He had that effect on me.
Had? Who are you kidding, Bristol? He still does.
And it’s harder than I want to admit, seeing him have that effect on Qwest.
We both clap, adding our applause to everyone else’s when the set closes.
My shoulders drop with relief. Not only because I’m no longer held captive to the burlesque show Qwest made of the performance but also because I didn’t realize how much preparing for this show has stressed me out. It was televised, and every show, every shoot, every interview counts leading up to the release of Grip. In my gut, I know this album is special. I wake thinking about it, and it’s the last thing on my mind when I fall into an exhausted heap each night. Unfortunately, that means Grip owns the first and last of my day. I keep a pad by my bed so when promotion ideas or things to do hit me, I can capture them right away. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this much anticipation and excitement for a project, for an artist. Whether it’s because it’s that great or whether it’s because it’s Grip, I don’t let myself consider.
I’m at the bar ordering my well-earned, much-deserved vodka martini, when a hand presses against the small of my back, caressing the bare skin. I stiffen and look over my shoulder.
“Parker.” I turn back to the bar and smile at the bartender as I accept my drink. “Well, that didn’t take long. I texted you, like what? Twenty minutes ago?”
“More like fifteen.” The hotel mogul I’ve known all my life grins and slides a steamy gaze down my body. “You have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to call?”
“Since Vegas?” I turn and prop my elbows on the bar. The action pushes my breasts forward in my cropped top, and his eyes predictably drop.
“A lot longer than that.” He captures a lock of hair that’s escaped from the knot at my neck, tucking it behind my ear. “And you know it.”
“I just wanted to thank you for upgrading the suite.” I force myself not to pull away from his hand and take a sip of my drink, closing my eyes in pure bliss. “God, I’ve needed this drink since I woke up this morning.”
“We make the best vodka martini at the Park.” He pauses, running a finger down my neck. “The Park-Vegas, I mean. Let’s go.”
“Now?” I take another glorious sip and cock an eyebrow at him. “Tonight?”
“Got a ‘copter waiting on my helipad.”
“I love that after all these years you still think your money impresses me.” This time, my sip becomes a gulp that bottoms the glass out. “It’s charming, really.”
The bartender passes me another without my having to ask.
“You, my man,” I tell him, accepting my second drink gratefully. “Are on your way to quite a tip.”
When I turn back to Parker, the humor gathering in his eyes dissipates as he starts at my toes and takes me in, not stopping until he meets my eyes in the blue-green light of the club.
“I really miss fucking you, Bristol.”
The glass stops halfway to my mouth, my breath catching. Not because his words turn me on. It’s one thing to invite him here in hopes that Grip will see him and give Qwest a chance. It’s a whole other thing to get entangled with Parker again. Our mothers have been planning our wedding since they discovered they were pregnant within days of one another. For some reason, Parker has always been onboard.
Onboard . . . obsessed. Semantics.
“Parker, we’ve talked about this.” I set my drink down on the bar. “We tried and failed at a relationship. I think we’ve satisfied our parents’ misplaced intentions.”
“This isn’t about what our parents want.” Parker palms my hip and pulls me closer, dropping his head until his lips brush my ear. “It never has been for me. I’ve always wanted you, and having you for a few months wasn’t nearly enough. Give me another shot.”
Parker and I dated for a while from senior year in high school until I went to college. When I chose Columbia and he went to Stanford, I took advantage of the long distance to break things off. We had zero chemistry, but I think something in me recognized the promise of what he’s become—spoiled, entitled, and a bit of a bully. I could so easily have become those things. Hell, I may have even been those things at various points in my life, but I didn’t want to be that. I certainly didn’t want to be with that.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
I look just past Parker’s shoulder to see Grip standing there. To anyone else, he might look at ease, but I know him better than most. I know his face intimately, have every line of it memorized. I know how frustration thins his full lips. How his eyes narrow at the corners when he’s annoyed. How anger ticks the strong line of his jaw.
“No problem.” I gesture to Parker. “Parker, this is—”
“Gripe, right?” Parker extends his hand, which Grip leaves hanging in the air, his eyes fixed on Parker’s face.
“It’s Grip,” I correct, breathing a little easier when Grip finally shakes his hand. “Remember Grip is one of my artists, Parker. He performed at the show in Vegas.”
“I need a minute, Bristol,” Grip says, not acknowledging my introduction. He walks a few feet away without waiting for my response.
“Be right back,” I tell Parker.
Parker catches me by the elbow.
“I’ll have them ready the ‘copter.”
I pull free without answering and step over to where Grip waits.
“What’s up?” I ask him.
“Next time, before you pimp me out,” he snaps, eyes darkening to hot chocolate. “Give me a heads up, would you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t set me up on a date with Qwest?” His brows push up. “Did she misunderstand?”
“I didn’t ‘pimp you out.’ I thought it would be a nice surprise.” I shrug nonchalantly. “That you’d enjoy some time to relax. Sorry if I overstepped.”
“She wants to fuck me.” He dips his head so his eyes wrangle with mine under the moving lights. “You do realize that?”
“You’re consenting adults,” I say around the fist in my throat. “Whatever you decide to do is up to you.”
“This guy, Bristol?” He twists his lips derisively and switches gears without a clutch. “The guy with the irretrievable stick up his ass. This is the guy you give the time of day?”
“Don’t start.”
I turn to walk away, but he clamps his hand around my wrist. Just that contact sends a smoke signal up my arm. Parker can whisper in my ear that he wants to fuck me, and I’m dry as a bone. One touch from Grip, and I’m gushing in my panties.
Figures. My vagina, the contrarian.
He doesn’t get to say more because Qwest walks up to us, her smile wide with anticipation.
“Hey.” Her eyes drop to where Grip still holds my wrist. “Everything okay?”
“Just touching base before Grip leaves.” I tug my wrist free, looking up at the neutral expression shuttering Grip’s face. “You’ve got a couple of days off before everything goes even crazier. Enjoy them.”
Grip’s eyes cool to iced mocha and freeze when they shift over my shoulder. I turn to see Parker standing there, a sober-faced gentleman in a suit standing just a few paces behind him. The man with Parker is one of those people who carries just enough menace not to blend into the wallpaper but with a face you’d be hard-pressed to remember.
“Bris, we need to go if we want to make that flight.” Parker’s hands, usually possessive when in my vicinity, settle on my hips as he positions himself at my back.
“Um, okay,” I say, though I’m still not sure I’m going with him anywhere.
“Thanks again for the suite, Bristol,” Qwest says. “It’s incredible.”
“You actually have Parker here to thank for that.” I force myself to lean back into him, knowing I’ll pay later for encouraging him. “He’s the one who upgraded you.”
“Anything for Bristol’s friends,” Parker says smoothly.