We exit down the hallway, and inside the suite, I spin to face her. This morning on the mountain path with Oscar feels like it happened to different people. “You are not to speak to Carlos again.”
“Why?” Color rises in her cheeks, making her green eyes vivid. “He came to compliment my singing.”
“Right.” Bitter laughter escapes me, the kind that feels like broken glass in my throat. “That’s his style. Sterling noticed last night that you’re not a very attentive girlfriend.”
The words taste like acid. “Maybe it’s time you started being one.”
What am I saying?This isn’t about the contract anymore. It’s about the way my chest tightened upon seeing her with him.
About the fear that maybe her talent deserves better than being hidden as my arm candy. About the growing certainty that I want her in ways that have nothing to do with our agreement.
“But Slayer?—”
I cut her off by walking into my room. The door closes harder than I intend, shutting out her voice, but not the image of her with Carlos. Not the unwelcome truth that I have no real claim on her at all.
CHAPTER 34
BIX
Istare at the door Slayer just slammed, speechless with disbelief. How dare he burst in on my private conversation and drag me away like some possessive caveman?
I storm to my bedroom, heart still racing from our confrontation. As I walk toward the closet, I try to tell myself that even though he acted like a jerk, maybe Slayer had the right intentions.
He’s correct that I wasn’t doing a very good job of playing his sweet girlfriend—though I’m not sure when he had time to notice, with all the attention he’s been paying Valentina.
And even though I know my conversation with Carlos by the pool was completely innocent, who knows what the gossiping folks lounging on their designer towels would think about it.
I’ve only been at the hotel a short time, but it’s long enough to realize that half the reason people pay these exorbitant rates is for front-row seats to international gossip.
Right now, they might very well be whispering about how I’m throwing over a world-famous rock star for an equally powerful record producer.
But they’re wrong. Carlos is handsome in a conventional sense, but he’s not my type. Not the way Slayer is.
Slayer.
The way his dark eyes flashed when he saw me with Carlos. The way he put his hand so possessively on my shoulder. Like he really wanted me.
Like he cared.
This morning on the hill, watching him in the golden light with Oscar the turtle, I was hoping for more than sharing a croissant.
With the sun warm overhead and the intoxicating scent of mountain herbs all around us, I was waiting for him to make his move.
The move he started but never finished that first night.
But no. “Professional,” he’d said. Just for the weekend.
The spark between my legs that he ignited has been smoldering for hours now, turning to a persistent ache after seeing his jealousy on full display.
I feel what can only be called a longing—wanting Slayer to take me in his arms and claim me, show me I’m his.
Because despite this fake arrangement, despite the contract, I’d really like to be. Not because he’s a rock star, but because underneath all the Slayer trappings, he’s Sam, a talented, creative musician and kind, intriguing soul.
But I’m not sure anything I want matters. For now, I try to focus on selecting the perfect outfit for the press conference. Antoine left detailed instructions about which pieces to pair.
But my mind keeps drifting to Slayer—Sam. To his hands. His mouth. The way he looked at me in his apartment before everything went wrong.
The elegant bathroom beckons, and I step into the shower, letting the multi-jet system massage away some tension.
