The Hooker and the Hermit
Page 5
“You hospitalized one of your teammates, Ronan.”
My jaw tightened. Who did this woman think she was speaking to? “So what?”
“That’s not a good thing.”
“That’s rugby.”
“Usually it’s supposed to be an opponent, isn’t it? Not one of your own.”
I shrugged. “Usually. But this time I made an exception because he slept with my fiancée.”
She waved me away. “There’s no need to be defensive. I’m here to remedy you, not incite you.”
I blinked at her. She was here to remedy me?
Joan smiled. “Look, what you did was bad, but it’s not the worst thing you could’ve done. The more time that passes, the more people will forget. And you’d be surprised how easily that can be done. We get you seen going on a date with a much-loved actress, maybe giving a donation to a charity or two, and the tarnish on your reputation will begin to disappear. What do you say?”
I frowned at her and worked my jaw. This whole thing was making me itch, and I needed to get out of there. “I say I need to take a piss.”
Joan didn’t bat an eyelid at my harsh response. “Very well. The bathrooms are located at the end of the hall, the blue door on the right.”
The one named Rachel stood like she was going to escort me to the head. I glared at Joan, who apparently understood my irritation because she waved at Rachel to sit and shook her head.
I swiftly rose from my chair and left the room. Stomping down the hallway, I stopped midway to the end and ran a hand over my face. I was ridiculously tired. I wasn’t sleeping like I used to. I thought that spending a couple of months in a place far from where I came from would work, help me to detach from everything that had happened. Too bad my brain didn’t know how to shut off.
Finding the bathroom, I quickly relieved myself and then began to make my way back to the meeting. I was passing by what looked to be the staff break room when I paused, considering ditching this whole thing and heading out to Tom’s place for a while.
Glancing through the door, I saw a dark-haired woman sitting at a table. I noticed she had a cup of tea in front of her as she brought a cream cake to her mouth for a bite.
Her full lips curved to one side in a pleased smile laced with blatant anticipation. I’d never seen someone look so hot for a confectionary before. It was kind of sexy; and I’m not sure why, but it made me smile the first full-on smile I’d had in weeks.
Then she opened her mouth, setting the soft, sweet cake on her pink tongue, and I nearly groaned. Kind of sexy transformed into fucking hot. I didn’t know this woman at all, but I briefly wondered if she was up for a bit of no-strings fun.
I must have made some movement to alert her to my presence because she looked up quickly, big brown eyes widening when she saw me. She swallowed just as a glob of cream fell from the cake and plopped right onto her top.
I chuckled, mostly to mask my voyeurism, and took a step into the room. “Messy bastards, those éclairs.”
She just kept on staring at me, her eyes getting bigger and bigger by the second. I waited a few beats for her to say something, but she seemed stunned to silence. Fuck, I could tell she recognized me.
Of its own accord, my gaze wandered over her form, or what I could see of it: lush hips, full-figured but not fat. She wore a brown skirt, black tights, and a big gray top, her dark brown hair in a neat bun. Her clothes were plain. As I took in her face properly, though, I realized that she didn’t need any glitz. She was incredibly striking in a very natural way. Especially since her cheeks and the ridge of her pretty nose were turning bright pink.
Lowering her eyes, her black lashes a stark contrast to her peachy skin, she picked up a napkin and began furiously rubbing the cream from her top. She was just making matters worse. I walked over to her, knelt down, and took the napkin from her hand. She actually flinched when I touched her. Jesus.
“Let me help. The idea is to dab, not rub,” I said, getting all up in her space. I sneaked my hand under her top to pull out the material so that I could clean it. My knuckles brushed against her stomach, and I heard her suck in a harsh breath. Her skin was beautifully soft. I dabbed at the fabric, and the air in the room seemed to thicken. It lasted only a moment before she tentatively pushed my hand away from her, grabbed the napkin, and pulled back.
“I can manage on my own, thank you.” Her tone was impeccably polite, her cheeks now full-on red. She was definitely embarrassed. I had gotten a little too close. When I was drawn to someone, though, I often forgot about boundaries.
“I’m Ronan,” I said and presented my hand. Her gaze flickered to it for a brief moment, and I watched as she gathered a deep breath, almost like she was summoning courage. She fit her fingers in mine quickly, giving me a firm shake.
Her hand was soft and warm. It also shook as she withdrew it hastily.
“Annie,” she said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear. Her eyes barely settled on mine before she looked away again. Her lovely, pale throat was working without swallowing.
“It’s nice to meet you, Annie.” Christ, she was pretty. It was too bad she looked like she was going to have a heart attack if I didn’t leave soon.
Her skin was flawless, radiant. But her clothes became a source of irritation; she might as well have been wearing a tent. I wanted to see the shape of what lay beneath.
She also seemed a tiny bit apprehensive. Perhaps she thought I was a psycho who beat up his friends and put them in hospital. I never knew what people had read about me or what they believed.
When she had gotten most of the stain out, her eyes shot to mine, and there was something guarded and defensive in them, almost like she was bracing herself for a fight. “Can I help you with something?”
Deciding to hell with it, I went all in. I hadn’t felt an attraction to anyone in months, so I wasn’t going to let her slip through my fingers. “Your number would be a good start,” I said in a low voice.
Her eyes widened again, and it was obvious I’d caught her completely off guard. Quickly, the vulnerability was gone; it was replaced first with flustered confusion and then hardened resolve. “No.”
Her single-word denial made me frown. Before I could ask Annie if she was already seeing someone, Joan walked into the room. “Ah, Ronan. I thought we’d lost you on your way back from the bathroom.”
“Just getting to know your lovely employee here,” I said, giving Annie a flirtatious wink. She looked like she wanted to flip me the bird, but she couldn’t since her boss was standing right there.
“Oh, Annie is our brightest and best,” said Joan with an expression that showed she truly respected the woman. Then she paused for a second as though struck by a thought. “You know, tell me if this sounds crazy, but I just had an idea.” She glanced at me. “Ronan, you said you were clueless when it comes to publicity, and Annie here is a whiz at cultivating a popular online presence for our clients. I think I need to pair you two up. Annie can teach you the social media ropes, show you how to play the game, while our team gets to work on revitalizing your public image.”
“You know what, Joan, I think that’s a brilliant idea.” I beamed at her. Of course I did. If it meant spending time with this gorgeous Annie, then I’d suffer through the nausea that social networking presented. And honestly, in a way, her rejection was refreshing. Most women saw my wealth and my fame and instantly had dollar signs flashing in their eyes.
Annie didn’t seem so keen on the idea of teaming up, and okay, maybe I could understand her hesitation. I’d practically groped her under the guise of helping her get out a stain, but still, she looked like she found me about as appealing as second-hand underpants.
She cleared her throat, which I noticed was still red with embarrassment, and spoke up. “I’m very busy at the moment, Joan. Perhaps somebody else could help.”
Joan waved away her protestations. “Nonsense. Tell Rachel to take some of your workload, free up your schedule. I think you two will work well together. I just have a feeling.”
There was something in Joan’s expression that brooked no further argument, and Annie seemed resigned as she nodded her acquiescence, her big brown eyes flickering to mine and then to her teacup.
Joan clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! Come with me, Ronan, and we’ll figure out a schedule.” As the tiny woman led me from the room, I gave Annie one final heated smile.
This day was looking up already.
Chapter Three
The Kinnear: When one surreptitiously takes a picture of another person (usually a celebrity) without anyone else realizing the photographer is using his/her phone. Typically, the phone is completely hidden.
Best for: In crowds, e.g. airports, restaurants, while shopping.
Do not use: In quiet areas or in situations where movement is restricted.
*Annie*
Ronan Fitzpatrick.
His name was Ronan Fitzpatrick, and his hand had just been up my shirt.
The back of his fingers had brushed against my bare skin, sending really, really delicious spikes of awareness to the pit of my stomach and up my chest, neck, and the top of my head. My brain had been momentarily paralyzed.
I’d been alone, eating my feelings after my alter ego, The Socialmedialite, had received a truly heinous email. I’d read it less than an hour ago; it was from the asshat I’d mistaken for Colin Farrell last Thursday and written about on Saturday, but who was actually a disgraced Irish rugby player…named Ronan Fitzpatrick. And I’d just met him. In person.
My jaw tightened. Who did this woman think she was speaking to? “So what?”
“That’s not a good thing.”
“That’s rugby.”
“Usually it’s supposed to be an opponent, isn’t it? Not one of your own.”
I shrugged. “Usually. But this time I made an exception because he slept with my fiancée.”
She waved me away. “There’s no need to be defensive. I’m here to remedy you, not incite you.”
I blinked at her. She was here to remedy me?
Joan smiled. “Look, what you did was bad, but it’s not the worst thing you could’ve done. The more time that passes, the more people will forget. And you’d be surprised how easily that can be done. We get you seen going on a date with a much-loved actress, maybe giving a donation to a charity or two, and the tarnish on your reputation will begin to disappear. What do you say?”
I frowned at her and worked my jaw. This whole thing was making me itch, and I needed to get out of there. “I say I need to take a piss.”
Joan didn’t bat an eyelid at my harsh response. “Very well. The bathrooms are located at the end of the hall, the blue door on the right.”
The one named Rachel stood like she was going to escort me to the head. I glared at Joan, who apparently understood my irritation because she waved at Rachel to sit and shook her head.
I swiftly rose from my chair and left the room. Stomping down the hallway, I stopped midway to the end and ran a hand over my face. I was ridiculously tired. I wasn’t sleeping like I used to. I thought that spending a couple of months in a place far from where I came from would work, help me to detach from everything that had happened. Too bad my brain didn’t know how to shut off.
Finding the bathroom, I quickly relieved myself and then began to make my way back to the meeting. I was passing by what looked to be the staff break room when I paused, considering ditching this whole thing and heading out to Tom’s place for a while.
Glancing through the door, I saw a dark-haired woman sitting at a table. I noticed she had a cup of tea in front of her as she brought a cream cake to her mouth for a bite.
Her full lips curved to one side in a pleased smile laced with blatant anticipation. I’d never seen someone look so hot for a confectionary before. It was kind of sexy; and I’m not sure why, but it made me smile the first full-on smile I’d had in weeks.
Then she opened her mouth, setting the soft, sweet cake on her pink tongue, and I nearly groaned. Kind of sexy transformed into fucking hot. I didn’t know this woman at all, but I briefly wondered if she was up for a bit of no-strings fun.
I must have made some movement to alert her to my presence because she looked up quickly, big brown eyes widening when she saw me. She swallowed just as a glob of cream fell from the cake and plopped right onto her top.
I chuckled, mostly to mask my voyeurism, and took a step into the room. “Messy bastards, those éclairs.”
She just kept on staring at me, her eyes getting bigger and bigger by the second. I waited a few beats for her to say something, but she seemed stunned to silence. Fuck, I could tell she recognized me.
Of its own accord, my gaze wandered over her form, or what I could see of it: lush hips, full-figured but not fat. She wore a brown skirt, black tights, and a big gray top, her dark brown hair in a neat bun. Her clothes were plain. As I took in her face properly, though, I realized that she didn’t need any glitz. She was incredibly striking in a very natural way. Especially since her cheeks and the ridge of her pretty nose were turning bright pink.
Lowering her eyes, her black lashes a stark contrast to her peachy skin, she picked up a napkin and began furiously rubbing the cream from her top. She was just making matters worse. I walked over to her, knelt down, and took the napkin from her hand. She actually flinched when I touched her. Jesus.
“Let me help. The idea is to dab, not rub,” I said, getting all up in her space. I sneaked my hand under her top to pull out the material so that I could clean it. My knuckles brushed against her stomach, and I heard her suck in a harsh breath. Her skin was beautifully soft. I dabbed at the fabric, and the air in the room seemed to thicken. It lasted only a moment before she tentatively pushed my hand away from her, grabbed the napkin, and pulled back.
“I can manage on my own, thank you.” Her tone was impeccably polite, her cheeks now full-on red. She was definitely embarrassed. I had gotten a little too close. When I was drawn to someone, though, I often forgot about boundaries.
“I’m Ronan,” I said and presented my hand. Her gaze flickered to it for a brief moment, and I watched as she gathered a deep breath, almost like she was summoning courage. She fit her fingers in mine quickly, giving me a firm shake.
Her hand was soft and warm. It also shook as she withdrew it hastily.
“Annie,” she said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear. Her eyes barely settled on mine before she looked away again. Her lovely, pale throat was working without swallowing.
“It’s nice to meet you, Annie.” Christ, she was pretty. It was too bad she looked like she was going to have a heart attack if I didn’t leave soon.
Her skin was flawless, radiant. But her clothes became a source of irritation; she might as well have been wearing a tent. I wanted to see the shape of what lay beneath.
She also seemed a tiny bit apprehensive. Perhaps she thought I was a psycho who beat up his friends and put them in hospital. I never knew what people had read about me or what they believed.
When she had gotten most of the stain out, her eyes shot to mine, and there was something guarded and defensive in them, almost like she was bracing herself for a fight. “Can I help you with something?”
Deciding to hell with it, I went all in. I hadn’t felt an attraction to anyone in months, so I wasn’t going to let her slip through my fingers. “Your number would be a good start,” I said in a low voice.
Her eyes widened again, and it was obvious I’d caught her completely off guard. Quickly, the vulnerability was gone; it was replaced first with flustered confusion and then hardened resolve. “No.”
Her single-word denial made me frown. Before I could ask Annie if she was already seeing someone, Joan walked into the room. “Ah, Ronan. I thought we’d lost you on your way back from the bathroom.”
“Just getting to know your lovely employee here,” I said, giving Annie a flirtatious wink. She looked like she wanted to flip me the bird, but she couldn’t since her boss was standing right there.
“Oh, Annie is our brightest and best,” said Joan with an expression that showed she truly respected the woman. Then she paused for a second as though struck by a thought. “You know, tell me if this sounds crazy, but I just had an idea.” She glanced at me. “Ronan, you said you were clueless when it comes to publicity, and Annie here is a whiz at cultivating a popular online presence for our clients. I think I need to pair you two up. Annie can teach you the social media ropes, show you how to play the game, while our team gets to work on revitalizing your public image.”
“You know what, Joan, I think that’s a brilliant idea.” I beamed at her. Of course I did. If it meant spending time with this gorgeous Annie, then I’d suffer through the nausea that social networking presented. And honestly, in a way, her rejection was refreshing. Most women saw my wealth and my fame and instantly had dollar signs flashing in their eyes.
Annie didn’t seem so keen on the idea of teaming up, and okay, maybe I could understand her hesitation. I’d practically groped her under the guise of helping her get out a stain, but still, she looked like she found me about as appealing as second-hand underpants.
She cleared her throat, which I noticed was still red with embarrassment, and spoke up. “I’m very busy at the moment, Joan. Perhaps somebody else could help.”
Joan waved away her protestations. “Nonsense. Tell Rachel to take some of your workload, free up your schedule. I think you two will work well together. I just have a feeling.”
There was something in Joan’s expression that brooked no further argument, and Annie seemed resigned as she nodded her acquiescence, her big brown eyes flickering to mine and then to her teacup.
Joan clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! Come with me, Ronan, and we’ll figure out a schedule.” As the tiny woman led me from the room, I gave Annie one final heated smile.
This day was looking up already.
Chapter Three
The Kinnear: When one surreptitiously takes a picture of another person (usually a celebrity) without anyone else realizing the photographer is using his/her phone. Typically, the phone is completely hidden.
Best for: In crowds, e.g. airports, restaurants, while shopping.
Do not use: In quiet areas or in situations where movement is restricted.
*Annie*
Ronan Fitzpatrick.
His name was Ronan Fitzpatrick, and his hand had just been up my shirt.
The back of his fingers had brushed against my bare skin, sending really, really delicious spikes of awareness to the pit of my stomach and up my chest, neck, and the top of my head. My brain had been momentarily paralyzed.
I’d been alone, eating my feelings after my alter ego, The Socialmedialite, had received a truly heinous email. I’d read it less than an hour ago; it was from the asshat I’d mistaken for Colin Farrell last Thursday and written about on Saturday, but who was actually a disgraced Irish rugby player…named Ronan Fitzpatrick. And I’d just met him. In person.
