Page 34 of Drawn to You

“You’re drunk. Why am I even surprised? You smell like a distillery. Please tell me you didn’t get naked in public tonight.”

I take a few more steps toward my bedroom door. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“You really disappointed me tonight, Dane.”

The catch in her voice makes me stop walking and hang my head. I’d take her fury over this any day. I want to tell her it’s not what she thinks, that I didn’t do any of this to hurt her.

I can’t, though.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” I say, changing course to walk into the kitchen. “I just want to get some water and go to bed.”

She follows me. “If anything happened tonight that could bite us in the ass tomorrow, I need to know about it now. Please.”

“Nothing happened.”

I down a glass of water from the fridge dispenser and fill it again.

“No fights? No sleeping with anyone’s wife? No encounters with law enforcement?”

I glare at her. “I said no. I had a few drinks alone at a bar.”

“You are so lucky I didn’t call Tim,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “That’s what I’m supposed to do. This is supposed to be your last chance.”

Her silhouette is beautiful, her hair hanging loose and her hourglass shape outlined in the dim light. I can’t break down and tell her the truth—that my attraction to her is why I had to get away for a few hours.

“Go to bed, Josie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I hope you have nightmares about rats eating your ball sac,” she says bitterly.

I’m close to laughing when a wave of nausea hits and I have to race to the bathroom. I can’t puke in front of Josie. That would make a shitty situation even worse.

I can’t get to my toilet, but I make it to my shower. Since no one but me and my housekeeper come in here, I can deal with the mess tomorrow morning.

For now, all I manage is to wipe off my face with a wet washcloth and fall face-first into bed.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Josie

“Hey, man,”Dane says to Archie, giving him a fist bump as he and his family arrive for the game.

Archie is beaming as he passes Dane a picture he drew of the two of them.

“You didn’t tell me you were an artist,” Dane says. “This is great.”

He asks one of the PR people to get him a folder to keep his picture safe in, and I remind myself that I’m mad at him. It’s hard to stay that way, though, as I watch Dane and Archie posing for photos, both of them in masks. Dane made sure there was an entire box of medical masks in the suite and had a sign put on the door saying no one could enter without one on.

I’m only speaking to him when I have to. I’d rather unleash my fury, but this is a working relationship and I need to keep it professional. The silent treatment seems to be driving him crazy, but he brought it on himself.

While everyone else watches the game, I’m in a corner of the suite on my laptop. My biggest client at work is a cablecompany called Brightside, and I didn’t want to shift the account to another publicist during the Dane assignment and risk never getting it back. I’m working with Julie, a graphic designer at the office, on a new campaign for Brightside, and so far, she hasn’t been giving me what I want, so I’m scouring the internet for examples of what I’m aiming for.

The Mammoths are down by two goals at the start of the third period, and though Dane isn’t letting it show, I can tell from his expression that he’s frustrated. It has to be hard to watch his team play while he’s stuck up here, even if it is his own fault.

I’m writing an email when a text comes into my phone.

Dane: Still mad at me?

I shoot him a glare and don’t respond. My phone immediately buzzes with another text and I want to ignore it, but I can’t. My brow furrows when I see the new message isn’t from Dane, but from the designer I’ve been working with.

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