But I believed Chris once upon a time, too.
I refuse to let Happy see that last night affected me, so, lifting my chin, my face veiled with indifference, I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t really care. It’s just sex. Nothing my dildo can’t manage.”
Happy stares at me for a long pause, his face unreadable.
“I’m late for work,” I mutter, shrugging out of his grip.
He lets me go, and I spin around and hurry out of the gym toward the locker rooms, unable to chance a glance back in case he sees the truth, which is one not even I understand right now.
CHAPTER 13
HANNAH
Iwas feeling a little better after my training session with Silas; in my opinion, kicking the shit out of a pad is way more productive than sitting on some leather sofa in a therapist’s office talking aboutfeelings. But then Happy had to go and ruin it by getting all up in my grill with his pretty fucking face, and his delicious fucking smell, and those sexy fucking lips. Ugh. He’s such a jerk. A really fucking hot jerk with a magic penis, but a jerk nonetheless. Now, as I walk into work, almost an hour late, I’m in such a bad mood; I dare Brookes Devereaux to even breathe in my direction today.
“Hey, girl.” Millie greets me with the coffee I begged her to fetch for me from the vendor down in the square. Her eyes are shrewd and her smile curious as she hands it over, quirking a brow. “Where have you been?”
I take a much-needed sip of coffee, humming at the taste. “I told you. Gym.”
Millie places her hands on her hips, looking at me in that way that tells me she knows something’s up. “Where’d you get off to last night? One minute you were there, the next minute you were gone. And so was Happy…”
Before I can think of a sufficient lie, I’m interrupted by myname being whisper-yelled through the office. Turning, I search the open plan space, zeroing in on Naomi, the team coordinator, hiding behind a planter box of lush indoor palms.
I rush over, my interest piqued, Millie hot on my heels because she’s nothing if not nosy.
“Naomi?” I lean in. “Are… are you okay?”
“Brookes Devereaux is upstairs,” Naomie whispers, pointing up to the mezzanine floor. “In Patrick’s office.”
I glance upward, to the glass walls of Patrick’s office, my brow furrowing. Looking back to Naomi, I shrug a shoulder. “Okay.”
“Apparently he… has a black eye, and they can’t film today.”
“A black eye?” Millie and I shriek at the same time, glancing at one another.
Naomi nods. “Yeah, and his manager was all pissy, asking whereyouwere as if it’syourfault.”
“Oh, fuck this!” I mutter.
Tossing back a few gulps of caffeine courage, I shove my cup at Millie before stepping around them and storming to the stairs, taking two at a time before barging right into Patrick’s office without even knocking.
Patrick startles, jumping up.
“There she is,” Brookes says with a knowing smirk.
I grimace at the sheer sight of him. Thick thighs spread wide, lounging on the leather couch like he owns the damn place. I notice the black eye and almost smile because, sure, I don’t know what happened, but whatever it was, I can almost guarantee he deserved it.
Patrick smooths his mussed hair, huffing out a breath. “Where’ve you been?”
“Gym,” I say like it’s obvious because it is; he knows my schedule, and I’m at the gym most Tuesday mornings.
Patrick nods, side-eyeing Brookes. “We… have a situation.” He throws a hand in Brookes’s direction. “He can’t film today. Possibly not even tomorrow…”
Brookes grins, tsking. “This is all your fault, Hannah Banana.”
I narrow my eyes in the hope that looks might actually kill. Unfortunately for me, he doesn’t perish beneath my gaze. “First of all,” I say through gritted teeth, “don’t call me that.”
Brookes winks.
