He comes over, bracing his hands on the back of the couch as he bends to kiss me. “I’ll be right back.” Disappearing, he heads into the bathroom and I hear the water running. Alec Kim would never dream of touching me with dirty hands.
But when he returns, we don’t immediately strip down. Instead of being rushed and heated, the vibe in the air is wide-open, full of oxygen and space and time. He crosses the room to the minibar, bending to retrieve two bottles of water. “How was your afternoon?”
“My story went up.”
He turns, eyes wide. “Wait—today?”
I nod, beaming.
Alec pulls his phone from his pocket. “Drop me the link.” When I do, I watch as his eyes scan the story before jumping back to the top to start all over. “This is good.”
Pride is a warm hit of sunshine. “Thank you.”
“I mean,” he says, and comes to stand closer, “this is a really well-written story on the subject. Informative but not rubbernecking.”
I fight the urge to deflect the compliment, saying only, “Good.”
“How’s the response?”
“Great so far. My phone was blowing up, and I started to feel restless in my own skin, so I put it down to read for a while out on the terrace.” But then I came inside, I don’t say, knowing you’d be here soon.
Alec looks up. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“The terrace?” I laugh. “？‘Nice.’ Yes, it’s nice.”
He collapses beside me on the couch, unscrewing the cap on his water and tossing it onto the table. “On a scale from it-was-perfect to you-almost-never-called-me-again,” he says, “how much did you hate the signing today?”
Reaching over, I pull a tiny piece of paper confetti from his collar. “I didn’t hate it.”
“Liar.”
“I didn’t,” I insist. “I’m used to being around important people, but in a professional capacity. There I felt a little bit…” I try to find the right word. “I felt a little dismissed because I was ‘just’ there as a fan. It was a weird experience.”
Alec takes a long drink and nods as he swallows. “I get that. It’s the thing I probably like least about the culture.”
“Let’s just say your celebrity status is not why I’m with you.”
His dark eyes shine when he looks over at me, smiling. “Why are you with me?”
I poke a finger in his dimple, drag it over his lips and down his throat.
“Of course.” His laugh vibrates against my fingertip, and he sits up, reaching for my book on the table. “What’s this?” I don’t answer because he’s already looking for himself. “Is it good?”
I shrug. “I’m only about fifty pages in, but I like it so far.”
As he reads the cover flap, I reach over, finger-brushing the hair at his temple. “How was the rest of the event?”
“Good. Photo ops.” He sets the book down and reaches up, massaging his cheeks.
“Lots of smiling?”
He laughs, nodding, and shifts so that he’s lying with his head in my lap. Alec stares up at me. “I’m so glad you agreed,” he says finally. I watch as he takes a deep breath and gives it ten beats to fully exit his body.
“Me too.” Seeing my presence as a relief to him is a bit like drinking champagne. I tingle all over.
“I don’t think I realized how badly I wanted you here until I saw you.”
“Well,” I say, bending to kiss his forehead, “I’m glad.”
“Will you be able to work here?”
I nod. “It’ll be quieter here than it would be at my place. This week is going to be nuts, so I can work while you’re out being England’s heartthrob.”
“Oh.” This piques his interest. “What’s going on?”
“Billy is all in,” I say. “He anticipated this blowing up and brought in our London correspondent to do the heavy lifting on the follow-ups, which means a shared byline, but I honestly couldn’t do it from here anyway. This guy, Ian, usually covers the politics desk, so he’s great. He went back and looked into guest logs and video footage and discovered what I actually knew already, which is that there is no record of who came into or left the club on the nights we know the chat-room videos were recorded. Or the night you went to get Sunny.”
Alec frowns. “Really?”
“Those records have been ‘misplaced,’？” I say with implied air quotes. “However”—I hold up my index finger, and grin proudly—“there is a hotel next door to the club, the Hotel Maxson. Well, the parking lot where nonhotel guests tend to park to access the club is not attached to the hotel. It’s a separate structure that is closer to the outdoor entrance of Jupiter. And the company that manages security there is independent of the club security, which you probably remember is run by the father of one of the owners. Turns out this other security outfit keeps footage for six months, and no one has bothered asking them for it.”