Page 31 of Ex's & Oh's (The Lucky Girls 1)

I thank him and leave. I’m at ease about the flowers, and I can share the good news with Laura and Stacey, too.

When I stop at the hotel, the paparazzi glance at me, but they're not interested. One or two cameras flash when I walk in through the front doors, but it's nothing serious—there's nothing to say about me.

Yet.

Soon, I hope I'll be the talk of the town. The wedding coordinator who made it happen for the Jackson-Atkins wedding. The woman who brought it all together.

When I cross the lobby to the elevator to find the Jacksons, Brett appears.

“Jenna,” he says.

My heart skips a beat when I see him, but my stomach twists. “Brett.” I haven't seen him since I snuck out of his room. I feel guilty for that, but I square my shoulders.

He looks serious. “Can we talk?”

“About what?” I ask tightly.

I don’t want to talk about the night we spent together. I know it’s the right thing to do, but I don’t know how I feel about it. I need time to sift through my emotions. Earlier today, I was sure I wanted nothing more than to carry on just as if it never happened. But seeing him now, my heart constricts and my body tightens in all the right places.

I can't feel like this about him. I need to get my head straight. And being around him throws me off balance.

“Don’t sound so scared of conversation,” he says with an easy grin. He pushes his hands into his jeans’ pockets. It makes his arms bulge with muscle and his chest flex hard.

I know what that looks like without a shirt.

Edible.

Stop it.

“I’m not scared of conversation,” I snap.

Brett chuckles. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Don’t you ever stop drinking?” I ask. “I thought you footballers are all serious about watching what you take in.”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t mean alcohol. It’s just after lunch. I was talking about coffee, or something.” He nods toward the restaurant.

Right. I fight my reddening cheeks. He looks expectant. I want to say no, but I can't be rude to him. We need to get through the next week and a bit with as much civility as possible.

“I guess I can squeeze in a break.”

Brett raises his eyebrows but he doesn’t say anything. He holds out his arm, herding me without touching me. My skin tingles in anticipation. Or maybe it's memory.

When we sit down at one of the tables, I glance around. The dining room is fairly empty. Lunch is over, and the hotel is still quiet. It will fill up once the other guests arrive. The hotel has been booked out for the wedding but there are still a few guests who have nothing to do with the wedding and will leave by the end of the week.

“You left this morning before I woke up,” Brett says, drawing my attention back to him.

I nod. “I had a few things to take care of and it seemed unnecessary to wake you.”

“That’s nice.” He's being sarcastic. He sits back in his chair and the wooden frame is flimsy under his large body.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re upset about it.”

He shakes his head. “No, not upset. I just want to make sure you and I are on the same page, you know? Since we have to work together for the next week or so.”

I nod. “I can’t see why we can’t be civil.”

“Civil,” Brett says. He tries out the word as if it's foreign to him. What does he usually do with the women he sleeps with? Something tells me he doesn't have a civil relationship with them.

---