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“My lips are sealed,” I promise.
Except when it comes to Fraser’s tongue, that is…
The production meetingitself is a blur to me, thank to my killer hangover, and Fraser’s presence in the room. It’s impossible to focus on anything while he’s justsittingthere, tap-tapping at his keyboard. He’s clearly pretending that The Kiss ™ never happened, because his eyes never leave the laptop screen. His mouth is a permanent hard line. Is he taking minutes, ready to report back any extravagant budget items? Or secretly reading filthy omega-verse fanfiction, and keeping a very straight face?
I don’t need three guesses to tell he’s all about his job.
I sigh, infuriated all over again. What the hell is his deal? I can’t believe this stern Scrooge is the same man who kissed me senseless last night; his hands gripping me passionately. His tongue in my mouth, sensually driving me wild…
But then again, the man was always good at that. Ateverything. After the fumbling frat-bros I’d dated, it felt like hitting the jackpot to discover Fraser was a wild, generous lover, and just the right side of filthy, too: His Scottish accent murmuring shocking dirty talk in my ear as he urged me on. I thought sex like that only existed in my favorite smutty romance novels, and before him, it did. But after Fraser…
Well, let’s just say he raised the bar for every other man. A big legacy, in every sense of the word.
“… JJ?”
“Huh?” I snap my head up, and realize, the meeting is over, and everyone is dispersing.
Reeve checks his phone again and grits his teeth. “Still no sign of Hugo,” he whispers. “Hazel and Anna are doing a full sweep at the location, canvassing all the crew.”
“Good plan, I’ll go help,” I say. “Look, don’t worry. A-List actors don’t just disappear off the face of the earth,” I reassure him. “I bet you ten bucks he’s still hungover in some barmaid’s bed, and he’ll stroll in all sheepish before dinner.”
“God, I hope you’re right.”
I head out to go join the search, but I’m just power-walking through the hotel lobby when someone calls my name. It’s the desk clerk, waving me down.
“Miss Jameson? There’s a note for you.” She holds out a piece of paper.
“Thanks,” I tell her, taking it, barely breaking stride. I scan the page as I head for the main doors. It’s hotel stationery, in unfamiliar handwriting:
JJ, You were right about everything. I can’t let the moment slip away. I’m going to follow my heart, just like you said. – Hugo
I stop dead in my tracks, staring at the note in confusion. Why is Hugo leaving me a note like this? Where the hell is he?
And what on earth did I say to him last night?
Vague memories from the pub nudge at the edge of my consciousness.Tequila shots… Complaining about men… Whisky… Vegas…
Wait, why were we talking about Vegas?
And suddenly,the haze in my head clears, and it all comes rushing back to me…
LAST NIGHT
“Hugo Chambers,” I say, so loud that it sounds like an announcement. That would be the fourth shot of tequila then. Whoops. I giggle and drop my volume. “Hugo Chambers, do you believe in soulmates? Like, that one person who truly gets the real you, right from the start?”
“I never used to,” he says, contemplating his own drink. It’s past midnight now, and the pub has cleared out. It’s just the two of us shutting it down as the barmaid begins to turn over chairs and sweep the floor. She’s a fan, of course. “I thought it was hogwash, in fact. One person out of billions, destined to be the love of your life? Unlikely. Compatibility is a complex, multi-faceted thing. But then…” He sighs.
A juicy, wistful, ‘There’s a story here’ kind of sigh.
I lean in. OK, I sway, more than tipsy at this point, and well on my way to absolutely bladdered, as the Brits would say. “But then…?” I echo, rapt.
He smiles. “I met someone. Last year, in Vegas.”
“Was it Adele?” I whisper, wide-eyed. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Hugo laughs. “It wasn’t Adele. It wasn’t anyone famous,” he adds. “See, I was on a stag do with my mate Chris, he was getting married, so the boys all went to go gamble and visit strip clubs—”
“As you do,” I nod.
