Chapter 10
ten
Josh
I knock on the door that separates my room from Kate’s, and when she doesn’t answer, I slide my phone out of my pocket and send her a text.
Josh: Where are you?
Kate: Dani’s room with Tyler. They insisted I “live a little” and are giving me a makeover.
I breathe a sigh of relief that I didn’t forget to meet her somewhere, then chuckle at her reluctance to do whatever it is women do to each other during a makeover.
Josh: I’m going to head down to the bar for a drink before we head out.
Kate: Sounds good. I’m being told I’ll be ready in ten, so I’ll meet you down there.
I give myself one last glance in the mirror beside the door and wonder for a moment if I should have asked the girls to work their magic on me, too. My unruly waves work well for my on-stage persona, but I’m never sure if they translate well when it comes to these high-profile events.
Tonight, I opted to pull half of it back into a bun at the back of my head so it would be out of my face, but I’m starting to worry that the look is too casual and clashes with the black tuxedo and shiny shoes I reluctantly had to put on.
I know that if I stand in front of the mirror for too long, my second-guessing will only get worse and I’ll spiral, so I head out of the room and to the elevators at the end of the hall.
When I make it down to the bar, I order an old fashioned, ready to quiet my mind and settle the unexpected nervous energy I have floating around inside me. I’ve done these events hundreds of times, but for some reason, tonight feels different.
Kate sends a text letting me know she’s on her way down, so I finish off my drink and tuck a fifty under my empty glass before grabbing the bartender’s attention and sliding off my stool.
I make my way through the hotel and back to the lobby just as Kate steps out of the elevator.
When her eyes meet mine, everyone in the bustling lobby around me fades away into nothing, and my heart pounds out a rhythm in my chest that I’ve never felt before.
Pair that with my incredibly sweaty palms and I, for a split second, wonder if I’m having some kind of coronary episode.
Kate looks…stunning. Breathtaking. Drop-fucking-dead gorgeous. I’ve always known she was attractive, but the woman in front of me right now is something else entirely.
Her hair is down and parted dramatically, one side tucked behind her ear, the other falling in soft waves over her shoulder to the middle of her back.
Her makeup is dark and dramatic, and her dress—god damn.
The emerald green silk is a striking compliment to her fair, freckled skin and red hair, and falls over her body like liquid, accenting every curve.
As she finally starts to walk toward me, I find myself fighting the urge to touch her to make sure she’s real.
Woah, wait a minute. Why are you thinking about touching your assistant?
As if she can tell what I’m thinking, her eyes leave mine and start scanning the lobby, looking at everyone and everything but me.
Good job, asshole. You’ve made her uncomfortable.
Just as she gets within arm’s reach, her ankle rolls in her heel, and she stumbles right into my arms. Her hands grip the lapel of my jacket and my hands land on her hips as I steady her.
Our eyes meet and I swear time stops while we stare at each other, our mouths inches apart, our breaths mingling in the space between us.
“Kate,” I say on an exhale. Her brows shoot up and she looks at me as though genuinely surprised. “What?” I ask.
“You…called me Kate,” she says, extracting herself from my arms and smoothing her dress. My eyes track the movement, and I—for the second time in less than a minute—am willing my hands to stay at my sides where they belong.
“What else would I call you?” I ask, my voice rough as I watch her hands slide over her body. I clear my throat and force my eyes to her face.
“Not Kate.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask. I assume she’s messing with me, so I laugh. She doesn’t. “What the hell do I call you then?”
“Let’s see, you’ve called me Katherine, Chrissy, Kristie, Christina, Keri, Kim, Katie—that one was actually pretty close.
Usually, any name that begins with the k sound but…
never the right one.” The last words are barely audible as she looks away, shifting nervously on her feet.
“Unless that time you wrote my name on a Post-it note and stuck it to my forehead in Office Max counts.”
Surely, she’s messing with me. She’s Kate.
I know this. I think about her all the fucking time, so there’s no way I’ve been calling her the wrong name for six weeks.
Because if I have, if I’ve been that much of an oblivious idiot, not only am I the worst boss alive, I’m also a world-class asshole.
We’re talking top-tier, gold medal jackass.
I take a second to study her face, and it’s clear that she’s not messing with me. There’s no teasing smile. No mischievous glint in her eye.
Shit.
I reach out, gently placing the knuckle of my index finger under her chin and directing her eyes back to mine.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask, and she shrugs in response. “Kate, I—”
“It’s fine,” she says, stepping back. My hand drops to my side as I watch her straighten and return to Assistant Kate.
The one who’s laser-focused and all business.
“Thanks to Dani and Tyler’s asinine plan to ‘remake me’ or whatever,” she says, using air quotes and rolling her eyes, “we’re late.
” She motions to the doors and steps around me.
I fall into step beside her as we walk through the lobby and to the sidewalk where a car is waiting to take us across the city. I open the door for her before walking around the back of the car and getting in on the other side.
Kate begins rattling off the names of some of the notable people who will be in attendance tonight, and if they’re not also musicians, what they do for a living, why they’re coming, and a million other details that I can’t even begin to force into my brain because I’m distracted.
Not by the normal noise I’m distracted by—a sports car that drove by or the traffic or the song on the radio—but by her.
The way her dress flows over her body. The way the gold jewelry she’s wearing glints in the streetlights as we make our way across the city. The way her eyes pop against the makeup she’s wearing. The way she smells—like strawberries and sin and very bad decisions.
The car pulls up outside the venue, and I hurry out and around to Kate’s side of the car, opening the door for her and extending my hand to help her out. She takes it, and my heart flutters in my chest at the feeling of her hand in mine and...
What the fuck is happening? Why is this woman making me feel like this? We’ve spent every day together for the last six weeks. Being with her is normal. Routine.
So why does it suddenly feel like anything but?
We walk through the front doors, and she leads me to a spot just inside the main room where we’re out of the way enough that we haven’t been noticed and can see everyone in attendance.
She points out the people she mentioned in the car and again, I should be paying attention, but I can’t seem to focus on anything other than the way her lips look in that bright red lipstick.
Wondering what those lips would feel like against mine.
What that lipstick would look like smeared all over—
Alright, man, you need to cool it. You cannot be thinking about your assistant’s mouth on your dick. That is…all kinds of fucked up.
My hands curl into fists at my sides as I try to control my breathing and steer my mind away from the mental image of Kate on her knees in that goddamn distraction of a dress.
Her eyes drift from the crowd, down to my clenched hands, then up into mine, and I’m not surprised that she’s managed to catch the smallest hint that I’m uncomfortable.
“Are you alright?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, combing my fingers nervously through my hair. “This is just…a lot to process.” Not a complete lie since I’m clearly not processing anything right now.
“No problem,” she says. “We’ll take it one person at a time, and I’ll be right here. If things get weird or conversation starts to drop off, I’ll interject or say I need you for something.”
“Should we start with a drink?” I ask, nodding toward the open bar in the far corner of the room as the words come spilling out of my mouth faster than I can stop them. “Let’s start with a drink. I feel like we should start with a drink.”
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say, wincing when the word comes out as more of a squeak than anything else. She eyes me suspiciously before locking her phone and placing it in the small purse-wallet thing she’s holding in her hand.
“You can have a few drinks, but you probably shouldn’t start until dinner so you’re not putting alcohol on an empty stomach.”
Right. We don’t need drunk Josh making an appearance this evening. Even though I’m dying for something—anything—to take the edge off.
She’s your assistant. She’s your assistant…
Kate tells me we’re seated at table five along with the mayor, her fiancé, and several other high-profile donors.
As we make our way through the crowd and to our table, she whispers the names of anyone who approaches me so that I’m able to greet them by name.
I stumble a few times, but she’s a pro at interjecting and saving me before I make a complete fool of myself.
I’m able to make it through dinner paying enough attention to the conversation at the table to contribute when focus shifts to me, but most of my attention remains on Kate.
I always thought she was just quiet, but I realize now that it’s more than that. She’s paying attention. Fully focused and present. Asking insightful questions or adding some of her signature jokes to keep things light and conversation flowing.