Chapter Nineteen

Josie

“Ugh! What the hell is wrong with me?”

It was a question I asked my reflection in the huge lighted mirror, locked away inside the fancy schmancy marble bathroom at Trey’s hotel, hoping he was still asleep so that I could get my clothes and get out before he realized I was gone. Memories from the night swirled in my head, each one more damning than the last—Trey’s mouth sucking my nipple, his tongue teasing me until I squealed, and the way he’d pulled my hair to nip at my neck, his fingers tracing the insides of my thighs until I was trembling—begging for him to slide his thick fingers deep inside of me, and then the way we came together, each deep pulse, every hot, lingering, hungry kiss…

Fire radiated through me at the memories and I found myself gripping the edge of the smooth, marble counter. I pried my eyes open, banishing the images in my head, and stared at the hot mess in front of me. My makeup was smeared from sleep. My hair was tangled and frizzy.

“Putting the mess in hot mess,” I whispered to myself, turning on the tap. I splashed some water on my face, not even waiting for it to warm up, and then used one of the plush towels to scrub away at the remnants of makeup. Traces of the cosmetics showed on the white towel and I winced. Hopefully it would wash out…not that Trey couldn’t afford to replace a simple towel. I stashed the towel beside the large bathtub. With quick fingers, I tugged at my tangled hair and combed out the biggest knots before smoothing it all up into a loose knot on top of my head.

Just because I was about to embark on the walk of shame didn’t mean I couldn’t look decent.

In fact, knowing there might be reporters and media people outside the hotel, hoping for another snap or two of Trey and me together, I took extra caution and decided to throw on some lip gloss and shades before getting into the elevator.

First, I had to get dressed and find my purse without waking the man up. Things had changed between us last night—I could sense it. When I saw the reporters had blasted pics of our postgame make out sesh all over the internet—I was furious! But, I knew it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t set the damn thing up. But it was easier to blame him and get pissed off, than it was to admit it was just as much my fault for being careless enough in public. In reality, it wasn’t just that there were pictures of us kissing. It was the anticipation of the verbal smack down Mr. Jones was going to give me as soon as I saw him, in approximately…one hour…

My stomach lurched at the thought.

I drew in a deep breath, filling my lungs to capacity, and then let it out slowly. It was a coping mechanism I’d learned after suffering through a series of panic attacks in college. My time in college was my first time away from the family ranch and it was overwhelming trying to balance a social life and getting good enough grades to impress my father and show him I was making the right choice by going to school away from home.

After my first panic attack, I was referred to a counselor by my doctor and saw them for five or six weeks, long enough to unburden myself, get reassurance that I was going to be okay and not drop dead of a self-inflicted heart attack. So, I picked up the breathing exercises when things got dicey.

And with Trey—we were well past dicey.

I didn’t even know what I was doing with him. Was he really just a fuck buddy? Or something else? Something more? Sometime during the car ride to the hotel, he sweet talked his way back into my good graces and made me drop whatever anger and frustration I might’ve felt. His wicked smile, warm body, and killer lips were an impossible combination to resist. I was wet and ready to explode before he even got me up to his room.

And once we got there…

I shivered and shook my head. No, there wasn’t time to get back into all that. It would have to wait until I was alone and could really indulge in the steamy memories. Right now, I had to get my head back in the game. I needed to get home, shower, change, and put on my shields and armor before going in for the mega ass chewing I knew I’d get from Mr. Jones.

“Morning,” a thick, sleepy, and utterly sexy voice called from the bed as soon as I opened the bathroom door.

Shit. I shut the door softly and used the light on my phone to guide my way back across the dark room to start gathering my clothes. “Hi,” I whispered in reply.

The bedside lamp clicked on and I glanced over to see Trey sitting up in bed, his bare naked torso—drool worthy muscle upon muscle—displayed down to his hips where the crisp white linen sheet lay. He was covered, but the tent of the fabric made it obvious that he’d woken up in a very good mood. I tore my eyes off his package. Not right now, Josie. Get a grip!

Trey chuckled and stretched his arms up over his head, and I was lost again, mesmerized by the play of his muscles as he moved. The way they stretched, shifted, pulled and contracted. “Gorgeous, what the hell are you doing out of bed?”

“I have to get to work,” I said, resuming my search. Clothes. Right. That was what I needed. Currently, I was wearing Trey’s discarded tee shirt. It was huge on me and covered my girlie parts. Although, the way Trey was eye-fucking me, it didn’t matter what I had on.

“Work?” he spat it out like a filthy curse word.

I laughed softly and snatched my jeans, tee shirt, and button up sweater from the floor as I retraced our steps from the night before. “Yes. My boss will need a briefing on my time on the road.”

“Didn’t you say you’re gonna get your ass torn in two?”

I groaned. Why had I told him that? I’d even let it slip that I was supposed to get an interview. Thankfully, he hadn’t brought that up again. “It’s a good possibility. Yes.”

“That doesn’t sound like fun…you should stay here instead.”

I laughed and stared at him. “I need my job. If I don’t go, I’ll get fired.”

Trey shrugged. “It sounds like that’s inevitable. So why put yourself through it? You’ll find a new job. I can talk to my agent, Mason. He knows all kinds of entertainment people. He can find you an agent and you can do anything. Fuck your boss.”

I sighed and balled my clothes up against my chest. “Is that why you think I’m here? For connections? That I slept with you just to get access to your people and score some entertainment gig?”

Trey stared at me a long moment, as though the idea that I didn’t want his help was foreign to him. The sick truth hit me between the ribs and my heart broke. He’d really never met someone who didn’t want something from him. My belly ached.

“Wow, that’s not what I’m doing here. That’s not what I’m about.” I shook my head, trying to tamp down the overwhelming surge of emotions welling up in my chest. “Thank you, though. I need to get going.”

I turned and went into the bathroom and shut the door before he could come up with something else to offer me. I dressed quickly, and when I went back into the bedroom, Trey was sitting at the edge of the bed wearing his boxer briefs. I studied the lines of his back and wanted to go over and say something else, but my mind was blank. “Trey…”

He turned and looked at me, his face still contorted, confused.

I offered a little wave. “I’ll see you around,” I said, wincing as soon as it came out of my mouth. It sounded so trite. So lame.

“Yeah, sure, baby. See you later. Good luck today.”

I gave him a quick nod, grabbed my purse from the luggage rack by the door—not even remembering tossing it there—and hurried from the room. In the elevator I swiped on my lip gloss, put my shades on, and checked my hairstyle in the shiny reflection of the elevator walls, thankful they weren’t made of solid glass like Trey’s hotel in Seattle.

The lobby and street outside the hotel were clear of photographers, and I breathed deeply of the already warm morning air. I was leaving Trey’s world and returning to my own. But something stopped me, tugged back on me, and I turned to glance back up in the direction of his room one last time before hurrying to catch a cab.

* * * *

As expected, Mr. Jones had a million and one things to tell me, not one of them pleasant.

“I cannot even begin to fathom how you could spend ten days traveling with the team and not get more than this!” he raged, waving a hand at the laptop screen where my vignette footage was pulled up on the screen. He narrowed his eyes at me and I found it hard to breathe. I was defenseless and I knew it. “The words epic disaster come to mind. The station heads are up my ass about blowing all that money for you to travel and you coming back empty handed. They want your head on a platter…”

My heart sank to my toes. It was expected. But no matter how much I’d attempted to prepare myself—it stung all the same. I’d never been fired from a job before. A few weeks ago, when I’d first gone to Mr. Jones and issued my ultimatum about getting out of the coffee route and getting a real job at the station, I hadn’t actually been prepared to leave.

Mr. Jones threw himself back behind his desk, his office chair groaning and squeaking with protest at his weight. He frowned at me and clenched his hands together. “Aren’t you going to say something? Anything?”

I met his eyes and blinked rapidly. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry. I’d made it so far, and I wasn’t about to break down now. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones. I tried working with his PR team but no one would return my phone calls. At the media events and postgame conferences, I couldn’t get a good spot to get attention. The whole thing was…” I paused, searching for the right word. Clusterfuck wasn’t exactly a professional term. “…a lot harder than I’d anticipated. I told you I didn’t want to be in sports reporting. It’s not—”

Mr. Jones’s sharp glare stopped me in place.

I sighed, restarting. “I understand if you need to let me go.”

He steepled his fingers together and leaned over. “Were you really the girl in the pictures all over the fuckin’ gossip rags?”

Shit. I squeezed my eyes closed. I’d been clinging to a shred of hope that maybe he hadn’t seen or heard about that. Channel 6 was a reputable station. I’d hoped that no one important had been wading through the mud of gossip.

“Josie? Was it you?”

I nodded, my eyes still shut tight.

“Fuck.”

I dared a look at him. “Does everyone know about that?”

He snorted. “Yes.”

“Even…even—”

“Yep, the station execs too. Who do you think told me about it?”

“Shit…” I sagged into the seat opposite his and buried my face in my hands.

“They wanted to know how you could be sleeping with him and still not be capable of getting him to agree to a sit down with the station.”

I shook my head slowly back and forth, lost in a sea of self-loathing. Professional or not, clusterfuck was really the only way to describe the mess I was in. “It was just a stupid—”

“Woah! Save the details of your love life, Josie.” Mr. Jones held up a hand. “You really don’t think you could get him to do the interview?”

I sucked in a long breath. It was the worst rock and a hard place situation that I could think of. If I did the interview now, the pictures of me and Trey together would only get dragged back up again. No one would be talking about the interview itself. They would be talking about our relationship. Besides that, I didn’t want to ask him to do the interview. And I certainly didn’t want to be the one conducting it. I hadn’t from the very beginning—but especially not now. Not after everything that had happened between us.

“I can’t, Mr. Jones.”

He sighed heavily. “I don’t want to do this, Josie, but—”

“Wait!” An idea went off in my head like a massive Fourth of July firework. I jumped up from my seat and Mr. Jones reared back in his chair, surprised at my sudden burst. “I have something to show you!”

“Okay…?”

I fished my phone out of my pocket, pulled up the pictures from the hotel lobby, and flipped it around so that Mr. Jones could see the screen. He slipped on a pair of thick rimmed glasses and leaned forward as I swiped through the collection of images. “What am I looking at? Wait, isn’t that Senator McNary?”

I nodded. “Do you recognize this man?” I asked, pointing at the stranger. I still hadn’t been able to identify him—not that I’d given it much though. But seeing his face again, the sense of familiarity triggered again. I knew him from somewhere.

“Hmm. I don’t think so. Why? Who is he?” Mr. Jones flicked his eyes up so that he was peering up at me from beyond his glasses.

“I don’t know. But he looks familiar. I’ll track him down.” I sank back into my chair but this time leaned forward and fixed my eyes on my boss. I’d piqued his interest. I just had to bring my pitch home. “I was getting breakfast, at the Denver hotel, right before I came home. I saw the senator and this man, whoever he is, talking in hushed tones off by themselves. I was too far away, and the lobby was too busy to hear what they were saying, but after a little while, I saw the mystery man pull a thick envelope out of his pocket and hand it to the senator.”

“That’s…odd…”

“I know!” I grinned, my gut had been right on. “I pretended I was taking some selfies, but managed to snap these shots instead. Something about it didn’t sit right with me. Why would the senator be in Denver and in such a dive hotel—” Mr. Jones shot me a dark look and I grimaced. Oops! “I just mean, him and this guy were very out of place. Expensive, custom tailored suits, pricey shoes, luxury watches. Why would they be meeting there? And the envelope? I don’t know…it feels like a story.”

Mr. Jones leaned back and took off his glasses. He absently twirled them around by one stem as he considered me. “The next meeting with the station manager isn’t for another two weeks. I can keep you here until then. But if I go to that meeting and I don’t have a good reason to keep you here…you’re gone.”

“So, I can run down this story?”

“Shake a few trees, rattle a few cages. If you come up with something—and it has to be good—I’ll let you run it on the nightly news.”

A surge of excitement, anticipation, and a twinge of dread swelled up inside of me. I jumped back to my feet. “Thank you, Mr. Jones! I can’t even tell you—”

He held up a hand and then put his glasses back on. “Save it, Crawford. Just get me the story. And this time…no mistakes.”

“Yes, Mr. Jones. I promise, no distractions,” I said, nodding fervently as I backed out of his office.

I finally exhaled once I was out in the hallway and then took off to my own desk, resigning myself to sleepless nights, eye strain, and, above all, no distractions from Trey Delgado for the foreseeable future.