the table were those girlie shoes, that slithery dress, the evidence that he'd held a naked Jane in his arms.
Nobody's ever tried to put me first.
"So you see, Griffin, if you're not going to get serious on this project, you need to cut her loose, quick, so she can find another client. Have a real success. Reputation and word of mouth are everything in her line of work."
The information tumbled through his brain and roiled his belly. Before he could answer Frank, before he knew how he would answer Frank, the bedroom door snicked open. Carrying her small duffel bag, Jane wore a straight khaki skirt, a white T-shirt made like mummy bandages and a pair of glossy flat shoes the color of new money. Her color was high, and her mouth was swollen. If you looked closely - he did and found himself shifting forward before he stopped himself - you could see that the edges of her lips were blurred by the slight burn his stubble had left behind. Her glance flicked to Frank and then transferred to Griffin.
Their gazes locked. This could end now, he thought. Right this moment he could tell Jane he wasn't going to write the book, and Frank would pack her up and take her away. He would never have to see her again, not those too-clear eyes, not her crazy shoes. Never again would he have to wonder what decadent underwear she wore.
Never let himself think that if he hadn't been a part of ruining her career, he sure as hell hadn't been involved in saving it either.
Nobody's ever tried to put me first.
He crossed to her and snatched her small bag out of her hand. His decision had been made. Self-aware enough to acknowledge the ice inside him had been compromised and what came next would risk further damage, he gritted his teeth as he stalked toward the door. He didn't know how he was going to do it without getting screaming ugly, but real life back at the cove meant writing that goddamn memoir. "Let's go, honey-pie. We've got work to do at Beach House No. 9."
* * *
JANE AND GRIFFIN were stuck in traffic on an infamous stretch of the 405 freeway, but she finally felt as if she'd made some progress. Things were going her way professionally. And on the personal side, her Ian-related demons had been banished. Last night's escapade between the sheets had been good for her ego.
Only two things kept her from bouncing in her seat. One, she was a little tender in certain places, and two, she didn't think her driver shared her good mood. He sat, silent and still, behind the wheel of his boxy vintage BMW.
Nevertheless, it appeared the tide had turned in her favor. When she'd ventured from the bedroom this morning - a little uncertain, she'd admit, since she'd woken alone and the only evidence he was still in the suite was the scent of fresh coffee - he'd been standing on the other side of the door, an unreadable expression on his face. "We've got work to do," he'd said, and she might have disbelieved the seriousness of the statement if Frank hadn't been in the room as well. Griffin wouldn't have made the declaration in front of his agent unless he meant it.
Darling Frank.
"He looked good," she mused aloud, then darted a glance to her left. "Frank, I mean."
Griffin grunted. "He told me he's been eating tutu."
"Huh?"
A smile hitched the corner of his mouth. "Tofu."
She laughed, even as she stared at that small curve of his lips. He hadn't shaved, and dark whiskers peppered his jaw and chin. It would have made for a prickly kiss if he'd woken her with one.
She wouldn't have turned away from it.
No, no! She would have turned away from it. That was their agreement, right? They'd decided that what happened that night in the hotel room would stay in that hotel room. Meaning she wouldn't have let it happen again this morning.
She wouldn't let it happen again, period.
He looked toward her as if he'd heard her little sigh. "You know Frank's wife, Raeanne?"
"Sure. I've babysat for Tim and Amy on occasion."
"Nice of you." His attention turned out the windshield as the line of cars started to move.
"Nice of them," she said, her voice light. "I needed the extra cash."
Griffin muttered darkly.
"What's that?"
His gaze slid right again, and she felt it like a touch. Then, as the cars in front of them came