I glanced at the warehouse, wanting to get moving. “You’re wasting your time. I gotta go.”
“Oh, right, the hockey player.” His mouth turned down as if hurt. His gaze drifted to a tall redhead sashaying past us, lingered, then came back to me. The louse. “You thought I cheated—okay, it was one mistake on my part which I deeply regret. Do you know the rep hockey players have?Him, especially?”
“Craig, I don’t care. So what if he has a reputation? He’s still a far better man than you!” Pivoting, I stormed off.
After several deep breaths, and as I approached the massive warehouse where War was with the advertising people, I managed to calm down.
The shaven-head security guy at the entrance gave me a dispassionate look as if to say,keep moving.
Too bad for him.
“I’m here to see War—”
“You and every female in the city. Move along.”
Dammit. I scowled, never expecting this hindrance.
“Don’t force me to make you do so.” The security’s annoyed stare snapped back to me.
“He gave me a card with this address,” I gritted out in frustration, searching in my bag for said damn card.
His partner looked up from his cell, then back at his device.
“My name’s Charlotte Jones,” I said, trying to keep my cool. “War put me on the list so you can let me through.”
“You’re hot, but so are the dozen I turned away who are after him, too, using the same name.”
My jaw clenched at his bullheadedness. “Look—”
“Wow, you’re @charlij?” the other security said. “Hashtagpaintwarsfrom Instagram?”
“Yes,” I muttered, pulling out my cell to call War, and I stilled. If he knew that, then…
“Let her through,” he told Bullhead. “That’s his chick.”
The guy stared, then his jaw dropped. “Hell, sorry. You’re good to go.” He quickly opened the massive metal door. Sliding my tote back on my shoulder, I walked into the vast warehouse.
People were everywhere. Noise and chatter crowded my ears, along with blindingly bright, enormous overhead lights and movie cameras. At the far side was a spacious shower setup.
I glanced around and found War talking to a guy in a baseball cap.
His head lowered, he nodded at whatever Ballcap said. “Fine.”
“Great job on the photoshoot and rehearsals today,” Ballcap said. “We’ll email you the shooting schedule.” He reached out to pat War but dropped his hand. “Lara,” he called out to someone. “We need to discuss—”
“In a minute, Joe.” A redhead wiggled her fingers at Ballcap. She sauntered up to War, who’d removed his cell from his pocket and was frowning at it.
I halted, my smile slipping, my heart starting to pound.
“War…” she purred, and I narrowed my eyes. I knew women like her, out on the prowl for their next famous or rich conquest. My mother had made it into an artform.
He turned. Since his back was to me, I couldn’t see his expression. I had no idea what he said, then he pivoted. And she scowled.
War’s gaze snapped toward the entrance, blue eyes searching. People moved in front of me, briefly blocking me from his sight, then he saw me. He stared for a second, and then he was walking, crossing the floor to me like a man on a mission, slowing a foot away from me. “You came.”
“Yes.” I smiled up at him. “I wanted to see what a bigshot hockey player did when not chasing after a puck like a madman.”
A ghost of a smile appeared, reflecting in his eyes.
