Kian

  God,” she groaned, tipping her head back with a dreamy smile, “I need this to keep me awake today.”

  “Hey.” I held up my hand. “Don’t make me jealous. Pour me a cup, too.”

  She poured me one as well, and when I grabbed it, Wanker moaned from the couch. He sat up with his hair sticking in the air and a nice bulge in the front of his pants. He looked down at it, up to us, back to it, and then sighed.

  He muttered, falling back to lean against the couch, “He says good morning, too.”

  Lovely.

  I ignored his member’s good morning. “How is it that you got here? You weren’t at the Wine Cellar last night.” I leaned back against the counter. I had picked the morning shift, so I was late, but a good cup of coffee couldn’t be rushed.

  Erica rolled her eyes. “He called a few hours ago, convinced that he needed to go to the hospital.”

  Last night, Erica had been falling over wasted.

  I asked her, “You were steady enough to take him?”

  She snorted. “Hell no. I talked him into taking a cab here, and when he got here, he suddenly felt better.”

  He grumbled, yawning and stretching at the same time, “I thought I was dying. Thanks for the sympathy, too. Good friends you are.”

  There was enough coffee in the pot for one more person.

  “We’re the best kind of friends there are, if you want the last cup.”

  “The best. The very best.” He stood up and began scratching at his chest again as he continued, “The one-of-a-kind best—unique and rare and”—he moved closer to the pot, leaned down, and took a big whiff before a dreamy smile came over his face—“the kind that I just want to hug.”

  He had morning breath.

  Before I could retreat, Erica held up a hand. “Back away from my roommate. You’re sick. You were throwing up.” She paused and amended, “We were both throwing up at the same time. He got the toilet. I took the garbage bin.” She shuddered. “Not good times.”

  The image flashed in my head. “Gross. I didn’t need to know that.”

  Erica grinned over her cup. “It’s one of the perks of being my roommate. We’re close, Jo. You get to know everything about me.”

  Wanker grunted, moving back to the couch with the whole coffee pot. “I do, too, and I’m not your roommate.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I don’t?” He looked at her in surprise.

  “Nope.” Erica grabbed her bag and then her purse. Putting her arms through the straps, she secured her bag onto her back and then reached for her cup. Pausing at the door with her keys in hand, she frowned at him. “I have to go. It’s our last day for prep before the interview.” Her eyebrows shot up, and she said to me, “You have to be there today.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. Oh my gosh, that was the other thing I needed to vent to you about. Susan rescheduled the interview. She’s going to meet with him tomorrow. I found that out last night. I was supposed to do my questions on the original date, two days from now. Oh, man.” Her palm hit her forehead. “That was the whole reason I had you come out last night.”

  She had been hanging all over one of the other reporters when I got there, so I hadn’t been filled in on whatever was wrong. Remembering that, I met her gaze, and she looked toward Wanker before giving me a slight head shake.

  Message received. I would keep my mouth shut, so I took another sip of my coffee instead.

  After a second’s pause of silence, Erica continued, more quietly, “So, yeah, that was why I was upset. Susan wasn’t going to tell me. She was going to have her assistant do the background questions.”

  “That other reporter is out?”

  “Susan got her completely kicked off the project. It’s a big scoop for Susan. She tried saying that it got moved up a day because of his team’s request, but she could’ve told me. This is all we’ve been working on for the last month.” The ends of her mouth pinched together, and the lines around her eyes strained. “But we’re doing a meeting today to go over everything one last time. She knows that I got you on the approved list to be my assistant, so you have to be there.”

  “I have to work.”

  “You have to get out of it.”

  “But—” I remembered launching myself at that couple and the woman’s threats that she was going to get me canned. On second thought…

  I lifted a shoulder. “I could call in sick.”

  “Perfect.” Erica beamed at me. “Okay, the meeting starts at three, so when you come to the building, just text me. I’ll come down and grab you in the lobby.”

  I nodded. “Sounds go—”

  The door slammed shut, and it was down to two. I glanced at Wanker. He stared back at me over the coffee pot.

  He grimaced, his hand moving to his stomach. He muttered, “I should’ve held off on the coffee.”

  “Too soon?”

  He stood, passing me the pot, and he headed for the other pot. “Much too soon. Much.”

  A second door was slammed shut, leaving me alone.

  I said under my breath, “And it’s down to one, folks.”

  When the barfing sounds started, that was my cue to leave, but first, I needed to make that phone call. Paul wouldn’t believe me, not if that woman had already called or even if she’d call later. He’d know I was lying, but I wanted to avoid that storm, even though I’d be going into a different one.

  After putting the coffee cup into the sink, I headed for my bedroom with my phone in hand when Wanker opened the bathroom door behind me. The toilet was flushed before he turned off the sink.

  He returned to the couch, wiping wet hands over his mouth. “Sorry. I…sorry you had to hear that.”

  “You going to be okay?”

  He didn’t answer that question. Instead, he leaned back against the couch. “I know she was with someone last night.”

  Oh, whoa.

  I shrank back against my bedroom doorframe.

  He lightly rubbed his hand over his stomach. “It’s why I came over. I had to see for myself. I think that’s why I felt sick.” He cringed, turning a light shade of green. “Or why I felt sicker.”

  He looked up at me. He didn’t know, no matter if he’d said he did. I knew he didn’t, and in that one look at me, he was checking for confirmation. I steeled myself, ready for his inspection, but when those eyes met mine, I wasn’t prepared for the sadness there.

  He was speaking the truth. He really did know.

  My shoulders relaxed. “I’m sorry, Wanker.”

  He waved me off. “Nope. Trust me, I get it. She doesn’t have those feelings for me. She made that perfectly clear.”

  With his shoulders slightly drooped, he got up and went to the sink. He dumped out the rest of the coffee that he hadn’t drunk and washed the cup. He dried it, too, and then put it back inside the cupboard. All the while, he didn’t look at me. I didn’t talk. I had no idea what to say. I still didn’t as he collected his keys, wallet, and phone.

  Going to the door, he paused before opening it. His back remained toward me. “I think,” he started, his voice low, “it’s time I pull away a little bit. She should be able to have a guy over and not worry that her best friend might drop in and get jealous.”

  “Wanker.” I took a step toward him.

  He waved me back, still turned away. “Watch out for her when she’s doing that interview, would you? That guy is dangerous.”

  I let out a silent sigh. “Yeah, I will.”

  “And can you not say anything to her? About what I just said to you.” He glanced over his shoulder to me. The pain was evident. His eyes were stricken.

  I nodded, feeling a lump in my throat.

  “Thank you.”

  Then he was gone.

  I wasn’t sick, but I did feel a little ill when I got to Erica’s news building. When I got inside, I let the front desk person know who I was and five minutes later, Erica was calling my name from a side door.

  I hurried over
and hissed, “You guys aren’t ordering food, are you?”

  She turned and started up the stairs but frowned over her shoulder to me. “Uh, yeah. We usually do if the meeting goes long. Why? We’ll order for you, too. You don’t have to worry about paying.”

  “Tell me you’re not ordering from Escape.”

  “Oh.” She stopped as she was rounding for the next level of stairs and turned with big eyes. “No.”

  Oh, no.

  “Crap. I didn’t even think of that, and there’s already been a request put in for Escape. One of the head honchos here is buddies with the new owners of Escape. That’s why you guys deliver to us.”

  She started back up, but I caught her arm. “Wait. New owners?”

  “Yeah.” She frowned at me. “You didn’t know?”

  “No.” And why didn’t I? But I didn’t have time to ponder that.

  Erica was through the door and heading for the conference room. The tables formed a U with the opening having a podium and a marker board on the wall. Susan was standing behind the podium, talking with a few other people. She glanced up at our arrival and stiffened. I felt her eyes on me, but I ignored her and slipped into the chair beside Erica.

  I couldn’t quite remember the reason Erica wanted me there—oh, yes, I was there to distract Susan by just being there. My presence pissed her off, and as she kept staring at me, I could tell it was working.

  Score one for Erica.

  Susan cleared her throat and held a hand up, drawing attention from everyone in the room. She pointed to the door. “Marcus, can you shut the door? Let’s get the meeting going, shall we?”

  A guy did as she’d asked.

  Erica leaned toward me and whispered, “Told you she’s on a head trip. Hope you’re ready for some nausea. Her ego trip makes me want to hurl on a daily basis.”

  “Erica,” Susan called out, her beady eyes fixed right on my roommate.

  Erica straightened in her seat. “Yeah?”

  Oh, snap. I was ready for some drama to ensue.

  Susan was going to call her out, but she pointed to me and asked in a tight voice, “Would you like to introduce Jo and explain her presence to the team? And while she’s doing that, has everyone put in their orders on the sheet? We scrapped the order for Escape. We’re ordering pizza instead. I’m going to make the call right now.” She held up a piece of paper. “It looks like pepperoni, cheese, taco, and Hawaiian? Any other requests?”

  And I missed a hit with that one.

  No one voiced a different opinion.

  Susan narrowed her eyes, staring at me. “Go ahead, Erica. Do your introduction. Since I know what you and Jo like, I’ll be right back.”

  She sounded polite.

  She looked polite.

  But I did not get the polite vibe from her. Susan left the room, but my tension remained on my shoulders. No way was I going to be the fool and relax around her. That would be like a snake playing dead, pretending to be an ugly-ass necklace. Hell no.

  Erica held up a hand and pointed to me. “This is Jo. She’s going to be my assistant during the interview tomorrow.”

  Someone started to raise a hand, but she shot him down with a glare.

  “And, no, she’s my assistant, not yours, Geoff. She won’t be getting you coffee or sandwiches during the day.”

  His hand went back down.

  Some of the group laughed, and someone asked, “What about back rubs? She looks like a good masseuse.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “No way.”

  They laughed again as that one person groaned. “All the pretty ones don’t like to give back rubs. Where did the good assistants go?”

  “To Human Resources,” a woman called out, “to report sexual harassment, Bob.”

  He grumbled, grinning, as he waved a hand, dismissing her. “Yeah, yeah. What about the men? I would never claim sexual harassment. What do you say, ladies? New girl?” He looked right at me, as did everyone else. “You ever want someone to be your assistant, you let me know.”

  I had a feeling this was some form of hazing. I never looked at Erica. I knew she wasn’t going to say anything, so I lifted my chin and stared right back at him, and I was honest. “I will tell you right now. If I ever find myself in a position where I need an assistant, you’ll be the very last person I consider.”

  The group remained silent.

  They were still testing me out.

  Bob asked, “Why?”

  I didn’t hold back. “Because I absolutely hate back rubs.”

  The group laughed then, and Bob nodded, grinning at me. “You’re all right, new girl. Erica, you did good with your choice, not that you really need an assistant. But, hey, if my best girlfriend wanted to come see the new celebrity, I would have gone that route, too.”

  Erica stiffened in her seat. “Jo’s here to help me out, and that’s it.”

  Someone snorted, “Not like she could even get close to Kian Maston. The guy’s going to be surrounded by his team of lawyers and his publicist.”

  It was my turn to stiffen in the chair.

  Erica gestured to the other person. “Exactly. My assistant won’t be leaving my side. Bob, you’re just cranky because my request to have an assistant was approved—unlike your request. Everyone knows any assistant of yours would sue for sexual harassment within the first week.”

  Bob let out a dreamy sigh. “Ah, but that would be one glorious week.”

  The group started laughing again, but I wasn’t hearing them. I wasn’t enjoying the camaraderie they all seemed to have while teasing each other.

  Kian’s team of lawyers and his publicist? Or maybe he has more than one?

  He wouldn’t be coming alone tomorrow. He would have a team with him and maybe even his family, who all knew me.

  I couldn’t be there.

  There was no way.

  I looked at Erica. How could I stop this train wreck from happening? And I was seeing now that it would be a train wreck. I was the wreck. This would ruin my life. I would be exposed, and Kian would have nothing to do with it. It would be all my own doing because I’d let my roommate talk me into attending her interview and because the truth was that I wanted to come for myself.

  I wanted to see Kian again.

  A raging headache was coming on. I felt it pushing at my temples, and it was growing more and more by the time Susan came back and started the meeting.

  I wasn’t paying attention. I was screwed.

  I was on the roof again that night, but I wasn’t there because Kian had called me. I called him, and I did so with shaking hands. To have gotten the text was one thing, but to be the one to initiate the meeting was a whole other level.

  That was me.

  I had gone to that level, and I still could imagine Snark yelling at me. Before, it was like I had committed a crime by omission. There was wiggle room for a defense team. Not now. I was planning, concocting, and being the mastermind of my own crime. There would be no room for a defense if I were caught red-handed.

  And why was I thinking that I’d be prosecuted? For what? A text