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I squeeze his arm instead and slip closer.
The look he gives me sends me over the edge. It’s little and cold. Like I’m so far beneath him.
And I am. I am a snake in the grass compared to Gabriel Sinclair, Perfect Angel.
I drop his arm and grab the handles of my suitcases before he can take them, striding to the elevator, dragging all my shit behind me. The moment the elevator doors close on us and we’re alone, I drop my bags and round on him.
“Are we doing this or not?” I demand. “You can’t keep half-assing it.”
“Just give me some space,” he grits out.
I’ll give him space. I wish I could put the whole of America between us, but since I can’t, the moment the doors open, I’m off, stomping down the hallway, dragging my luggage behind me.
Waiting for him to unlock the door ruins the whole storming away thing and my face heats.
Once inside, I leave most of my bags by the door and disappear into the bathroom with my toiletries without a glance at the room.
What the hell was I thinking? This is never going to work. Every time I’ve checked my name, or his name, online, it’s been the same thing. After the initial shock of us being together, everyone is claiming it’s a badly orchestrated stunt. Or our whirlwind romance is over already and—surprising no one—it’s my fault.
This isn’t working. I want to stomp my feet and scream and maybe kick the trash can because I can’t break this contract and incur the penalty fee, which my agent only included because she knows me too well. I need this to work. Without jobs coming in, my ability to live my life as comfortably as I like is already in jeopardy.
I wash my face and unpack my toiletries instead, breathing deeply and trying to find some sort of calm.
My agent’s words ring in my head.Give it a couple of days and give them something better to work with.
I’mtrying. I want to leave this sham of a publicity stunt, but I’m going to claw my way to the spotlight if I have to do it over Gabriel Sinclair’s corpse.
To the spotlight and Nic. Of course.
Since Gabriel Sinclair has a way of taking all my attention in the worst way and I’m thinking of it now, I plant a quick seed. A text to Jessie, thanking her for inviting me to the wedding and asking if I can text her again when she’s back from her honeymoon. I need to know if she knows what I did. If she doesn’t, I want her trust. It’ll make it easier to get to Nic later.
Then I square my shoulders and walk into the room.
Gabriel is sprawled across the bed on his back like a damn starfish, eyes closed.
“Oh, hell no. Sofa bed.” I point through the doorway into the living room at the less-than-comfy-looking sofa.
He sits up. “Youcan take the sofa bed since you booked this room.”
“I’m not sleeping on a sofa bed!”
He gives me an angry little smile. “I’m sleeping right here,Ashley.”
I join him on the bed. “So am I,Gabriel.”
He stands, grabs his bag, and disappears into the bathroom.
I exhale and flop onto my back. Fuck my life.
He comes out in midnight blue swim trunks, a towel draped over his shoulder.
Being shameless has its perks, so I sit up to judge. Muscles on muscles, dips and swells worthy of a sculpture of some ancient god or warrior. He pauses long enough to glare at me—I assume. I’m more interested in his Adonis belt. He’s no Nic, but he’s pretty hot. Pity about his personality.
“Eh,” I pronounce my final judgment, but my face goes warm thinking about how I’d accidentally groped him in the car. My eyes linger on the definite dick print in his trunks. He’s huge. I wasn’t lying when I told him that dick was wasted on him.
He walks straight out the door. Down to the pool where he’ll be photographed without me.
Shit. We’re losing control of this story. Not that we ever had any control.
