Jett’s in front of me before I can register the movement. So close I can smell the scent of his soap from his shower and catalog the small nick on his jaw where he cut himself while shaving. Close enough that his foot brushes mine, and my skin lights on fire.
So fucking close I have to tilt my head back.
All signs of humor evaporate from his face. “Any man would beluckyto date you. Never question that.”
His finger reaches out, grazing the back of my hand, before he retreats to the desk, saving his work and shutting his laptop. My heart stops and restarts into a sharp, irregular beat before it settles to a pounding rhythm.
With his task complete, I become the object of his intense focus. The skin where he touched me blazes, and I flex my fingers, banishing the sensation.
Jett makes himself comfortable, fluffing pillows and patting the mattress for me to join him. I volley my focus between the empty space and the hem of his shirt bunching at his waist, offering me another rare peek of skin.
The temperature in the room spikes by ten degrees.
Why am I standing at the edge of the bed like an idiot? Say something, Sofía!
“What’s your plan, then? I know you’ve got one.”
I crack open my laptop, careful to keep the screen in front of my breasts. “I was thinking we could feed into the debate and theories. Post short videos, photos, and stories on your page that could be interpreted as a relationship but don’t explicitly say so. You have apassionatefemale fanbase”—a light way to put it—“and I think we can feed into that to drive ticket sales even more for a larger premiere venue and higher streams when you release the docuseries. We could also use it to promote some of your philanthropic work, guiding people to donate to charities you support. One video teasing them, followed by a post about a different organization.”
He absorbs the information, then asks the one question I feared he would. “And what type of things would we need to do to convince them?”
Another asinine idea appears, and I roll with it. Who says I can’t go with the flow? The rapids are dragging me down the river, and I’m lounging on the inner tube, albeit with a white-knuckle grip and a racing pulse.
“We can copy what Molly and Doug do but record it or take photos. They’re the most in-love couple I’ve ever met, so if we can mirror a fraction of that, I think we can sell it.”
Jett hums thoughtfully. “You think it will work?” He pauses, and I incline my head. “Okay, I trust you. Let’s do it.”
I trust you.
Well, if those words aren’t fodder for a perfectionist.
“Should we tell them the plan?” I ask. “See if they have input?”
“Absolutely not.” Jett shakes his head, frantic. “They donotneed to know about this.”
“But won’t they figure it out? The video is viral.”
His conviction that they can’t know about the PR scheme sets me on edge. Is he embarrassed by me?
“They don’t have social media. Doug called it a ‘time sucker,’ and Molly kept starting fights in the comment section and got herself banned. Not by the app, but by me.”
Uh, all right.
Well, if he wants to keep it a secret, I can do that.
“You got it. Secret PR relationship.” Laptop glued to my chest, I bolt to the door. “Perfect. Great. We’ll start tomorrow.”
Words leave his mouth, but I’m too far to hear them, which is for the best because I need to annihilate every rogue emotion in my body in order to establish this PR relationship without it becoming weird.
But what I need to happen most expeditiously is for the ghost of his touch to disappear.
Chapter 9
jett
“This is going to betotallyradical,” I cheer.
Sofía trudges out of the hotel lobby, sunglasses slung over her eyes, a massive coffee thermos in her hand, and her bag dangling from her shoulder. She drags one foot in front of the other, and I bound behind her.
