Page 44 of Madden

Why do I feel like talking to him is like trying to talk to Serena? Speaking of which, she’s going to be calling me soon, and I can only imagine what she’ll have to say.

“We’re not hooking up.”

I don’t see it as hooking up, which to me is the truth. Feelings are involved. Hooking up is like friends with benefits, only without the friends. It’s clinical. A means of scratching an itch.

I’d like to think, especially after my conversations with Madden, there’s more to what is going on between us than simply hooking up.

“Well, we won’t get all technical with our labels, but something is going on between the two of you. I could feel the sexual tension between you the first day you two met.”

“Yeah, right.” I scoff, rolling my eyes though secretly hoping he’ll keep talking.

“You need to get your eyes checked then, ma’am, because that man looked like he wanted to rip your clothes off and devour every inch of you.”

I slap my hand over my mouth to conceal my smile.

My phone rings on my desk, and the caller ID says it’s a North Carolina area code. My eyes dart over to Davis.

“I need to take this,” I mutter.

He nods, moving to stand. He flicks his eyes over to the phone and back to me, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Tell Madden I said hello.” He holds his hand up, fluttering his fingers at me in a wave, and disappears out the door.

“Brielle Silvers, Limelight Magazine,” I answer.

“Hello, Ms. Silvers,” Madden’s deep voice grumbles through the line. I squeeze my eyes closed and sigh.

It’s like the first time we met. I knew if he ever tried to turn it around on me, I’d melt into a puddle at his feet from just the sound of his voice.

“What are you doin’?” he asks.

“Nothin’, just talking about you.”

“Oh, you were, were you? Was it juicy, and with whom?”

“Davis.” I smirk, imagining Madden knowing Davis has been gushing over him all over again.

“What were you two talking about?”

“Did you happen to see the Hollywood Tea article posted earlier this morning?”

I hear rustling on the other end of the line, and his tone changes when he says, “No, I didn’t.”

I wince, picking up on the panic in his tone.

“Not again,” he grumbles under his breath.

“It’s nothing bad,” I rush to clarify. “But someone snapped a picture of the two of us together walking into Granite. It’s a terrible photo. You can hardly make out our faces, but it’s clearly you. They couldn’t identify me, though.”

“Well, that’s good.”

My brows knit together, my stomach dropping. I know what he meant by it, but it still doesn’t make me feel any better about the note of happiness he way he said it.

“Yeah,” I say, curtly.

“Wait, Brielle, that’s not how I meant it,” he adds. “I just didn’t think you’d want our relationship announced this way, not when we haven’t talked about what’s going on between us or what we are. Especially when you’ve been worried about it being an issue with your job.”

“I know what you meant. We’re on the same page.”

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