The two guards confer, one of them tapping his ear piece before speaking into the mic poking out of his sleeve. “We have a Mr. Griffin here who says he’s taking Mr. Snood’s place as the rep from the Ulstrum Agency.”
Skimming my lips over Sloane’s ear, I whisper, “Look impatient. You’re the star here and they know it.”
After a single, deep breath, Sloane extricates herself from my arm and places both hands flat on the table in front of us. “The press conference starts in less than ten minutes. How do you think the Beauty and Style execs are going to feel about their cover model not being there? I hardly think that’s going to end very well for you.”
The one with the mic clears his throat. “Apologies for the delay, Mr. Griffin. The notice came in overnight. The system has been properly updated now. You and Ms. Sanders can go in.”
I nod my thanks, gesturing for Sloane to precede me down the runner of plush red carpet. “They’re here foryou, sweetheart. I’ll be right behind you.”
She closes her eyes for a beat, and when she opens them again, I see nothing but control in the blue depths. Passing me her clutch, she glides slowly down the hall, pausing every few steps to flash a smile or turn so the cameras can capture every angle.
I keep my gaze trained on the crowd, scanning each face, looking for anyone out of place, anyonenotinterested in snapping as many pictures as possible. Tapping the left temple of the glasses, I take advantage of theotherfeature Dax’s team built into these damn things. A camera.
Wren—or someone on her team—will analyze the footage later, and I’ll be able to review it before the runway show tomorrow.
I’m not sure if I’m happy or frustrated that everyone here looks like they belong. Not being able to hear a damn thing other than a low, dull hum of noise isn’t helping my mood.
Sloane’s warm fingers grip my left hand, and she squeezes to get me to look at her. “They’re asking about you.”
Shit. Get yourself together, idiot.
Stepping even closer to her, I smile, letting the paparazzi get their fill. This is uncomfortable as fuck, and thank God no one suggested I play some kind of diversity model for the week, because there’s no way in hell I’d pull that off.
Sloane’s talking—answering questions, I think—but from my position at her side, it’s too hard to read her lips, and even the glasses are having issues. I catch maybe one word every ten until she releases my hand andsigns.
This is my boyfriend. H-a-r-r-y-G-r-i-f-f-i-n.
It takes everything in me not to let my jaw hang open. She learned a few signs? Why? To be able to communicate with me?
Draping her arms around my neck, she tips her head back slightly, her lips parted, and I take the hint. With my left arm tight around her waist, I dip her and kiss the hell out of her.
The flutter of her tongue against my lips has a low growl vibrating in my throat, and I open for her, lettinghertake control this time, and hoping all the photos don’t capture me with a massive hard on.
Sloane’s kiss isanythingbut fake, and when she pulls back, we’re both breathless. “They’re asking if you’re deaf, why you’re here…”
Keeping a hold of her, I scan the photographers and clear my throat. “Sloane is the star here, folks. I work for the Ulstrum Agency, and I’m filling in for her agent who came down with the flu this morning. If you want my bio, it’s listed on Ulstrum’s website. Yes, I’m mostly deaf, so shouting at me isn’t going to help anyone. Email me, and I’ll do my best to answer any questions you have. Right now, the lovely woman I’m lucky enough to have on my arm needs to get inside.”
We each give a small wave—Sloane’s practiced and professional, mine much less so—and cover the last fifty feet to the conference room as quickly as we can.
“Is it quieter in here?” I ask.
“Much. Why?” She peers up at me, worry creating the barest hint of a furrow between her brows.
“Glasses didn’t work out there.” With a tap, I turn them on again, and thank God the noise level doesn’t immediately overwhelm the system. Under the guise of kissing her neck, I whisper,“In case it gets loud and I have to turn them off again, I need you to pick a signal—something you do with your hands maybe?—that will let me know you’re in trouble or need me to get you out of here.”
She takes a shuddering breath and her fingers skim over the back of my head. No one’s touched me like that in…well, a long damn time, and I want more. So much more.
“I’ll play with one of my earrings. Did you…um…did the glasses work just now?”
We’re still locked together, my lips trailing along her neck, and I press a kiss right behind her ear. “Clear as day. Now go kick some ass up there.”
With a shaky smile, she releases me, and watching her walk away? Up onto a raised platform where she takes the center seat with six other models flanking her? I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep things professional between us much longer.
I genuinelylikeSloane Sanders. But if I can’t shut it down and focus on the job? I could lose her. And then where would I be?
Fucked. A useless, damaged, relic with no hope of working ever again.
* * *
