“Thank you,” I say, then invite him to join us for a drink in the hotel bar. He declines, and I’m secretly grateful. I would have been happy to have him along, but I’m happier to have Ryan all to myself.
“A drink,” he says as we ride the elevator down. “I had planned to buy you a celebratory trip to Paris, but if you’d rather have this instead...”
I laugh, then pull him in close for another kiss. I’m still laughing when we get out of the elevator car, and my good mood lasts until we reach the middle of the lobby.
It fades there because Bryan Raine is coming right toward us.
“Jamie,” he says. “Sorry I didn’t get the chance to say hello upstairs. I’ve got a part in Johnson’s next movie, and he wanted me to drive in and take a look at some pages. Maybe we can grab a drink? Catch up?”
I clutch Ryan’s hand tight. “No,” I say. “I really don’t think so.”
I continue walking, holding onto Ryan for support. “Asshole,” I mutter as we reach the lobby bar. “Look at me,” I say as we take a seat. “I was in a great mood, and he went and fucked it up.”
“Hey,” Ryan says, giving my hand a squeeze. “Forget about him.”
I nod. “I know. You’re right. Shit.” I stand up again. “Order me something fabulous. I’m going to run to the ladies’ room.”
I take off that way, then spend the next five minutes staring at myself in the mirror and asking myself what the fuck is wrong with me.
When I come out, I’m calmer—at least until I see Bryan standing by Hunter, looking about as trapped as a gazelle being stalked by a lion. Hunter says something else, and then Bryan takes off like a shot, not even noticing me as he rushes past.
“What the hell?” I say to Hunter as soon as I arrive.
“I told him to keep the fuck away,” he says, then takes a sip of his Scotch. “I got you a Cosmopolitan. It seemed like a fun treat.”
I, however, am not interested in the drink. “You just sent him away?”
“Yes,” Ryan says.
I shake my head, a little bit baffled, a little bit angry. Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m feeling other than a little pissed off. Hadn’t I already taken care of the asshole myself?
“I don’t need you to step in to play guard dog for me,” I say. “I dealt with the guy myself, didn’t I? I’m not one of your job responsibilities.”
“You’re right,” he says, and his tone is clipped enough that I can tell he’s irritated, too. “You’re not a job responsibility. You’re the woman I love.”
I freeze, his words hitting me with the force of a slap. Automatically, I shake my head. The woman I love.
I want to believe it—god, how I want to believe it. But it can’t be true. And even if it is...
I run my fingers through my hair. “Hunter,” I say. “Hunter, don’t.”
“I love you, Jamie. Stay. Don’t go to Texas. Stay with me.”
I am shaking my head, fighting to make reason take over, because if I run solely on emotion, I know I will be lost. That’s the old Jamie, after all. The one who fucks up. The one who gets all twisted around and makes a mess of her life and has to run home to Mom and Dad to get her head back on straight.
The new Jamie thinks.
But damned if the new Jamie knows what to think about this.
He looks blurry, and I realize that I am crying. Brutally, I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand. How can I be so miserable, I wonder. This man loves me. And yet...
“You can’t possibly,” I whisper. “You barely know me.”
True. Yet wasn’t I falling in love with him, too? Hadn’t I told myself that already? Wasn’t I already trying to hide from reality?
“We barely know each other,” I add, this time speaking to the both of us.
“Why does it have to take time to fall in love?” Ryan asks. “If the push is hard enough, the fall is going to be fast.”
I only look at him, wanting to believe.
“And has it really been that fast, Jamie?”
“We haven’t even dated,” I protest.