“What does make you flush, then?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I say and make a show of looking him up and down. Of letting him know I’m taking a good look, before giving a subtle shake of my head like I couldn’t care less when holy shit the man has a body. Toned and tanned and tempting.
Without another word, I turn and head toward the front of the bus and the couch that’s positioned directly behind Mick. I have my dirty clothes in my hands along with the box of condoms that I could kill my mother over and all kinds of confusion in my head.
Like how I can dislike Zane so much and still find him charming and attractive while at the same time irritating and frustrating.
“Everything okay?” Mick asks as I drop my clothes on the floor beside the couch in as neat a pile as possible.
“Yes. Fine,” I murmur as I sink into the rich leather and feel the need to explain why I’m out here and not in there. “I don’t want the light from my kindle to bug him.”
My explanation sounds so ridiculous. Just another thing that doesn’t make any sense.
But that seems to be par for the course today.
THERE ARE NUMEROUS ARTICLES ONLINE. One after another accompanied with pictures of Zane and me on stage last night. One where he pressed a kiss to my temple. Another where he was looking at me with adoration on his face that is so believable that if I didn’t know different, I’d buy it myself.
There are articles about the impending launch of SoulM8. A good start to the slow ramp up that Robert planned before we hit the morning shows halfway through the tour. Other articles have a quick mention about how notorious bachelor Zane Phillips has finally been caught. There are some of my shots from the Victoria’s Secret catalog shoot. A few comments about me, but none that I really mind since my past is far from newsworthy or scandalous.
The visibility is an unexpected side benefit of weaseling my way into this job. I knew I’d get a paycheck, I knew there would be an added visibility with the campaign that might help me get future jobs. What I didn’t expect was for people to have interest in who Zane Phillips was dating.
That was na?ve on my part. I’d looked him up and read about his love interests, hadn’t I?
I keep scrolling and reading. There are lists of other companies that Zane has purchased, made successful, and then sold. A software company out of Silicon Valley that dealt with hospital scheduling. A gadget company that made some kind of car part. A computer hardware company that manufactured peripheral items. Every single company bought when they were about to go under and then resold a few years later at an astronomical profit.
But there is no mention of why Zane decided to come to the United States at the age of eighteen in the first place. No reference to the family he left behind or his home that he misses.
I click the back button on the browser and my eyes scan the various images of us on the screen.
We definitely look great together, so we’re putting on a good show. At least there’s that. Because everything else is fake and confusing.
Especially after how I woke up this morning.
The shuffling of feet pulls my attention away from the articles and to the man I’m now forever associated with. Zane’s head is down as he moves, a dark blue pair of gym shorts are slung low on his waist, and there is a mess of pillow creases on his cheeks.
The business mogul who looks like a harmless little boy you want to wrap your arms around.
Don’t be fooled, Low. He’ll be his surly self soon enough.
“Good morning.”
Zane grunts something incoherent and slides a glare my way as he shuffles from the back of the bus to the front area where I’m sitting enjoying my cup of coffee.
“We’re in Arizona.” I look out the window at the green of the golf course and tan of the desert around us in whatever resort’s parking lot we’re currently parked in. I can’t see a sign, but there is an abundance of golf carts on the green even at this early hour.
Another grunt and the pop of the Keurig as he clicks it down onto the K-cup.
“Do you play?”
Those green eyes of his angle my way. “Do you always talk this much in the morning?”
I glance down at my phone for the time. “It’s nine o’clock.”
“Right. The morning.” He shifts on his feet with impatience as he waits for his coffee to brew. “It’s early.”
“So do you play? I’ve always wanted to learn but never took the time to. It looks easy enough. I mean—”
“I’m not a morning person.” He glances my way from beneath a lock of hair that has fallen over his brow.
“Well, I am.” I smile brightly, more than happy to have found something that will annoy him.
He pulls his cup out from the device and I can’t help but notice the flex of his bicep when he brings it immediately up to his mouth. His hiss fills the room as his tongue burns, but the way he closes his eyes and savors that first sip leaves me to imagine how he’d look savoring other things.