I hadn’t planned on sleeping with him. Part of me actively resisted it because I knew it was a bad idea. But there was something about the way he held and looked at me…He posed the greatest danger to my perfectly constructed world, yet I’d never felt safer than when I was in his arms.
Take your hair down, Sloane.
It was a simple request, but when I did it, it’d felt like more. It’d felt like trust.
I stared at my screen. Asher wasn’t on yet, which was just as well. Once they got rolling, my memories couldn’t stop replaying the past few days—the way Xavier felt inside me, the way we moved together, the way he’d planned the outing with Pen and how great he was with her. I didn’t have much of a maternal instinct, but my ovaries had almost exploded when they hugged goodbye.
There was nothing sexier than a man who was good with children.
He’d chosen an activity she would like that wouldn’t aggravate her symptoms, but he also treated her like a normal kid, not a porcelain doll. That was what Pen wanted, and it was probably the reason she’d gotten attached to him so fast. My only worry was—
“Sorry, boss.” Asher’s perfect face filled my screen, his smile as roguish and charming as his British accent. Despite his words, he appeared unrepentant about his latest mishap. “Before you say anything, know it won’t happen again.”
I almost jumped before I caught myself. I’d gotten so wrapped up in my thoughts, I’d nearly forgotten about the call.
I straightened, brushing aside concerns about my personal life to focus on my most high-profile client.
Asher was in his house in Blackcastle. He wore an old gray T-shirt, and his hair was damp from either sweat or a shower. He must’ve come straight from his daily workout.
I wished he were as dedicated to maintaining his reputation as he was to his fitness. You’d think the most famous soccer player in the world would be too busy with, and protective of, his career to engage in illegal street races, but this wasn’t the first time I’d had to clean up his mess before the press got wind of it.
“I’m not your boss. If I were, you wouldn’t ignore me every time I tell you to do something,” I said evenly. “Let me make something clear, Donovan. I don’t care how great your scoring record was at Holchester. You’re the new kid in the club at Blackcastle. You have a nine-figure contract riding on your ability to control your impulses so keep your head down, obey the speed limit, and for God’s sake, stop fighting with Vincent DuBois. He’s your teammate.”
Asher’s $200-million transfer earlier this year had made headlines worldwide, but it came with a unique stipulation: a two-year probationary period, during which he must uphold the contract’s ironclad morality clause, among other things. If he didn’t, his contract would be terminated, and he’d have to pay back half of his first two years’ earnings.
Asher’s face clouded at the mention of his rival. Vincent was the only player who came close to matching his fame and talent.
“Vincent’s an asshole,” he said.
“I don’t care. Your rivalry is whipping the tabloids into a frenzy, and we don’t need that right now. Shape the hell up, Asher, or I will personally hire a mercenary to repossess every car in your garage and make sure Rahim never sells you another vehicle. That upcoming limited-edition Bugatti you have your eye on? Gone to the next highest bidder.”
Asher was famous, but I was determined, fed up, and pissed off. Plus Rahim, his luxury car broker, owed me for the sheer number of referrals I’d sent his way (for people who were more responsible drivers than a certain athlete).
Asher swallowed at my threat. “Come on, Sloane. That’s not—”
“Take care of it. Now.”
I ended the call. Some clients required tougher love than others; Asher required freaking titanium.
I had a few minutes before my next meeting, so I quickly checked my phone.
XAVIER
Black coffee, two sugars?
A smile touched my lips, easing my frustration over Asher.
I’m working
XAVIER
That wasn’t the question, Luna
…
No sugar today. I’ve had too much already
I blamed the doughnuts Jillian had brought for breakfast.
I didn’t get an immediate answer from him, so I turned to my group chat with the girls.
ISABELLA
Operation PW is in full swing 😉
ISABELLA
I MAY have gone to PW’s favorite cafe to write today, and I MAY have overheard him discussing an upcoming blog post
My heart skipped a beat.
Is it…
ISABELLA
Mmhmm. He didn’t name names, but I’m almost positive it’s what we planted
VIVIAN
Do you think he’ll actually run it?
VIVIAN
She’s one of the few celebs he’s been too afraid to go after
ALESSANDRA
I’m not sure “celeb” is the right term
VIVIAN
You know what I mean
ISABELLA
He might need an extra push Sloane: I’ll take care of it
My office phone rang, interrupting me from the chat. “Sloane, your next appointment is here,” Jillian said.
“Bring her in, please.”
Two minutes later, Ayana entered my office, a striking vision draped in marigold silk and shoulder-grazing earrings.
“Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.” She folded herself gracefully into the chair opposite mine. Her skin glowed beneath the lights, and she had cheekbones that could slice through diamonds. No wonder she’d taken the modeling world by storm over the past year.
“You’re my client. I’m happy to help in any way I can,” I said. Ayana was my last new client for a while. My roster was technically closed, but Alessandra’s mother was Ayana’s modeling mentor. I’d met with her earlier this year as a favor, and I liked her so much I’d signed her that day.
“Good.” She hesitated, her lovely face shadowed with nerves. “Because I might be in trouble.”
For the next forty-five minutes, I listened as Ayana laid out her situation. I kept my expression neutral, but every cell in my body blanched when she reached the marriage part.
“I don’t know what to do,” she concluded. She stared at her lap, her anxiety palpable. “I owe him so much, but…”
“But nothing. It’s your life,” I said firmly. “Listen, as your publicist, I’ll tell you this would be great publicity. There’s nothing the public loves more than a celebrity wedding. But as a woman, as a human, I’ll tell you to follow your gut. Is gratitude worth five years of your life?”
When Ayana left, the question lingered.
I couldn’t answer it for her, and my job was to spin her decision into media gold, no matter what it was. I just hoped she made a choice she wouldn’t regret later.
I opened my inbox, but I didn’t get a chance to read anything before Xavier appeared at the door.
“Was that Ayana I saw coming out?” He strolled in, his hair tousled by the wind and his sweater molding to his form in a way that was positively sinful. “I didn’t realize she was still in town.”
A sizzle of awareness ran beneath my skin, chased by something darker that I ignored. It must be my lunch. Tuna salad was hit-or-miss on a good day. “Do you know her?”
“Not personally, but she’s a friend of a friend, and I’ve seen her around a few times,” Xavier said with a shrug. “Luca mentioned she was supposed to be shooting a Delamonte campaign in Europe this week, but I guess not.”
“Ah.”
His eyebrows arched. “What happened? Did the meeting not go well?”
“It went fine.” I stared at my screen, willing myself to get over whatever was roiling in my stomach. “She’s great. Obviously. Since she’s the first thing you mentioned when you walked in.”
Silence greeted my curt response.
When I looked up again, Xavier wasn’t staring at me in shock like I’d expected. The bastard was laughing.
Great, rolling waves of silent laughter shook his body and sent a rush of heat to my cheeks.
“Luna.” Mirth gleamed in his eyes. “Are you jealous?”
“No,” I snapped. “It was merely an observation.”
I returned to my screen and glared at the lines of text until they blurred. Prickles bloomed behind my nose and eyes.
It was stupid and irrational because I didn’t really think Xavier was interested in Ayana, but I couldn’t fix the valve leaking inside me. The one that held back a flood of insecurity, which I thought I’d turned off until little moments like this dripped self-doubt into my stomach.
Too cold. Too dispassionate. Too unlovable.