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It’s odd, and also strangely addictive. More than once today I’ve had to remind myself not to get used to this. That Garrett and I are just using each other to achieve mutually beneficial goals. And while, yes, we have abso-freaking-lutely amazing chemistry between us, that doesn’t mean much either.
I mean, we’re talking about Gorgeous Garrett here. His Royal Hotness. He has chemistry with everyone.
I’m exhausted by the time the shoot finally wraps. I spent most of the night after Garrett left working on sorting and categorizing the clothes from yesterday’s estate sale, and the fact that I only got about two hours of sleep is definitely catching up to me. I want nothing more than to go back to my cottage and sleep for twelve hours straight.
But considering I’ve just struck this bargain with Garrett—and haven’t let him tell me any of the very persistent Jacob’s rules for public behavior—I figure sleep is pretty much a pipe dream right now. Then again, I owe him. If he hadn’t shown up this morning, no way would any of today been possible. I’d have huge traffic on a rapidly emptying website, which is a long-term recipe for disaster. Bad enough if the new visitors can’t find anything to order, but if my regular clients have to go somewhere else? There’s no telling if they’ll ever come back.
Once I’ve paid Carlos and his models—and have repacked all the clothes—Garrett and his security detail start carting them back to the SUV for me. I start to pick up one of the heavy wardrobe bags too, but Garrett all but rips it out of my hands.
“Walk with me to the car,” he says, heavy wardrobe bag over his shoulder. “You can rest there while we get everything else.”
“I can help—”
“You obviously haven’t looked in a mirror lately, because if you knew what you looked like right now, you wouldn’t volunteer to carry so much as a water bottle.” He reaches for my briefcase while he speaks, slipping the strap off my shoulder and onto his.
“Wow, we’re through the honeymoon stage and onto the ‘you look like ass’ stage already, huh? That was quick.” I make a show of checking my watch. “Wasn’t it only eighty-two hours ago that we first met?”
He rolls his eyes, then gently hip-checks me in an effort to propel me toward the front of the hotel and the Range Rover. I could protest again, could put up more of a fight, but I’m so tired. Maybe it won’t kill me to let him do this one more thing for me. I mean, since he’s here. And he wants to.
We make it out the front of the hotel without a hassle, and it’s not until I see the SUV sitting by itself, with no one but Bastian around to guard it, that I finally let myself relax. I’m not sure how they’ve done it, especially since we were hanging out in the public portions of a hotel for the last several hours, but Garrett’s people have managed to keep the press and the paparazzi away—not just from us, but from the car as well.
I slide into the back of the car without another thought. Once there, I rest my head against the back of the seat. Close my eyes. And breathe a huge sigh of relief that the hard part of the day is finally over.
Chapter 15
Garrett
I really hate to wake her.
Lola was asleep before I even managed to climb back in the car, legs pulled under her and cheek resting on her hand. I’d like to say she looks peaceful, but the truth is she looks exhausted. Completely and totally drained.
It makes me feel like a total asshole, especially since I’m at least partially responsible for the maelstrom she’s been caught in over the last sixteen hours. More like totally responsible, but since I don’t know what else she’s been dealing with, I’ll pretend it’s not all my fault…for a little while anyway.
Still, the guilt is real and it is harsh. So harsh that in the end I decide not to wake her after all. Instead, I slide out of the car, then walk around to her side. I grab her briefcase and rummage through it for the keys.
Once I find them, I hand them off to Bryce with a nod toward the front door. He nods back before bounding up the steps. I click off her seatbelt, then slide her into my arms before kicking the door shut.
“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” I tell him as he holds the front door open for me. Then I’m carrying Lola down the very short hall to what I assume is
her bedroom.
It’s as big a disaster as the living room was last night, but I’m pretty confident the mess in here is her stuff versus stuff for Va Voom Vintage, considering at least two of the piles of clothing on the floor include clothes I’ve already seen her in. It’s an interesting side note to her personality, one I’ll have to think about later considering how ruthlessly organized she was at the photo shoot today.
Right now, I settle for kicking the pile closest to the bed out of the way, awkwardly bending down to smooth out the crumpled-up covers as I do. Lola stirs at the jerky movements, twisting in my arms until her arms are around me and her face is buried in my neck.
“It’s okay,” I murmur as I rub a soothing hand over her hair. She presses closer, and I’m shocked at the wave of tenderness that goes through me at the feel of her. It’s as unexpected as it is unfamiliar.
I mean, sure, I know that I’m grateful she’s decided to go along with this plan even though it messes up her life.
I know that I’m intrigued—fascinated, really—by her no-holds-barred approach to life.
And God knows, I want her—I’ve wanted her since the moment I set eyes on her at the lake, and the two times we’ve kissed since then have only made that desire burn hotter and brighter.
I’m more than okay with all of those feelings, will even go so far as to say I’m pleased by them since it’s been so long since I’ve been intrigued by anything or anyone. But this creeping tenderness? This softness I feel when I look down at her? It’s something else entirely, something I was certain the abduction had knocked out of me forever. The fact that I feel it for Lola confuses me and makes me cautious. I don’t know how I feel about it, and I sure as shit don’t know what I want to do about it.
Getting her in bed and then getting the hell out of Dodge is probably a good place to start. Which is what I do—or at least, what I try to do. But as I deposit Lola on the bed, she wraps herself around me and hangs on tight.
When I try to pry her hands away, she murmurs, “Stay,” and holds on even more tightly. But her eyes are still closed and her words are so slurred I almost can’t make them out.
