I grin then, wondering if she has any idea how tempting the challenge in her statement is to me.
‘I meant we could meet in the hotel bar or something.’ She’s flustered and, goddamn it, I like it. I like the way her cheeks flush and her eyes sparkle. I like the way she fidgets with her fingers and looks like I’ve truly scrambled her ability to think straight. I like getting under her skin in a way that should make me run a fucking mile.
‘Sounds good. Why don’t you go get settled in and I’ll meet you there?’
It is literally the exact opposite of what I was just thinking. Not only did I not run a mile, I ran right into her instead.
‘Oh.’ I’ve surprised her just about as much as I’ve surprised myself. ‘Yeah, sure,’ she says. ‘Okay. I’ll see you soon.’
Bailey
It’s just work. Whatever undercurrent I thought I imagined between us was just that—my imagination. Because he’s beyond hot, and I haven’t been with a guy in a really long time. I wasn’t expecting to come out here and find Beau Donovan so drop-dead gorgeous, but there you have it. He is, and I just have to deal with that. I’m a big girl; I can control my responses to him. Ihaveto. If there’s one thing that’s worse than being known as a nepo baby, it’s getting a reputation as a journalist who sleeps with her subjects.
Sleeps with?Jeez. Where did that come from? He makes some throwaway joke about sharing a room and I’m suddenly imagining us in bed together? I have no doubt Beau Donovan has a way of charming women into bed in three seconds flat, but not this woman. I’ve been too badly burned before. Besides, I’m here to work.
With that in mind, I shower the plane off me, change into a pair of tailored navy blue pants and a pale-pink blouse, then pin my hair up into a bun high on my head. I opt for heels, even though they’re new and pinch my feet, because I want to minimise the height difference between us. It’s just an extra inch, but that’s not nothing.
Before heading downstairs to the bar, I take a second to check my appearance. Now I look like the version of myself I would have wished him to meet. This is business, and my outfit screams that.
The hotel itself is a cowboy’s—or cowboy wannabe’s—wet dream. It’s all darkly wooded, with timber beams, exposed brick, raw edges and natural fibres. The room itself is stunning, with a terracotta-tile floor, heavy oak bed and a bull’s head mounted over the flatscreen. The small deck overlooks a pool that’s lined with cactus and grasses. The corridors are the same vibe, wide with high ceilings, and windows at one end that frame the dusky sky. I noticed the bar on my way to check in, and retrace my steps there now.
There are still plenty of tables available, but it’s filling up. The seats are large and comfortable, spaced well enough apart toallow for privacy. Some are leather, some are covered in cow hide, some are a dark wood. There are chesterfields near the fireplace and big old stools at the bar. Everything about this place has a hint of a western saloon, but with added polish, for well-monied guests. It’s both charming and atmospheric, a homey space for when you’re on the road, where your every need will be catered for.
These are background thoughts, populating my brain as they do whenever I’m in the research phase of an article. But the second I see Beau, all those details blur like a filter’s been placed over them. I’m not conscious of the furniture or the smoky, woody smell, or the low hum of the other guests. I feel the heat of his gaze on me, the intensity of his eyes, remember the twist of his lips, the creases in the corners of his eyes when he smiles. I remember the way his large, weathered hands curved over the steering wheel, the way he drove with such easy command and confidence. I remember the way his truck was like an extension of him, big and rumbling, all masculine and powerful. And I really, really wish I didn’t rememberanyof those things, because all that businesslike energy I wanted to exude suddenly seems to have fallen off a cliff.
‘Bailey James.’
I’ve given up trying to get him to use just my first name. He can have no idea how much my full name twists inside of me, the fact it’s like a poisoned chalice. If I’d known as much when I first graduated, I would have chosen to publish under something else, but why would it have occurred to me that my dad’s success would become a millstone around my neck? Why would I have ever thought I’d want to hide from that?
‘Beau Donovan,’ I say needlessly. I can see by the way people are looking at him that here, in this place, Beau needs nointroduction. He is a god to these people, loved because of his grit and strength, and the fact he came back from the kind of accident that would have killed a lesser man. Around these parts, fearlessness means the world.
Even though I know his grin is something he whips out to charm and disarm, that doesn’t stop it from doing exactly those two things as he flashes it at me now. ‘What would you like?’
I scan the rows of liquor behind the bar, then turn back to Beau. ‘Whatever you’re having is fine.’
He orders two beers, but before he can pay I hold out my hand. ‘I insist.’
The consternation on his face is immediate, though he smothers it pretty quickly. Those old-fashioned manners of his means he doesn’t much like the thought of a woman buying him a drink.
‘This is work. Technically, it’s on the paper,’ I point out. ‘Besides, it’s the least I can do to thank you for coming to get me.’
‘That was my pleasure.’
Again, I know flirting is just a way of life for Beau, but my skin lifts in goosebumps anyway, my insides doing a funny little tremble at the way the words seem to be loaded with extra meaning.
The guy behind the bar has a thick handlebar moustache, and it quivers as he puts the beers down on the counter.
‘I’ve got it,’ I say firmly to both of them. Apparently, those same old-fashioned manners preclude either from arguing with me.
‘On one condition,’ Beau says, as I hand my card over.
I turn to face him, then wish I hadn’t, because we’re so close that I can see the specks of gold in his deep, dark eyes.
‘What’s that?’
‘Let me buy dinner.’
Dinner.I panic at even the suggestion. I know it’s not a date—this is work. And no matter how much I feel little sparks bursting beneath my skin, there’s no way on earth I’m going to give in to that. Not after the disaster that was Kirk. Okay, that was three years ago, and I’ve learned a lot since then, but my whole entire focus is on my job. That’s what’s keeping me safe, that’s what’s keeping me on track.
