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“Yes. For good reason.” She turned back to the wall, tapping her pen against a lone pink note they needed to place. “Now, can we please decide when they’re going to have sex? If they dance around each other any more, we’re going to give the audience blue balls.”
They wouldn’t be the only ones suffering.
Probably not a good time to remind her that they would be sharing a room later.
* * *
The same generic pop song was playing in the elevator again. Beside him, Hayley was silent, but it was far from comfortable.
She stood stiff, silent, avoiding contact with him and staring straight ahead. He missed the teasing from yesterday and kicked himself for making a hard week harder. Somehow he’d managed to annoy her more by trying to work together than he had when he’d been messing around.
He should say something. He was tempted to make a joke, but the muscles in her jaw were locked tight, and her arms barricaded her chest. He wasn’t willing to risk bodily harm if he got it wrong and made it worse.
As promised, Hayley’s suitcase was awaiting them. Along with a few other things.
“Do you have something to tell me, Harry?” Hayley said, staring at the bed.
Harrison didn’t know what to focus on first. The twin towels that were curved into kissing swans? The box of chocolates? The rose petals?
That fucking manager had it out for him.
“No champagne, I see,” she added, sounding somewhere between amused and disappointed.
He risked a glance at her. There was a hint of a smile playing on her lips, and the sight of it flooded him with relief.
“That was yesterday. Wait until tomorrow; I’ve heard the violinist is quite talented.”
As he’d hoped, her resolve cracked, joy spreading across her features and lighting Harrison up from the inside out.
She studied the bed again, and Harrison flushed. In a few hours, they’d be sleeping here.
In this bed.
Together.
He cleared his throat, turning away. “I’ll let you unpack. How do you feel about room service?”
* * *
Hayley was beside herself as he recounted the strange list of events he’d suffered through, at one point laughing so hard she snorted.
Suddenly, every embarrassing story he had begged to be told. Anything to keep her smiling at him.
“I’m starting to think Cupid has a vendetta against you,” Hayley said, dipping a fry into her curry.
“I can’t imagine what I’ve done to piss him off,” he joked, taking a bite of his burger and trying not to spill half its contents on himself. He refused to ruin another shirt.
Refused.
Hayley beamed over the room service tray. She looked especially sexy, wearing a set of navy silk pajamas that clung to her breasts and ass in a way designed purely with Harrison’s fraying nerves in mind.
“How do you know Cupid is a him?”
Harrison considered. “Regularly causes mischief, shoots first and thinks later…” That got a laugh from her, and he busied his hands before he could pull her onto his lap.
“Now it’s starting to sound like you have a personal grudge.”
Harrison huffed a laugh. “Maybe I do.”
