application and answering all their questions. I know it’s a long shot because I’m sure there are many people more qualified for the role, but you never know unless you try, or some BS like that, right?
“You can do this, Hadley. Hit Submit,” I mutter, the mouse hovering over the button.
I skim the application one more time, making sure I’ve answered everything to the best of my ability, and finally hit Apply. Once I get confirmation that it’s been submitted, I exit out of the site and close my computer.
I take a few shaky breaths, wiping my sweaty hands on my shorts. How am I going to focus on anything else until I hear back from them? How will I manage for the next few weeks, or even months, until I get an answer? Before I can spiral too much, the front door opens.
“Honey, I’m home,” Weston yells.
“You don’t have to announce yourself like you’re the fucking King of England, Weston. No one else lives here. I think I know who it is,” I tell him when he walks into the kitchen.
But holy shit, why is he wearing his hat fucking backward? And he’s got on a Storm shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing off his deliciously muscular biceps. Is it hot in here? I clear my throat, tamping down the urge to throw myself at him.
“The King of England wouldn’t be announcing himself; he’d have court people to do that.” He runs a hand over his arm, and I can’t help tracking his movements, my gaze dancing over his tattoos.
I scoff. “Whatever, Weston. No need to announce yourself every time you walk in the door.”
“You like it.” He bounces his eyebrows at me.
“As if.”
“You know I’m right.” That earns him an eye roll. He chuckles. “I’m gonna change, and then we can go. You ready?” He takes his hat off, sets it on the counter before running a hand through his hair, then peels his shirt off in one swift move.
Fucking hell. That should be illegal.
“Close your mouth before the flies fly in.”
I do as he says, glaring at him as I stand up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He makes his way over to me, and before I can stop him, he’s running his thumb over my bottom lip. I suck in a breath. What the hell is going on?
He inspects his thumb. “You were drooling too.”
He holds it up—it’s clearly dry—and I smack him on the chest. Bad idea, because as I pull my hand away, he yanks me into him and wraps his arms around me.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing how you react when I touch you.”
“Weston.” I shove at his chest.
“Hadley Jane, we’re about to go meet my agent. We’re supposed to be engaged, which means we should be comfortable touching each other.”
“Fine.” I relax into him. “Is this better?”
“Yes,” he whispers, his hot breath tickling my ear.
I lean my head against his shoulder. Another bad idea because now all I can smell is him—a hint of sweat and something that smells like rain, probably his deodorant or body wash. We stand like that for another minute or two until eventually, he releases me, and I move away from him.
He smirks, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. Again.
“I’m gonna get changed now.”
His voice comes out gruff, and I’m glad I’m not the only one affected by our hug.
“Put your ring on, fiancée,” he says before turning and sauntering out of the room, my eyes never straying from his ass, which looks especially great in the black shorts he’s wearing.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say to John when we’re seated in his office an hour later.
The man, who I’d guess is in his late thirties or early forties, grins at me before focusing his attention on Weston.
“I like her already, Wes.”
“You like everyone,” Weston mumbles. He puts a hand on my thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. I shouldn’t like it as much as I do, but I can’t help myself.
“So, let’s get down to business.” John sits back in his chair, steepling his fingers and eyeing us. “Slumberly Apparel wants you both in their winter holiday marketing. Wearing matching pajamas and opening gifts in front of the Christmas tree. It sounds a little corny, but what do I know?”
Weston leans forward in his chair, glancing over at me before turning his attention back to his agent. “What kind of pajamas?”
“Here.” John riffles through the pile of papers on his desk before holding one out. “They sent this with a few pictures.”
Weston takes the sheet and peers down at it. I lean closer to him, and he shifts so I can see. The pajamas are cute. Matching flannel bottoms and tops in reds and greens. A pair of boy shorts and an oversized shirt. Nothing that gives me pause.
“I’m fine with these,” I say.
“If she’s fine with them, so am I,” Weston adds.
“Good. I’ll talk to them and see when they want to do the shoot. I know they were talking about pretty soon, within the next month. What do your schedules look like?” He tilts his head, looking first at me and then at Weston.
“We’re pretty wide open,” Weston says, and I nod in agreement.
“Perfect. Here’s what they’re offering for compensation. Plus, you get to keep the clothes.” John picks up another piece of paper and slides it across the desk. “They have an option to also include you in their Valentine’s marketing. That amount is the number at the bottom.”
My eyes just about bug out of my head when I see the figure, and I cough to hide the shocked squeak that comes out. Weston nudges me, and I shake my head.
“This is great,” Weston says, pushing the paper back across the desk.
“Elite Edge Energy is also interested, very interested, based on what they’re offering.”
“I’m not interested in Elite,” Weston says.
“It’s a lot of money. A long-term deal. It would be good for you.” John levels him a look.
Weston leans back in his seat, arms crossed. “No. I’m not endorsing a company that puts who knows what in their products. It’s not something I’d actually drink, so I’m not doing it.”
Well, okay then, sir. I don’t know why his answer surprises me. He’s always come across as a man with high morals. I silently applaud him for not selling out.
“Fair enough,” John says with a nod. “I’ll let you know if anything else comes up. I heard PowerIce Gear might be in the market for another hockey player to partner with, but I don’t know for sure.”
“I recognize the company name but don’t know much about them, so maybe.”
“Understood. If they do end up reaching out, I’ll ask them to send equipment for you to test. Does that work?” John says.
“Great. Anything else?” Weston asks.
“Nope. Unless you have anything you want to talk about?”
Weston glances at me, and I shake my head. “No, I think we’re good.”
“Perfect. I’ll be in touch.” John gets to his feet.
We shake hands, then Weston takes my hand and leads me out of the office and out onto the street.
We don’t let go of each other until we make it to his Jeep. I tell myself it’s just in case someone sees us, but I’m not sure if I believe that anymore.