Ella
His eyes blaze at my words. And I know that, inadvertently, I just challenged him. I also know guys like Tate Burke will take a challenge and follow it through. It’s their fire, and I just handed him the fuel to ignite it.
“That right, darlin’?” he speaks slowly, each word drawn out into a stomach-fluttering drawl.
“Our relationship is strictly professional,” I remind him, looping my thumbs through the belt loops on my shorts. “I’d prefer it to stay that way.”
“We’re gonna be buttin’ heads somethin’ crazy, then.” His eyes are still fully on me, and I swear they’re holding me captive. The power of his stare sends a hard shiver down my spine.
“The only things we’ll be butting is schedules.” I grab my water bottle and sandwich packet. I need to do something with my hands because they’re trembling, and it’s obvious. At least to me. “Good-bye, Mr. Burke.”
I take a step forward and he stands, towering over me by several inches. I draw in a sharp breath and keep my eyes down, even though I flinch as my sandwich packet crumbles against me. My muscles are taut, reacting instantly to the shadow settling over me, waiting for a hit.
“Did you get your card before we left? And phone?”
My head moves jerkily in something that vaguely resembles a nod.
“Do they work okay?”
Again, I nod. This time it’s a little more controlled.
“Good.”
He doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
I’m still staring at our feet. The toes of his deep blue Chucks are inches away from mine, and I flex my toes in my sandals. My body is screaming and flitting between fight or flight, but my feet are fully in the “flight” camp.
He still doesn’t move. Why won’t he move?
I can’t until he does. My body isn’t trained to run, no matter how it wants to.
Matthew never let me run. And the one time I was stupid enough to, I “accidentally kicked the solid wood table leg to get to the burning stove and broke two toes.” Which, of course, means I was shoved into it and in my fight to regain my footing, slammed into the thick table leg.
I squeeze my eyes shut tightly at the memory, a shudder racking my body. Fear inches its way from my gut to my heart and clenches it tightly, and at the loud opening of a door, I jolt backward.
“Ella?” Tate’s voice is quieter this time.
My breathing is short and harsh, and it aches. Each inhale burns my lungs, and I swallow. “I have some things to do. Excuse me.”
He steps to the side and I walk around him, trying my hardest not to run. Because I want to. I want to give in to the panic buzzing through my veins and run, run, run.
“Ella?” Sofie’s soft, caring voice makes me pause. “Are you all right?”
I nod, looking up to meet her eyes. “I have a bit of a headache. I’m going to find some Tylenol, then do that thing we talked about earlier.”
Her brow furrows and she frowns at me.
“You know, the . . . the thing.” I glance at Mila.
“Oh! Yeah. That thing.” Her forehead smoothes out again, and she smiles. “Oh! Of course. Why don’t you go back to the hotel and take a nap? You might feel better.”
I glance at Conner. “Is—is that okay?”
“Sure,” he replies slowly, his eyes uncomfortably intense. “We’re pretty laid-back. If you’re sick, go sleep it off.”
“Thank you.” I avert my eyes and dart through the door. But not quick enough, because I hear Sofie hiss, “Tate! What the hell did you do to her?” and him reply, “Nothin’!”
I dump my half-eaten sandwich into one of the trash cans outside the arena and lean against the outside wall. The fresh air swirls around me, filling my lungs with a welcome reprieve from the stuffiness inside.
Jesus. I have nothing to be afraid of. Except my own fears and my memories. Those I fear, even if he can’t touch me anymore.
It’s still too real and raw to consider for a second that no one else will either, not the way Matt did.
Note to self: work on the scared little girl routine. She isn’t the girl inside. She’s the girl the outside has been molded into. She’s the perfect, smiling, charming trophy-wife-to-be.
Inside, she’s different. I’m different. Maybe I don’t know exactly who I am yet, but I know I’m not afraid.
Fear is a habit.
And I will break it.
A soft knock at the door jolts me from my mindless staring at the TV set mounted on the wall of my suite. After the showdown with Tate—which I’ve definitely made more frightening in my mind since—I’ve felt nothing but fear pumping through my body. Every voice outside my door was Matthew coming to find me, and every knock at the door was him finding me. So for all my bravado, the past has crept in.
I’ve been sitting curled in a ball, watching reruns of sitcoms and game shows, attempting to remind myself that the voices outside the door were Dirty B. and Co., and the knock on the door was just room service with my nachos.
“Ella? Are you there?” Sofie calls, knocking again.
I swallow, swing my feet down from the sofa, and cross the room quickly. I pause, my hand hovering just above the handle. Dammit, I wish there was a peephole.
Opening the door, I offer a small smile. “Hi. Sorry. I was just getting dressed.”
Sofie glances at my yoga pants–clad legs. “Into yoga pants?”
“Err . . . I was half out of them. It was easier to put them back on.” I shrug sheepishly and step to the side. “Is everything okay?”
Sofie nods, smiles, and drops onto the sofa. “I was just coming to tell you we’re leaving in thirty minutes.”
“Oh, all right. I’ll just get ready.”
“Um, are you okay? I know you were sick yesterday, and I didn’t want to bother you then, but, well, my mama instincts are coming out here, and I’m kind of worried because I didn’t hear from you.” Her smile turns hesitant.
“Oh—oh, yes, I’m fine, thank you.” I tuck some hair behind my ear and look down. “I took it easy when I came back here.” Note to self: whenever a “thing” needs doing and you fake sickness, text Sofie.
“Oh, good! If your headache comes back today, let me know and you can take ten.” She smiles. “I’ll let you get ready.”
“Thanks.” I turn back to my room.
“Shorts! Shorts,” she calls after me. “And tie your hair up. They’re crazy on these days, and all the runnin’ around makes you hot.”
“Got it.” Now to find the clothes I was supposedly just getting changed into.
Thankfully my suitcase is open, because I’m too lazy to keep zipping and unzipping it—and I’m reveling in the newfound freedom of everything not having to be completely perfect like before.
And, yes, that is yesterday’s shirt peeking out from beneath the desk. It’s invigorating.
I flip the top of the suitcase and push my things around inside until I find some denim cutoffs. Grabbing a loose, light pink shirt and underwear, I straighten and change quickly. I keep Sofie’s words in mind as I brush my hair and tie it in a scruffy bun.
“Hey, are you good?” Sofie peeks her head around my bedroom door.
“Oh, yeah.” I look across the room at her with my mascara wand in my hand. “What’s up?”
“I . . . um.” She walks through and perches on the edge of my bed. “Look, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, because Tate is a giant asshat, okay?”
“Uh, okay?”
“I got your ‘that thing we spoke about’ cue yesterday, and I’ve noticed that whenever you’re around him you get kind of . . . skittish.” She frowns. “That might not be the right word, but whatever. Anyway,” she meets my eyes, “and after he’s pulled his ‘me macho man’ crap, you’re the same around the rest of the guys. If Tate is makin’ you uncomfortable in any way, tell me, and I’ll talk to him.”
“Oh.” My cheeks flush. “It’s okay.”
“Ella, seriously. Y’all have to work together and be comfortable around each other, and you definitely shouldn’t be uncomfortable enough that you have to leave.”
“It’s not Tate.” I replace my mascara into my makeup bag. “I just . . . I’m not a guy kind of girl.”
“Oh!” Sofie claps her hands over her mouth. “Well, I just put my foot in my mouth, didn’t I? I’m so sorry! Wait—no, I’m sorry, I’m an ass, not that . . . you know.”
My eyes widen as the implications of my words settle in. “Crap! I don’t mean—oh hell.” I cover my face with my hands. “Well, this is awkward. I’m not into girls. Like, I don’t mean it like that.” My eyes are seriously doing some kind of shifty dance right now. “I mean I’m not looking for a relationship. With a guy. Right now. I like guys. Oh God. I should probably stop talking right now.”
Sofie laughs loudly. “Oh shit, now I really am sorry!” She gets up, still giggling. “Okay. I got it. But if Tate does make you uncomfortable, you’ll tell me, right?”
I want to join her in her laughter, because since the second I met Tate Burke’s eyes, I’ve been uncomfortable. “He’s okay. He just has a distinct lack of understanding about personal space.”
We share a smile at that.
“That’s because no one generally complains when Tate encroaches on their personal space. He’s invited in most times.” She holds open my room door and passes me the key card. “Here. I need to go back to my room to get Conner and Mila. Could you just knock on Aidan’s and Kye’s doors and tell them we’re ready to go? They’re the next two rooms. Tate’s at the end, but I’ll get his lazy ass.”
“Oh. Sure.” I ignore the flutter of uncertainty. “Just knock and tell them it’s time to go?”
“Yep. They need a ten-minute warning because they’re a bunch of girls.” She smiles and opens her room door.
“Who you callin’ a bunch of girls?” Conner appears in my line of sight, Mila clinging to his back like a sea snail.
“Your brothers,” Sofie replies without missing a beat. “Ella’s about to get Kye and Ads, then I’ll get Tate in a minute. Can you take Mila down and strap her in to the car?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Conner winks at me and drops Mila on the sofa.
“Idiot.” Sofie rolls her eyes, then turns to me with a wide, reassuring smile. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in five minutes.”
“Sure.” I smile, but it’s weak. Lame. Pathetic.
Sweet hell, she only wants me to knock on doors and tell them it’s time to go. Not rub myself against them like a cat. I don’t even have to have a conversation, right? Just, “Hi, we’re going in ten. Bye!”
Simple, right?
Yeah. Simple. I just . . . ugh. This is so dumb. I should not fear knocking on a door, for the love of all nachos and wine!
The door to Sofie’s room closes and I lean against the wall. With my purse by my feet, I drop my head back and close my eyes as an overwhelming sense of apprehension floods me.
Was I really this weak with Matthew?
Am I really so afraid and run-down that knocking on a door is fear-inducing?
Dammit all to hell.
I slap my hands against my cheeks hard. “Pull yourself together, Ella!” I whisper.
“Talkin’ to yourself is the first sign of insanity,” a voice behind me says.
I turn and look at Kye. Or is it Aidan? Dammit, they look so alike. I drop my eyes to his left arm. A pocket-watch tattoo peeks out from beneath the sleeve of his tight-fitting shirt. Kye.
“Then I’m probably already halfway there.” My lips twitch.
“Did you just work out who I am by my tattoo?” He points to his inner bicep.
My cheeks heat. “Um. Yes.”
Kye’s lips form a wide grin, and his eyes glimmer with amusement. “Smart. It’s kinda awkward when a girl can’t tell you apart from your twin.”
My face gets even warmer at his insinuation. “I didn’t want to be rude and ask, but I guess that was kind of rude anyway.”
“It was cute.” He winks. “For the record, I’m the better lookin’ one.”
“I plead the Fifth.” I offer a soft smile. “Sofie said to tell you we’re leaving in ten minutes. Which is more like five now,” I add apologetically. “I just need to get Aidan.”
“Got it. Meet in the lobby?”
“Yes.” I nod unnecessarily and, actually, kinda awkwardly, then pass him. I approach Aidan’s door and knock lightly three times after Kye has disappeared. If one person seeing me make an idiot of myself is one person too many, then two people is definitely overkill.
“Ella.” Aidan pulls the door open and—sweet baby Jesus where is his shirt?
My eyes widen. “Oh. Aidan. Hi. Um.” And now my eyes are flitting over his chest and stomach. Still wide.
Awesome.
“Are you okay, Ella?”
“Yes! I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to be, um, shirtless.” I cough and meet his eyes. “Sofie said to be in the lobby in five minutes.”
“Sure.” He smiles charmingly. “And you’re livin’ with a bunch of guys for the next couple months. You should probably get used to the no-shirt thing.”
“Got it.” I smile awkwardly and turn, hugging my purse to myself.
“Put a fuckin’ shirt on, Casanova.” Tate’s gravelly, annoyed voice follows me down the hallway. “Ain’t nobody around here that wants to see you naked.”
Aidan laughs. “You feelin’ threatened, bro?”
I pause by the elevator and glance over my shoulder.
“By what? Your weak ass? Fuck off.” Tate looks up and catches my eye. “What d’ya reckon, Els? Is this prick hotter than me?”
My lips part. Swallowing in a desperate attempt to kill the dryness in my mouth, I reply, “My name is Ella.”
“That wasn’t the question.” Tate’s lips quirk to the side. “Is he hotter than me?”
“Obviously I am if you gotta ask,” Aidan scoffs, shutting his door behind him. This time with his shirt on.
“Well?” Tate pushes, ignoring him.
“I, er . . .” I straighten. “I really don’t think I should answer that question, to be honest.”
Tate’s eyebrows go up. “It ain’t hard, darlin’. All you gotta do is say my name.”
I don’t know if I should laugh or be shocked by his brashness. He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. He’s completely arrogant, but not in an unlikable way. Which makes absolutely no sense to me, because the most arrogant person I know is the person I hate the most.
“But if I say your name, you might think I like you.” I hook my thumb in my pocket. “And then that would boost your ego, and if it gets any bigger, I’m afraid you won’t fit on the stage tonight. So, as your assistant, it’s in my best interests not to do that.”
Aidan bursts out laughing just as Kye’s door opens. He looks around and opens his mouth, but when he sees Tate, he shuts it again.
If Tate’s eyes could spit fire, I’d be going up in flames. His shadowed jaw is set tight, and I can see the tiny tic in his cheek from the pressure.
I reach behind me and push the button for the elevator. “You have to be downstairs in two minutes, ready to leave.” I look between all three of them, then step back. “Oh, and Mr. Burke?” I focus on Tate, my gaze steady. “To answer your question, I’m going with Kye.”
His eyes darken and he moves to speak, but it doesn’t matter, because the doors close on his words and end the conversation.
I drop my purse to the floor and flatten my back against the wall of the elevator. I stare at the doors, holding my breath.
I don’t know what that was—that switch from scared to sassy. It’s not the first time it’s happened since I got here, and I don’t know where it comes from, but I think I like it. It reminds me of the girl I was before any sense of myself was beaten out of me.
I retrieve my purse from the floor and step out of the elevator. The lobby is bustling with the guys’ security team, and I can see why. Outside the hotel there’s a large group of girls barely being held back by yet more security guards dressed head to toe in black.
“Is it always like this?” I ask Ajax, stepping up beside him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies. “We take it in stride.”
The elevator doors ping open and I turn to see Conner with his arm around Sofie and Mila, flanked by Aidan and Kye, and finally, a still-angry Tate. I fight my urge to shrink back as he approaches us. Instead I cross my arms over my chest and defiantly hold his gaze.
“We ready to go?” he asks—presumably—Ajax, his eyes still on me.
“Yes, sir,” Ajax responds. “Conner, you and the girls get in the car first.”
“Got it.” He nods. “Ella?”
“She rides with me,” Tate says firmly. “We need to have a word or two.”
My chest heaves. Maybe it’s his words. Maybe it’s the visible tightness of his tattooed arms stretching the material of his shirt. Or maybe it’s the look in his eye. The one that’s scary and . . . a little . . . exciting . . . at the same time.
“Ella?” Sofie questions, moving slowly toward the door.
“He’s the boss,” I reply, blinking harshly.
Tate’s jaw clenches. “Get in the second car,” he orders through clenched teeth. He storms past me, and I force myself to inhale slowly.
He isn’t him. He isn’t him. He isn’t him. I chant relentlessly inside my mind as I follow Tate’s tensed, muscular body to the car. Girls are screaming his name, but he ignores every one, determination to get to the waiting vehicle evident in every one of his steps.
He yanks open the door of the black SUV. “Get in,” he demands, nodding at me.
I climb into the backseat and scoot along it.
“Then ride with Ajax,” Tate snaps to someone over his shoulder. He jumps in the backseat and slams the door behind him.
I edge a little closer to the door as he leans forward and closes the partition. My heart thumps—that thing, it’s soundproof. This is a tiny space. Enclosed. Totally private.
I wipe my now-sweating hands on my thighs.
“All right, Els. Let’s have a talk.”
“My name is Ella,” I snap. “It’s not hard.”
Tate rests his hand on the seat between us and leans forward. “I’ll call you ‘assistant’ if that’s what I wanna call you. I’m your fuckin’ boss, and if I wanna call you Els, I’m gonna call you Els. You got it?”
Annoyance warms my stomach. “What? Is Ella too complicated for you to remember? Two syllables too many?”
His fingers twitch. “You talk too fuckin’ much.”
“So do you.”
“I can remedy that.”
“I dare you.” I glare at him. When he doesn’t move, I continue, “As you just said, you’re my boss, and yet again this is a highly inappropriate conversation. Unless you have me in here to discuss something serious with me, I don’t wish to continue this.”
He clicks his tongue, and a tension-filled silence ensues. And, boy, I’d hate to get into a staring contest with Tate Burke, because he’s relentless. For what seems like the millionth time, his eyes are on me, studying me, unnerving me. Intense and angry and fiery, those turquoise eyes are so bright they’re rendering me immobile.
“Watch your damn mouth.” Each word is edged with anger and saturated in restraint. “I don’t give a shit how you spoke to people in your fancy-ass, upper-class world back in New York, but I sure as hell ain’t gonna have some stuck-up daughter of a high roller comin’ into my world as my fuckin’ employee and talkin’ to me like I’m worth less than her.”
Did he just—? “Excuse me?” I gasp. “Talking to you like trash? If you demand respect, Mr. Burke, you should perhaps try and respect other people. Funnily enough, that doesn’t include turning every conversation into something remotely sexual. Not every woman you meet wants to take a ride on what’s inside your pants.” I put my hand back on my purse as we pull up outside the arena. “And you’re right. You don’t know a thing about my life in New York, so don’t sit and assume I’ve lived twenty-two years of glittery rainbows and frolicking unicorns.”
I’m shaking as I shove the car door open and get out. Fear and anger are swirling through my body, both of them battling for dominance with the adrenaline pumping through my veins. It’s unnerving, the anger. It’s so out of place for me, and so are the words I just spoke.
I don’t argue. I don’t answer back, and I sure as hell don’t disrespect people.
I didn’t.
I didn’t.
Ella Dawson, perfect fiancée of Matthew Hamilton, didn’t.
As of two days ago, I’m not her.
I’m Ella Dawson, not a victim, and not afraid.
I fear nothing.
If I keep telling myself that, maybe I won’t be so shocked the next time Tate Burke decides to annoy the living crap out of me and I bite back.