“We’ve got to what?” Hailey repeated, feeling stunned and almost dropping the muffin she’d just placed on a plate for a customer.

Stan came up next to her. “You okay?”

She looked. There was a huge line of people at the coffee shop. “Jake—listen, can you hold on? I’ll call you right back.” She hung up.

“Everything okay with that boy toy of yours?” Stan teased.

She was in no mood. She had only a few days left. Tomorrow was the last chance they’d have at capturing any of the convention fans, getting them to the bookstore. Which meant she had to help Jake get attention now. She made lattes as fast as she could.

“Hey, this isn’t what I ordered,” a man in a Huskies sweatshirt complained.

“Isn’t it?” she asked apologetically, as she finished up another. “I thought you said double-shot decaf caramel latte, no foam.”

“I wanted half-caf,” he said, although she knew damned well that’s not what he’d asked for. “And there’s still foam.”

That was milk, she thought, but she took it back. “Sorry. I’ll get another one going for you,” she said, her jaw clenching so hard she thought it would pop.

“Yeah you will,” he snapped. “And I think I should get a refund. I’ve been waiting here for twenty minutes, and you can’t even get the order right!”

That did it. She glared at him. “It was more like seven minutes, because we get busy. And I made a mistake, but you’ll get it over. If it’s that much of a problem”—she dug into her pocket, throwing a five-dollar bill on the counter in front of him—“go over to Starbucks or something. I hear they love to suck up to assholes.”

Silence fell on the shop. She winced. Damn it. Damn it!

“Hailey?” The manager, Lizzie, cleared her throat, speaking nervously. “Can I speak with you in the back for a moment? Stan here will be happy to refund your money, and we’ll get whatever drink going you’d like, sir. Thank you all for being patient.”

Hailey felt shame burning through her, as well as anger. “I’m sorry, Liz,” she said in a low voice, as Liz shut the door behind her. “I didn’t . . . I’ve been kind of stressed lately.”

“I know,” Lizzie said. “And it shows.”

That hurt. “I’m coming to shifts on time, and I’m working hard, though. I just . . . today . . .”

“I know you’ve been working hard, and I know you’re working two jobs,” Lizzie said. “You’re burning out. I think you know that.”

Hailey bit her lip. “I’ll pull it together. I promise.”

“I called Trina,” Lizzie said. “You’re off shift now.”

“But we’re backed up,” Hailey protested. I need this job! “I know, I shouldn’t have mouthed off. I’ll apologize to that guy, okay? I’ll make him three lattes. I’ll make those little leaf designs. I’ll . . .”

“Hailey,” Lizzie said, her voice going a bit harder. “I really don’t want any drama here. You’re a hard worker, but it feels like you’ve got a little too much going on right now. Take some time off, until you can get it together, okay?”

Hailey glared. “Don’t do that. Don’t tell me that you want me to take more time off, to get myself together, when you just don’t want to deal with me.”

Lizzie’s eyes were cool. She spread her hands. “You can take it however you want to, Hailey,” she said, her voice irritatingly calm. “But I need you out. Now.”

“Am I fired?”

Lizzie shrugged. “We’ll call you when things calm down.”

Hailey took off her apron, throwing it down onto the floor with a slap. “Fine. Just . . . fine.”

“We’ll mail your last check,” Lizzie called after her. Hailey stalked out to Charlotte, feeling ready to scream. She put her head down on the steering wheel, feeling like slamming it. But she didn’t.

I needed that job, she thought. Her sisters, the bookstore, they all needed that money. That God. Damned. Paycheck.

Now, she needed Jake’s help more than ever. She had to fulfill that part of the bargain.

If she didn’t get Jake some results, then he wasn’t going to help her out. He could simply say he liked Frost Fandoms, do a shout-out at a panel. She just had to convince him to make an announcement soon, or they’d lose the opportunity to shuffle some of those convention fans to the bookstore. It would be a little clumsy, and it wouldn’t have the same impact as saying, “I will be at Frost Fandoms,” but it would have to do.

Sighing and crossing her fingers, she dialed him as she sat in the parking lot.

“You sounded tense,” she said, after he’d barked out a greeting. “Like, bear trap tense. What’s going on?”

“I talked to my agent.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“Ordinarily, yes,” Jake said. “Not in this case. She saw the photos—they’re all over TMZ and a bunch of gossip sites—but she said it’s not giving me the reputation they’re looking for.”

She frowned. “What are they looking for, then?”

“Something more solid. Less, um, temporary.”

“They’re not looking for, like, an engagement, are they? Because I don’t know that we can pull that off believably in just a few days.” she joked, then faked a Scottish burr. “Damn it, Jake, I’m a blackjack dealer, not a miracle worker!”

She didn’t know if he missed the reference, didn’t find it funny, or was just so stressed he blasted by it. “We need to be in love.”

She blanched for a second—couldn’t help it. “Aha. I thought that’s what you said before.” She sighed. “So, fine. We’ll be in love. No big deal.”

“Yes, big deal,” he retorted. “Right now, you could be anybody I slept with.”

“Excuse you,” she murmured, but he was too into his own head to catch it.

“It looks like you’re just . . . well, a really hot rando. Maybe even an, um . . . professional.” He sounded embarrassed. “That’s not my opinion.”

She shrugged, although the derision and disgust in his voice chafed. “You don’t say.”

He exhaled. “They don’t know you at all. It was just the narrative. The pictures showed we were hot and heavy, but it wasn’t emotional. It wasn’t romantic. It just looked like a booty call.”

He sounded contrite, although she wasn’t sure if it was for the right reasons. Especially when he followed it up with, “I’m sure he meant that you looked like a groupie.”

She gritted her teeth. She’d almost rather be called a hooker. “So your agent thinks I’m a prostitute and/or fangirl that you hooked up with,” she reiterated, “and the problem there is that the story becomes Jake is hanging out with degenerates rather than Jake is dating a fan. Did I get that right?”

“That’s not . . . it’s . . .” Another sigh. “I’m sorry, Hailey.”

“You damned well should be.” She felt tears sting at the corners of her eyes, and blinked them back into submission. “Excuse the hell out of me for looking temporary.”

“This really isn’t about you, I swear. I’m overreacting to this whole thing. It wasn’t just my agent,” he admitted, his voice sounding growly and frustrated. “It was . . . well, shit. It was my dad.”

His voice all but rang with the truth of that statement, pain naked in his tone. So that was the problem. She took a deep breath, pushing her hurt feelings aside. I can’t help Cress if I stomp away pissed off.

Even if they had called her a hooker and a groupie. She gritted her teeth. She’d already lost one job today.

“So that’s why you sound like something crawled up your ass and died,” she said instead.

Jake let out a startled laugh. “Um, yeah. Again, I’m sorry. He sort of makes me nuts.”

She thought of his father. Everybody knew Kurt Windlass. If he was half as much of a hardass as he portrayed on the big screen, the guy was probably a drill sergeant. “That’s too bad,” she said. “Family can do that to you.”

He stayed quiet. Obviously this wasn’t a topic open for discussion.

“Okay, they do have a point,” she reluctantly admitted. “We need the narrative to be that you’ve fallen in love with a fan, not you’ll nail anything sexy that crosses your path.”

“Well, you are sexy,” he said, his voice warming. While she felt a little flattered, she knew he was just trying to shake off the talk of his father. Then he added, “The only reason I think they went the direction they did was because we have insane sexual chemistry. At least, I can say that it’s never been like this for me before. You are a force of nature, woman.”

“I am aware of this,” she agreed, glad he couldn’t see the blush that was contradicting her bravado. “And I’m grateful for your vote of confidence, but now we need to go a little more public, apparently. There aren’t a ton of paparazzi in Seattle, which is a good thing, but it also means that we need to stay somewhere the paparazzi will see us, but not seem obvious about it.”

“It’s got to be about more than sex,” he said. “It’s got to be about intimacy.”

The way he said the word intimacy made her shiver, in a good way. “Right. Subtle, but accessible,” she agreed. “And more romantic.”

“Yeah, that works,” he said. “But how are we supposed to convince anybody that we’re in love?”

She frowned. You got me, pal. I’ve never been in love.

However, with Jake perilously close to freaking out, now was not the time to make that particular admission.

“Well, rather than being the sexy make-out show, we just need to go for something more classic,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. “Romantic dinner or something, maybe?”

“That’s kind of cliché, isn’t it?” he hedged.

She sighed. “We don’t have a ton of options. It’s not like we’ve got a professional photographer that works for us, setting up press-perfect pictures for public consumption. We’re relying on one lame member of the paparazzi who’s just made her first break and will be looking for more.”

“I was thinking more like a public declaration.”

“No!” She rubbed her face. The guy would’ve been a terrible grifter. “What, do you want to look like a couch-jumping Tom Cruise?”

“You have a better idea?”

“I thought you hated faking it. Thought you hated lying,” she snapped. “Now, you want to go all-in with this?”

That sunk home, she could tell from his little hiss of breath.

Jesus, Hailey, are you trying to ruin all of your chances today?

“Sorry. That was below the belt,” she said. “And uncalled for. I . . . It’s just . . . It feels like an overreaction. You want to prove something.” To your father, she thought, but didn’t say anything. “Trust me, I do a lot out of spite. I know what it looks like.”

He let out a long exhale. She could feel the tension running through him, over the phone.

“I’m going to come over. We’ll do something cute, something fun and, erm, couple-ish,” she soothed, even as her own stomach knotted. “I’ll wear something girlfriend-friendly and low key.”

“And not too sexy?”

“Well,” she drawled, “sugar, I just can’t help that. I was born this way.”

He laughed, and she thought she could feel some of the tension melting out of him.

“I must be out of my mind,” he admitted. “This is . . . stupid. Crazy. Do you really think we can pull this off?”

He wasn’t wrong. The knots in her stomach tightened and multiplied.

Can you pull this off?

She glared at herself in her rearview mirror. “Let me tell you something. You know how I said the bookstore is owned by my family? That we live there?”

“Yeah, you mentioned that.”

“I’ve got a sister—well, sort of a sister—it’s a long story. She runs the bookstore. It’s really for her.” She took a deep breath, then said quietly, “She’s agoraphobic. I don’t think I mentioned that.”

There was a long pause. “No,” he replied. “You didn’t.”

“Her name’s Cressida, and she’s awesome.” She bit her lip, fighting back tears. “I’m going to come to the hotel, and we’ll figure out a game plan. We’re going to show the producers just how valuable you are. We’ll get you that contract renewal. You know why?”

“No, why?”

“Because my sister is counting on me,” she said, and let the full force of that passion, that dedication, come through in her voice. Convincing herself. “Because I don’t let her down, not if it is humanly possible. If that means convincing the world that we’re madly in love, on camera, then that’s what I’ll do. And trust me, the entire world—including you—will believe me. Because I’ve got too much riding on it, and I’m not going to fail. Okay?”

He paused. “This really means a lot to you.”

“Well, duh,” she spat, before she could stop herself.

Thankfully, he laughed. “I mean . . . when you talk like that . . . it’s like listening to a preacher or a president or . . . I don’t know, Steve Jobs,” he said, and she snickered. “Jesus, with persuasive skills like that, why aren’t you in sales or something? Or actually in PR?”

“Haven’t gone to college, don’t really plan to go. It’s hard for me to keep my attention on any topic I’m not passionate about, like general ed stuff.” Not to mention the expense, but really, the thought of sitting in a chair like Rachel did, writing papers and putting up with a lot of bureaucratic bullshit, made her skin crawl. “So, do we have a deal?”

“You’re on. You come here, we’ll figure out something.” He paused. “I want to help your sister, too. I’ll figure it out, get over my neurosis, and make sure that I do the thing at your bookstore, okay?”

She felt a wave of relief. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“But that might not guarantee that your bookstore makes it,” he pointed out, and it was like getting splashed with cold water. “Do you have a backup plan?”

She didn’t, not really. Rachel had some . . . She needed to talk to her about that. But for now . . . “Just a good sale, getting a bunch of the convention traffic, would be a huge boost. It’d get us through the next month or two. Sometimes, that’s as good as it gets.”

He was quiet for a second.

“I’m not telling you this as a sob story,” she said, feeling a pinch of pride. “I’m not just trying to guilt you into helping. This is an even trade, damn it.”

“I know that,” he said. “But you’re a pretty cool woman, you know that?”

“I’m aware,” she said, pushing the bravado. “See you in a few.”

She clicked off her phone, then rested her head on the cold plastic of the steering wheel for just a minute longer.

“I can do this. I can do this, damn it,” she told herself, turning the ignition and letting the engine roar to life.

She had to do this. Cressida and Rachel were counting on her. And if she’d get out of her own way, get over her pissy attitudes, self-sabotage and self-pity, she’d make sure it got done.

* * *

Jake decided to have Hailey come up to his room to brainstorm. She sounded upset but determined when he’d talked to her on the phone. He knew this whole “fake relationship” thing was a long shot, but Susie still hadn’t heard from the producers, and he was getting antsy. He had to do something. Besides, he was fascinated by Hailey. Attracted, without question. A little wary, too . . . partly because of his whole gun-shy approach to women, but partly because of her past. But just a little. His gut was telling him to trust her.

Of course, that might be his dick. They were in adjacent neighborhoods, after all, and sometimes his dick was louder.

She knocked, and he let her in. “Thanks,” he said, glancing up and down the hallway to make sure the paparazzi wasn’t there. They might’ve sent somebody more seasoned. Not that he was all that newsworthy, he thought. But the photos had been steamy, and sex sold.

She came in, sitting down on the bed. She must’ve come directly from work—she was wearing a pair of jeans that clung to her curves and a long-sleeved Seahawks shirt with the sleeves scrunched up. “Nice digs,” she said, bouncing a little. Which caused other things to bounce, very nicely, on her frame. He forced himself not to stare.

Don’t be that guy, Jake.

He sat on the small couch. “So, any ideas, coach?”

She stretched out, propping her head up on one arm. “I may have something.”

She looked good on the burnished gold comforter, he thought. Which of course, reminded him of how close the two of them had come in his other hotel room, at the casino. His cock twitched. He steadfastly ignored it.

Working, buddy, he chastised absently. Just business, remember?

Too bad that was getting to be a harder and harder tenet to remember.

“Well?” he said, only sounding a little hoarse. “What’d you have in mind? Walk by the water, holding hands? Sharing spaghetti like Lady and the Tramp? I could buy you roses somewhere . . .”

“Slight pivot,” she said, surprising him. “I’m wondering if maybe I got you on the wrong track.”

He frowned. “Like . . . what, exactly? We should have promise rings and stay celibate or something?”

Her eyes widened, then she rolled onto her back, letting out peals of laughter. “God, no!”

“That’s good,” he muttered. No way was he thinking celibacy when he had someone as smoking hot as Hailey in front of him, even if sex was technically off the table. If they were going to be in a “pretend” relationship, they were going to be “pretend” all over each other.

Remind me again why the “no sex” thing was a good idea.

He growled at himself softly, then forced himself to focus.

“I think you need to go hang out with the fans,” she clarified. “Get to know your audience. And let them get to know you.”

He blanched, thinking of the VIP fiasco. “I’m doing that on the panels, aren’t I?”

“Not really,” she said, surprising him. “On the panels I’ve seen, Simon’s a raging extrovert, a showman. Charming as hell. Miles is Simon’s straight man, and they’ve got the double-act down pat, but even then, he shares stuff about himself. Like his dog, Tuna, or his not-so-secret obsession with eighties music. You, on the other hand . . .” She surveyed him seriously. “You’re pretty closed-mouthed. You’re two-dimensional. There’s nothing to grab onto.”

“My jeans pocket would disagree with you,” he muttered, squirming uncomfortably, but he sighed. “What should I talk about? I answer questions. And I don’t want to talk about my dad, or Hollywood stuff.”

“Good, because nobody wants to hear about that crap here,” she said. “They want to get to know you. What’s interesting about you?”

“How the hell should I know?” he said, getting up and pacing. “Seriously. I hike, I surf. I don’t have any amusingly named pets, no weird hobbies. I am boring, white-bread, vanilla. There is no ‘there’ there.”

He felt bitterness, and deep down, a slight sense of loss.

“I’m an underwear model, remember? Mostly they want me to stand around and brood.”

She looked at him, silent for a long second. He waited. Then those ridiculously full lips of hers curved into a smirk.

“This a private pity part, or can just anybody show up?”

He winced.

“You are more interesting than you let on,” she said.

“You’ve known me like a day,” he shot back dismissively.

“A couple of days,” she corrected. “And in that time, I figured out that you’re more sensitive than you let on. You’re funny. You like nature, and hate bullshit. You’re honest. You won’t have sex with me, partially because you don’t trust me, but also because you’re protecting me.”

His eyes widened.

“Don’t try to deny it. You know we’ve got a quid pro quo thing, and you don’t want to mix sex into that. Know what that tells me?” She didn’t wait for him to finish. “You’re a romantic. You like sci-fi and fantasy, which tells me you have good taste.”

He grinned at that one.

“You ran from some overzealous groupies, rather than cussing them out or being an asshole. You’re not jealous of Simon and Miles. And you could’ve told me to take a hike, but you didn’t. You were open-minded and gave me a shot, even though let’s face it, it’s a Hail Mary at best.” She smiled. “You’ve got a good heart inside that great bod, Jake Reese. If more of the fans knew about it, the show would sign you in a heartbeat. So let’s let them see it.”

He swallowed hard. Nobody, not even women he’d dated, had looked at him this way. Read him this way. Said such positive praise in a no-nonsense way.

She got up, holding out her hand. “Let’s go downstairs, and hang out with the masses a bit.”

He took a deep breath, then stood up, holding her hand. “If I get mauled,” he said, laughing shakily, trying to cover his suddenly raw emotions, “I’m blaming you.”

“Poor baby,” she cooed. “I’ll protect you.”

He leaned forward carefully, kissing her on the cheek. Her eyes widened.

“Thanks for the pep talk,” he said, squeezing her hand.

Her look of surprise melted into something warmer—sweeter. Her smile made her look younger for a moment, less guarded.

“You’re very welcome.”

They headed down to the convention rooms. He felt a little nervous, but holding her hand like a talisman helped. He then discovered curving his arm around her waist and holding her to him helped even more.

“No hiding behind me, metaphorically speaking,” she warned.

He chuckled. They went to the sales floor. He complimented several people on the fan-made art they were selling. There was an impromptu dance party going on in one of the other rooms, he noticed. Hailey tugged him over.

There were mostly women, he noticed immediately. They’d commandeered a small sound system, and were dancing around enthusiastically to the eighties alternative music that the show so often played. New Order, Talking Heads, David Bowie. He nodded in approval, clapping after a song stopped.

The women turned, staring at him, and he immediately felt self-conscious. “Private party, or can anybody join in?” he asked, echoing Hailey’s earlier sentiment.

“Oooh!” One woman squealed loudly, clapping her hands.

Oh, Christ. It couldn’t be.

It was.

“Pocket-Ripper,” he quickly muttered to Hailey as the woman came up and threw her arms around Jake. “Help.”

Hailey took charge immediately. “You need to let him go. Now.”

The other women in the crowd looked surprised—and a bit repulsed—at Hailey’s sharp statement. In the lull in the music, he could hear them murmuring to each other.

Who the hell is she?

Why is she acting that way?

What’s going on with the two of them?

Pocket-Ripper was wearing a Mystics’ ALL KNIGHT LONG T-shirt and a smug expression, hanging on tighter. “What, you think because you slept with him you own him?”

“No,” Hailey said, and he swore, it was like she was a theater-trained actor. She wasn’t shouting, exactly, but every person in the room could hear every word she was saying. “I’m saying you need to let go of him because you were at the VIP event, and you assaulted him.”

Now jaws dropped open, and the looks of revulsion turned to Pocket-Ripper.

The woman laughed nervously, but did release him, thank God. “That was . . . that wasn’t . . .” she spluttered. “I’d had a little to drink, with lunch. It was a VIP event!”

“So you’re saying you paid money, so you should get to touch whatever you want on him?” Hailey said coldly.

The woman turned to Jake. “Aww . . . he didn’t mind. You didn’t mind, right?” She sounded defensive. “I’m sure you’ve had worse.”

“I didn’t like it,” he said quietly.

Since it had gotten quiet, all the other women heard him.

“Well, excuse me,” Pocket-Ripper said, apparently feeling the heat of everyone’s judgment. “I was just having a good time.”

“That’s not cool,” said one of others, a tall woman with a Dr. Who T-shirt. “Not cool at all.”

“That’s sexual assault,” another agreed. “What the hell?”

Pocket-Ripper spluttered. “Fuck you guys!” she said, storming off.

Hailey touched his arm, and he startled. He didn’t realize just how tensed he’d been. “It’s okay,” she breathed. Then she turned to the others. “Sorry about that. So, are we dancing, or what?”

They laughed, and the music started up—this time Oingo Boingo’s “Dead Man’s Party,” from the Halloween episode. They started bopping along.

Tall Woman walked up to Jake. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I hope you don’t think we’re all like that.”

Jake sighed. “No, of course not. The VIP event got a little out of hand.”

“Sexual assault at a con or a VIP event, is not cool,” Tall Woman said, shaking her head. “And considering your history, I’d think they’d be extra careful.”

“What history?” Hailey asked curiously.

“The . . . you know,” the woman whispered. “The stalker?”

Hailey turned to him, eyes wide. “You have a stalker? Should I be worried?”

Jake shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything from her for a month or two,” he said.

“Don’t worry. We’ll keep the crazies away,” another woman said, bumping fists with Tall Woman.

“Thanks,” he said, and meant it. They were nice, protective. He then wound up having a conversation with each of them. Tall Woman—real name Samantha—had come all the way from Nebraska. She was ordinarily a human resources rep for an equipment rental company, but she liked going to conventions, and she loved the show. The other woman was a dog groomer from Florida, also named Samantha. They were sharing a room, even though they’d never met before in real life. They both ran a fan site and Facebook group.

He took selfies with both of them. He then wound up talking to about twenty different people. He thought he’d hate it, but they all loved the show, and they were respectful and interesting. And just nice.

He wished he’d done this sooner.

He looked over at Hailey, who after defending him from Pocket-Ripper had left him to his own devices. She was shaking it to “Don’t Go” by Yaz. And a damned fine shake it was. She winked at him, noticing him looking.

“She seems really nice,” Samantha from Nebraska said.

“She is,” he said, reluctantly turning away from his staring. “She’s awesome.”

Samantha from Florida gave her friend a quick look. “We don’t mean to pry.”

“You’re not,” he said, realizing this was probably the sort of opportunity that Hailey would approve of. “She’s the best.”

“How did you two meet?”

“After the VIP, strangely enough,” he said, deciding to stick as close to the truth as possible. “That lady had just ripped my pants pocket off, and I was trying to hide. I dove into the coffee shop where Hailey was working and hid behind the counter.”

“No way!” Nebraska Samantha said, laughing.

“True story,” he said, grinning. “She agreed to give me a ride to the hotel. I bought her dinner to say thanks, and we just . . . hit it off.”

It really was true. They’d had a great conversation, even before their too-short, almost-sexual encounter. Even with the craziness of their “agreement,” he realized he liked talking to her. Liked hanging out with her.

He just liked her.

They were sighing. “That is so romantic,” Florida Samantha said. “Would you mind if we shared that on our blog, and in the group?”

“Nah, go ahead,” he said. “And if you want an interview or something, just let me know.”

“Really?” Nebraska Samantha squeaked. “You’d be up for it?”

“Absolutely. Just email me.”

She hugged him, then pulled away, red faced.

“It’s okay,” he said, and gave her a hug back, ignoring her soft squeee. Then he hugged Florida Samantha, and grinned at her red face. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d like a dance with my girl.”

They were chattering excitedly when he walked up to Hailey, giving her a hug from behind. The English Beat was playing, talking about the “Mirror in the Bathroom.” She was jamming, sweating, but she turned and gave him a brilliant smile.

“How’re you doing, champ?” She leaned against him, and he felt her lush curves pressing him deliciously.

He kissed her neck. “Doing great,” he said. “Thanks to you.”

She turned around in his arms, kissing him on the mouth. “You’re very welcome.”

He stared at her for a long second. Then lowered his mouth again, gently, patiently, giving her plenty of room to back off.

Instead, she sighed, and leaned into him. Melted into him.

He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the feel of her against him, the sweetness of her mouth. He tilted his head slightly, his hands smoothing along her back. She had her hands crossed behind his neck, tugging him closer to her. Her lips parted slightly. He licked the fullness of her lower lip, nipping at it.

Despite the pounding beat, it might as well have been a slow dance. And they might as well have been the only two on the makeshift dance floor.

There was a long hoot, and he pulled away, momentarily stunned. The ladies were laughing, clapping, cheering.

They weren’t the only two on the dance floor, he realized foolishly.

“Woot!” Nebraska Samantha yelled, as Florida Samantha whistled.

Hailey was blushing, but smiling broadly. “So, can you dance?” she asked, giving a fantastic shimmy.

He smiled back. “I do a mean Sprinkler.” At which he grabbed his left foot, put out his right arm, and demonstrated his terrible skills. Her laugh blended with the others.

After a few more painfully awkward moves—the Cabbage Patch, the Running Man, and of course the Robot—he finally waved off, holding Hailey, who had collapsed against him, laughing.

“See you guys tomorrow,” he called, and they waved back.

“That was fun,” he said, as they collapsed together into the elevator. “I don’t know if it’ll help, with the contract I mean, but I’m glad I did it.”

“You were great,” she said, eyes shining.

They were alone in the elevator, leaning against each other, breathless from dancing and laughing. And looking at each other.

He leaned forward, testing. Tempting.

She met him halfway.

* * *

She was kissing Jake. Again. Not in front of an audience. This wasn’t for the con.

This was for them, and them alone.

His body pressed her against the wall of the elevator, and she had to fight the instinct to wrap her legs around his waist and just say “the hell with it.” Her lips parted, and his tongue swept through, tangling with hers as his hands threaded through her curls, pulling them loose from the ponytail holder. She hooked a knee over his hip, and he held it closer, rubbing his hardness against her softness, making her growl against his lips.

She’d never needed someone like this. She’d had plenty of sex: fun, fantastic, varied. But she’d never felt like this about a person, specifically.

If she didn’t fuck this man, she thought she might well die.

Isn’t it more than that, though?

She silenced the tiny voice that whispered the traitorous thought. She’d only known Jake, what, seventy-two hours. She wasn’t going to romanticize it. She wanted him. He wanted her.

He tore away when the door dinged, releasing her leg. He was breathless, his eyes blazing. “You’re staying.”

“I have to work a late shift,” she said, her own breathing ragged. “In about an hour.”

“Cancel.” His voice was gravelly, and she shivered with need.

“Can’t,” she said, with real regret.

They stepped out of the elevator, and he grabbed her, kissing her hard, his hand holding her jaw as his mouth worked miracles. By the time he was done, she was trembling, her knees turning to water.

“Cancel,” he repeated, fiercely.

“I need the money . . .”

“I’ll cover whatever you’re going to lose,” he said.

That sobered her. “It’s not like that,” she said. “Not between us.”

He let out a sharp breath. “No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “What’s happening between us isn’t a transaction. I don’t know what the hell it is, but it’s not that.”

She felt a sugary warmth in the pit of her stomach. Whatever weird thing was happening to her, he felt it, too. She wasn’t alone in this insanity.

“Take me to your room.”

“An hour’s not long enough for what I want to do with you.” He nipped her neck, her shoulder, his hands smoothing over her sides, down to her hips. She moaned softly.

“No, it’s not,” she said. “But I don’t want to waste whatever time we have together.”

That sounded more dramatic than she’d intended, but she couldn’t help it. She was on fire. Even if she only got fifteen minutes . . .

She’d beg. And she never begged.

He kissed her again, against his door, trying blindly to get the key card to work. She heard the beep as the lock unlatched, and he opened the door, stumbling the two of them in.

His hands were all over her before the door even closed. She wrapped her legs around him, as she’d wanted to, her fingers in his hair, her breasts pressed against his chest. “Jake,” she breathed.

He was kissing her like she was his lifeline—like he would literally die if he stopped. The light was on, and they made it to the bed, landing on it. He pressed kisses down her collarbone, toward her cleavage. She arched her back, looking up.

Then she froze, baffled. Frightened.

“What the hell?”

He growled, then looked up, and froze, as well.

Abruptly, they rolled off the bed, looking around.

The room was a disaster. The bed had been slashed to ribbons, probably with a big-ass knife. A big fruit basket had been delivered at some point, and fruit was smashed into the floor, smeared onto walls. The large mirror on the wall was shattered by a champagne bottle. Jake’s bags had been rifled through, clothes thrown everywhere.

“Jesus,” Jake breathed, getting to his feet and moving her behind him as he looked around.

On the wall, above the headboard, somebody had spray-painted the words: YOU BELONG TO ME, RICK. DON’T FORGET IT.

“This happen to you before?” she asked, numb, on alert. She grabbed what was left of the champagne bottle by the neck, searching for anybody that might be lying in wait. Jake grabbed part of a broken lamp.

“Not like this,” he said, searching the bathroom, the closet, under the desk. “When I was dating Chelsea Midas, somebody sent letters saying she was all wrong for me. Then somebody filled my trailer with flowers and balloons when we started filming the season after Rick’s love interest died. But nothing quite this intense.”

Hailey nodded, taking it all in. Whoever it was, he or she was obviously pretty pissed. And crazy. She clenched her teeth together. That was worse. Everybody who’d ever spent some time on the street knew that crazy trumped mean, because mean still had logic and a sense of self-preservation.

A crazy person would set herself on fire just to burn you.

Jake called hotel management. They came, as did the cops. After talking to the manager, Jake sighed as the man finally made his last apologies and left, intent on “getting to the bottom of this.”

“Shit. This is because of the pictures. Of you and me,” Jake said, his face as stern and stoic as any of his father’s action movie characters. “This is bad.”

“Yeah, that’d be my guess,” she said, more glibly than she felt.

“That clinches it,” he said. “You’re staying with me. From now on. Until we get this sorted out.”

“Wait. What?” Hailey spun to face him, blocking out the angry graffiti. “Why would I do that?”

“You might be in danger, too,” he said, his voice grim.

“I’ll be fine,” she said sharply, feeling resentment. He gets his room trashed by a stalker, and now he was going to assert his masculinity by ordering her around? Seriously? “Sure, Ms. Looney Tunes Stalker trashed your room. But there have to be security cameras all over the hotel. She couldn’t have blended in that well. And it’s not like she couldn’t have confronted you in the crowd if she’d wanted to hurt you. This is deliberate. She wanted to warn you—us.”

Jake got a stubborn look on his face. “The hotel manager said he’d look into it, but they hadn’t seen anything yet. And there’s nothing that says she won’t escalate.”

That clicked a new thought in her head—and a wave of concern. “She’s more pissed at you than at me,” Hailey said. “Are you getting any sort of protection? Bodyguards, something like that?”

Jake shook his head. “She hasn’t gone directly for me before, like I said,” he replied. “If it’s who I think it is, she’s sent messages, but I doubt she’d actually hurt me.”

“That’s completely stupid,” she said. “Get a bodyguard, for God’s sake.”

“Only if you stay with me,” he counter-argued. “If she hurts me, she won’t have me. If she hurts you, she clears the way.”

I’d like to see her fucking try.

“Damn it, Hailey,” Jake said, his voice low and urgent. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I seriously doubt I’ll get hurt,” Hailey countered, even as a small voice in her head pointed out that odds were good that if this stalker came after her, there was a chance.

Nothing I can’t handle, Hailey thought, feeling the familiar cold calm envelop her. That feeling of being cornered—of adrenaline, fear, and undiluted rage. Been a while, but nothing I can’t take.

“There is another option,” Jake said thoughtfully. “We can break up. Now, publicly. Say you were scared off. That takes you off her radar. Then you won’t be a target.”

Fear took on a new dimension. “We’re not calling anything off,” she shot back reflexively. She needed this too badly. The bookstore—her sisters—needed this too badly. She wasn’t going to let some crazycakes fangirl screw with it. “I can deal with it, okay? I’ve got this.”

“Oh, really?” Jake glared at her, doing that male “why won’t you see reason?” scowl. “Ever had somebody in front of you with a weapon? Ever have somebody threaten your life?”

“Actually, yes, I have,” she said. “And I’m still here, and he’s in jail. So give me a little credit.”

That seemed to throw him. “Who . . . ?”

She slammed down on the memory that crept up. Stefano in his wife-beater T-shirt, broken bottle in hand. Blood on the edge.

“Legacy of a misspent childhood,” she muttered. He had a good point. This was stupid. She was falling back into old patterns. She knew better. “Okay. We’re reacting. We’re just . . . being reactionary, and making snap decisions. That’s not the way to go about this.”

“I agree.” He crossed his arms. “That means you’re coming with me. We stay together. And I’ll hire a bodyguard. Okay?”

“I have to work,” she said resolutely. “They’re not going to find a replacement for a late shift, not this close.”

“Fine.” He took his phone out of his pocket, dialing blindly. “Susie? Remember when you wanted me to get a bodyguard?”

“What?” Hailey heard a woman yell on the line. Jake winced, holding the phone away from his ear for a second. “What the hell happened?”

“That stalker, the one that left all the gifts? She tore up my hotel room. I think it’s because of the photos. I’ll be sending pictures of the room, and I’ve talked to the police, but I need you to send one of those bodyguards you recommended. Okay?” He paused. Susie was obviously talking, quickly, and though Hailey couldn’t make out the words, she could make out the panic and concern in the woman’s voice. “No, I’m all right. The room’s destroyed, though.”

More worried chatter on the line. Jake sighed.

“Can’t stay here, and they’re full up . . . yeah. I could go somewhere else. I’ll figure out something, let you know.” He hung up. “So. We need to find a new place to sleep, you and I.”

Was it her imagination, or was he looking a bit happier?

“How far is it to Seattle?” he asked. “Like twenty minutes, right? I’m sure we can get a place there.”

She groaned. “It’s maybe twenty-five minutes, without traffic. With traffic, it’s closer to an hour, sometimes an hour and a half . . . and there’s usually traffic,” she said. “It’s in the opposite direction of the casino, and besides, you don’t want to get caught in traffic tomorrow morning trying to get here.”

Now it was her turn. She pulled out her phone, calling up the casino.

“Just give me a second,” she said to him, and he grinned.

“Snoqualmie Casino and Resort, this is Amber, how can I help you?”

“Amber? It’s Hailey,” she said, thankful her friend was working the desk. “We got anything available? I want a room, in my name.”

“Really?” Amber’s voice held a smile. “Got a live one, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Hailey said, rolling her eyes. “Got something for me?”

“As it happens, yeah. Small room, but the bed’s big.”

“Sounds perfect. Thanks, sweetie. We’ll use it after my shift.”

“Bet you will.” Hailey hung up on Amber’s laugh.

“Okay. You’ll get the room at the casino.”

“Perfect. You can stay with me,” he said. “I’ll make sure the bodyguard gets sent there.”

She sighed. What was she getting herself into?