“I’ve got a lot of non-work stuff on my mind, too.” He knows I’m not a talker. Communicating is not my forte. Everyone knows this, so why do I need to remind him?
“Great,” he rushes, settling back in the swing like he’s got all damn day. “Let’s talk about it. You’ve got nearly fifty people preparing to show up on your ranch tomorrow, soI’d say now would be the time to work out this anger before you flip your lid on Aunt Virginia.”
I don’t even have an Aunt Virginia.
I cast him a sharp look, but he doesn’t retreat. “I haven’t heard from her.”
“I see,” he sighs. “The chick from Chicago?”
“Miami. But yes, I did see her in Chicago. And she’s not just some chick. Don’t call her that. She’s…different.”
“Hold up. The flight attendant?”
I nod slowly. “That’s the one.”
“Didn’t we meet her when the lot deal with Waylon was finalized?”
Another nod. “Yep.”
“You’ve been seeing her all this time?”
I haven’t exactly told Clay everything. I wasn’t sure there was anything to tell. Until Chicago. That sealed it for me.
“Off and on. We spent two days in Chicago together a couple weeks ago. Haven’t heard from her since.”
“You do realize these are things you should tell me, right? What if the media caught wind of you seeing someone, Stetson? The interview withForbeswas just published yesterday, and you’re in the spotlight now more than ever. We need to be on the same page moving forward. Damage control is the last thing you need before this week. Press will be everywhere if we don’t keep your private life private.”
“I get it, Clay. I just wanted her to myself for a while. I didn’t want to share her. Also, not sure if there was even an us, and didn’t want to risk exploiting her.”
“That’s exactly what you did in Chicago, Stetson. Parading Cove around town put eyes on her, even if it was in another state. You’re world news now. For a smart man, you really are stupid at times.”
“Trust me, we hardly stepped foot outside.” I smirk, unable to help myself. Those forty-eight hours together run through my mind on replay, tempting me once again to chase after her.
However, Clay is as single as it gets, and I enjoy reminding him all about it when he harps on my lack of a love life.
“Okay, playboy baddie. Tone it down, would you?” He rolls his eyes.
I freeze. “Don’t ever call me that again.”
“I’m just saying,” he shakes his head. “Communicate with me.”
There’s no point in arguing with him. Clay knows I hate the media. I want nothing to do with publicity and having a shining moment on the headlines. And something tells me Cove would hate it just as much.
But I can’t wrap my head around why I haven’t heard from her.
I texted her, but made it a point to wait to call her until she landed in Paris for her next work trip, not wanting to seem too desperate. Although I am.
The call went straight to voicemail. And as much as I fucking hate texting, I sent her another one just to be safe. No response.
And yesterday was my last shot. It was nearly midnight, and after working outside all day running rotations, I just wanted to take a hot shower, lie in bed, and talk to someone.
Cove being the first on my mind.
The ringing did that thing where it halts for a moment, making it seem like someone answered, but it’s really just a lag in the connection. Her voicemail filled my ears, and instead of leaving a message, I listened to every last word before hanging up.
I won’t make someone want me. I can’t put myself through that.
I’ve got too much to lose and can’t risk a broken heart. She told me it wasn’t the last time we’d be together. I knew after her comment about it being just for that night that something was off.
