Chapter 15 Kelsey
Chapter fifteen
Kelsey
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into a virtual coffee date at seven forty-five in the morning,” Sam says dramatically.
Sam is JT Johnson’s assistant and came into my life six months ago when we had to stage an intervention.
It went spectacularly—his words, not mine.
We somehow became friends, likely due to our shared disdain for the human population.
I glare at him, making sure to look directly into the camera at the top of my phone so he gets the full effect. “You’re the one who suggested a coffee date.”
“I didn’t think about the time difference…or the fact that you only have mornings free,” he says with a pout that makes me laugh loudly.
The woman across the lobby of my Dublin hotel looks at me, but she quickly breaks eye contact when I stare right back. Thank goodness I’m wearing earbuds; Sam cannot be trusted in public.
“Well, thank you for deigning to grace me with your presence anyway. I can’t believe you, of all people, aren’t joining JT and Jameo in Australia.”
“Ew. You know I don’t go to places with spiders that size.”
“I don’t think they’re crawling around the stadium.”
“One can never be too careful when it comes to spiders the size of dinner plates and snakes that drop from trees.”
We both visually shiver at the thought.
“Plus,” he continues, “it’s my dad’s sixty-fifth birthday, and my mom is throwing a huge party. I can’t miss it.”
We fall into a natural flow of conversation, and Sam tells me about the new guy he started dating.
I fill him in on the tour so far, or at least the parts I can tell him about.
Sam, like everyone else in the world, is a huge fan of Jaxon.
I remain professionally neutral on the subject, though I have been pleasantly surprised at how good Jaxon is.
Not as a musician, I already knew that, but as a human.
When I took this assignment, I was worried I’d find out the kid I knew turned into your stereotypical rock star complete with the drugs, women, and temper tantrums. So far, I’ve seen no drugs or temper tantrums. The women, well, it would be a low to normal amount for any single, handsome musician out on tour.
Unfortunately, I feel a slight twinge of awkwardness any time it comes through from his personal security detail that he’s bringing a woman back to his room.
I, of course, tell Sam none of this, instead focusing on the information he could find online, like how many people are there, and describing the electric, emotionally charged atmosphere of the crowd each night.
“Okay, but we’ve been talking for thirty minutes now, and you haven’t even mentioned Mr. Dark and Broody,” Sam says, cutting me off midway through a story about a twelve-year-old girl bawling when Jaxon walked out on stage.
“I’m sorry, who?” I ask.
“No. We’re not doing that. Lila told me about your little—or should I say big?
—coworker over there, and I’m offended—offended, Kelsey—that you didn’t tell me you were going to spend seven weeks cuddled up with a hunk of handsome man meat?
And doing so while the most popular love songs are being crooned at you, live, by Jaxon Steele.
Sigh.” He follows up his verbal sigh with a real one, leaning his hoodie-clad elbow on the table and leaning his head on his hand.
“That’s not how it is. We’re just coworkers.
We’re actively in competition for the same job.
” I’m momentarily pulled back to the conversation I overheard between Carter and Trent in London.
The hurt that flared through my chest and into my stomach when he said there was no way they were going to lose to me.
The shield of icy calm I’ve kept in place since then.
And, the worst part, when I purposefully walked past the empty seat next to Carter on the plane and sat next to Mikayla, I still turned midflight to tell him my opinion on the movie I was watching, only to realize it wasn’t Carter.
“Oookay,” Sam replies. “But what if—and just bear with me here—you said fuck that and fucked him instead?”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”
“Why not? I know Lila didn’t mislead me about how gorgeous that man is, because despite not being a professional hacker like some people I know—”
“I’m not a hacker,” I cut in.
Sam ignores my interruption and says over me, “—I can cyberstalk with the best of them. So I know he is exactly as handsome as Lila claimed he is, potentially even more.” He pauses.
“His hair is perfectly styled, with the short waves on top. He’s your ideal height.
I don’t care that Lila and JT are adorable together all big and small, too much over six feet is too tall for you.
The man clearly works out, and he does not skip leg day.
Or arm day. Or chest day. Actually, can you ask him for his chest routine, the pecs on that—no, I’m getting distracted. Where was I?”
I raise an eyebrow, refusing to engage in this line of rapid-fire…truths. Unwanted, but truths nonetheless.
Sam is, unsurprisingly, undeterred. “What is it about eyes that dark that makes me want to dive into them and never resurface?”
Choosing silence seems to be working, so I just stare at my phone.
“So, I expect a full report after you fuck him. And don’t forget to ask him to send me his chest routine.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Which part?” Sam asks.
“Both. Either.”
“Why?” he gasps as if I just declined to save a kitten desperately hanging from a log in the middle of a river.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“If you don’t tangle your hands in that man’s hair as you kiss him passionately, I will fly over there and do it for you.”
And damn it if that exact image doesn’t burn itself into my brain, Sam’s suggestion taking on a life of its own as suddenly my hands are no longer in Carter’s hair, but skimming along the sides of his waist, the ridges of his stomach muscles under my thumbs exciting and sensual.
“You’re welcome to—” I try to say, forcing myself to remember Carter isn’t just a handsome man with the intellect to back up his strong jaw and Adonis physique. He’s the guy I have to work with every day. He’s the guy I’m trying to beat. I can’t let my stupid fantasies get the best of me.
Now if only I could control my dreams.
“I’ve got to go or I’m going to be late for my spin class,” Sam says, taking his phone with him as he heads toward the door in his apartment.
“Sleep with the man. Send me all the deets. No.” He holds up his hand as I start to speak.
“I will accept zero excuses. I don’t care that you work with him, and you can still destroy his company while letting him take you to Pound Town.
People do it every day in New York. Don’t deprive me of this. ”
And with that, Sam hangs up on me.
I drop my head into my hands, dragging my fingers over my forehead. Sam’s wrong. Of course he is. Sleeping with Carter would be a terrible idea.
“Hey, Kelsey.” Carter’s voice comes from somewhere above me.
The timing couldn’t be worse, considering Sam just reminded my body of every reason it’s been pushing to see what Carter’s hiding under that terrible shirt of his.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his brows rising in concern.
“Sure. Just praying for God to spare me from exasperating people.”
“Ahh. Your sisters?” he guesses.
“I wish. They know not to be quite so annoying. Sam hasn’t learned yet.”
Carter’s expression darkens so briefly, I almost missed it. What’s that about?
“Who’s Sam?”
“He’s JT’s assistant.”
“Oh. I see,” he says before clearing his throat.
“I was hoping he was going to join them all when they came to Australia, but I guess he isn’t going to make it.”
“Ah. That’s a…shame.”
I swivel my head to see what he’s staring at so intently over my shoulder, but there isn’t anything there but your standard hotel lobby photo of old cars at various locations I’m assuming are in Ireland.
“Do you have a minute to talk?” he asks once my gaze is back on him.
I check the time on my phone and nod. “Sure. What’s up? Is everything okay for tonight?”
This is the first leg of the tour where we don’t have a day between concerts to prepare in a new city. We arrived two hours ago, were handed our keys to our hotel rooms by the logistics staff, and we will leave for the security briefing in less than thirty minutes. It’s hectic, to say the least.
Carter lowers his large frame into the small seat in front of me, our knees brushing under the small, circular table between us.
“No. Nothing like that. I think we’re set.”
“Okay,” I say. “Then what’s up?”
“I need to apologize for the other night.”
I’ve played it so cool. Not a single person could look at the way I’ve handled hearing him say Mitchell Security was going to beat me and say I’ve been anything but professional.
Anything but calm, cool, and collected. It doesn’t matter if it was a shot of liquid fire to my gut, I masked it in a way that would make every woman who’s ever worked in a man’s profession proud. No over-the-top emotions here.
“Haven’t we already done this?” I ask, looking him in the eyes—which is a mistake. No, I won’t be distracted by those now.
“Not for the breach incident. For what you overheard me say the other night.”
“No apology necessary. We both know we’re competing. I plan on winning too.”
“I still feel like I should apologize.”
“Really not necessary. And, just so this doesn’t become a habit, maybe stop doing things you need to apologize for,” I say with a shrug like it isn’t a big deal. I’m not fazed by him admitting his mistakes at all.
Carter bites his bottom lip, and the little glimpse of vulnerability does something to my heart, because I swear it stops beating for a second.
“Well, I’m sorry I said it was a done deal, us winning. I don’t actually believe that. I think we’re good, but you are too. The way I see it, it’s anyone’s game at this point.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but you’ll excuse me if I don’t value what you say to me in private when I know you’d never say it in front of other people.”
His face flushes as his Adam’s apple bobs. At least he has the decency to look ashamed of his duplicity.
“Well, I better go get changed,” I say as I push to my feet, uninterested in continuing this conversation.
Carter’s hand closes over mine on the table between us, the warmth of his palm sinking into my skin, shooting up my arms and directly into my core.
We both stare at the connection between us for a moment before Carter says, “Wait.”
“Okay,” I practically whisper as I sit back down, shocked by my body’s reaction to our contact.
“Trent…”
I see the hesitation in Carter’s eyes and am about to leave again when he continues, “This contract is more important to Trent than any other before.”
“It’s important to all of us,” I say, yanking my hand out from under his to cross my arms.
“There is another contract on the line for us. And the musician has made it clear they’re only going with us if Jaxon does.
And Trent’s made it clear I won’t have a job if we don’t win this, and I cannot lose my job right now.
So, yeah, I’m doing and will continue to do everything in my power to make sure Mitchell Security comes out on top. ”
Fucking Trent. Of course he threatened Carter’s job.
Took that trick right out of his dad’s playbook.
As annoyed as I am with Carter right now, I can say with complete confidence he is excellent at his job.
And even though our work together before the concert made me realize Trent isn’t as big of an idiot as I always assumed he was, he has to be living under a rock if he thinks he could do this without Carter.
Gosh, and with Carter’s mom sick, he really does need the job.
That’s terrible, maybe I should let them— No! Nope. Never. No.
“Yeah, well, so am I,” I say, trying to keep my conflicted feelings off my face.
“I’m sorry your brother’s a dick and is trying to motivate you with scare tactics, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to take it easy on you or give up on winning this work with Jaxon.
I’ve worked hard to build my business to what it is, and I have employees I have to think about too.
Ones I would never threaten like that, for the record. ”
“I know you wouldn’t. I’ve seen the way you work with your team. You’re a great boss.” He offers me a tentative smile.
“Thank you,” I say. I’m not usually too affected by compliments—they tend to be more about the giver than the receiver—but Carter’s seems so genuine that I can’t help but feel a surge of pride.
“So…can we go back to being friends?” Carter asks, a pained smile on his face.
“Not if that”—I circle my finger in the direction of his grimace—“is how you feel about it.”
He runs his hand down his face. “I just wasn’t sure if you’d consider us friends.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” The dichotomy between his uncertainty about my friendship and his certainty that I’m his friend melts the final holdout in my mind.
“Then we’re friends,” I say. “Friends who happen to be rivals.”