I don’t bother to glance his way. I don’t want my high after the successful night to be ruined by the sudden appearance of his foul mood. Robert’s compliments still ring in my ears along with his voiced disbelief over how he can’t believe another company hasn’t previously snatched me up as their spokesperson, never wanting to let me go. After struggling to be noticed in this career for so long, his praise fills me with the hope that this job just might be my ticket to more opportunities like that. Add to that . . . look at this bus!
My eyes are wide and I’m showing my lack of experience with this kind of thing when I climb on board and take it all in. Where it’s sleek and cold on the outside, the inside is rich in dark colors and feels homey. It’s loaded with amenities that are nicer than the ones in my house. I run a hand over the arm of the oversized leather couch and take in the entertainment center complete with every electronic I can think of. The kitchenette area has a mini-version of basically everything except for the full size refrigerator. Across from it sits a stocked bar in what I guess you’d call a butler’s pantry.
Past that is what appears to be a walk-in closet in a pseudo-hallway. I startle when I see my clothes hanging there—side by side with Zane’s starched dress shirts and pressed slacks. Something about the sight of them has me reaching out to touch them, run my fingers over the fabric, almost as if to tell myself that this is real. That I’m going to be on this bus touring with Zane for almost two whole months.
I move to the back of the bus where I find a master suite of sorts. A bathroom with a full size shower, a workspace where a laptop sits, and then a king size bed.
It may sound stupid, but I feel like a giddy teenager that this will be my home away from home. It luxurious and comfortable and . . .
And then it hits me.
My eyes flash up to meet Zane’s when I wasn’t even aware he was standing there watching me in the first place. His shoulder is leaning against the wall, the top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone, and his tie hangs loose and draped around his neck. But it’s his eyes that are watching me and waiting for it all to register.
“Yep.” It’s all he says with a slight dip of his chin before he brings the glass of amber liquid to his lips and looks at me over its rim.
“There’s only one bed,” I state the obvious.
“Only one.”
“And there’s two of us.”
“Brilliant observation.”
I level him with a look as every part of my body reacts differently to this statement than my head does. My brain? It tells me this can be handled in a rational fashion. We can split time on the couch and the bed and just deal with it. My body? My body remembers the feel of him against me during the presentation tonight and says this is going to be a super long trip.
Eight weeks.
That’s a lot of damn time to be stuck in a bus with one man who I’m not quite sure if I like or not.
My sigh is as heavy as the tension between us. “It’ll be fine,” I say to try and relieve the situation.
“Fine? That’s what you call this?” Exasperation and irritation edge his voice.
“It’ll be fine,” I repeat, trying to salvage the good mood I was in over tonight’s events. “
“Fine would be there being two coaches.”
“But having two wouldn’t say anything positive about the status of our relationship now would it? A loving couple sleeps together.”
“Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner,” he says, condescension lacing his tone. He shakes his head before walking past me, body brushing ever so slightly against mine, and sits on the edge of the bed. Our bed.
“Faking that we’re together can’t be that hard.”
He snorts derisively in response.
“Fifteen minutes ago, you were perfectly charming in front of all of those people. Answering questions. Being cordial. You were that for a full three hours to be exact, and wouldn’t you know, it must have struck midnight because you just turned back into jerk-ville.”
“No one said I had to make nice when we’re not in public.”
“You’re maddening.”
“Thank you. It’s something I try to perfect.”
I grit my teeth and take a deep breath. Technically, this is all his fault. He’s the one who lied about being in a relationship. He’s the one who put this ball into motion.
But I don’t speak the truth. I actually have to live with the man and as much as I’d like to put him in his place, I don’t because I’m downright exhausted. I can fight this battle in the morning if need be—hell, I have weeks and weeks to—but right now, he’s been drinking and is in a foul mood . . . and I just want to get out of these heels and change my clothes.
“Robert is going to be the death of me,” he grumbles and then chuckles when he lifts his glass and finds it empty.
“I can sleep on the couch,” I offer.
“Great. Perfect. And I’m sure Mick won’t wonder why this new and madly in love couple never appear to sleep in the same place.”
“Mick?”
“Our driver.”
I look over my shoulder to the empty driver’s seat and realize I hadn’t thought about there being someone present for our every conversation. Our every fight. Our every, everything.
“But he works for you. Can’t you just have him sign whatever those things are that says he can’t talk?”
“An NDA?” Anger edges every word he utters.
“Sure.” I lean my back against the wall. “That way Robert never finds out.”