Page 52 of Nothing to No One

“What the fuck is this?” Roman barked after they’d been gazing for goodness knew how long. “I say it and it’s a problem, he says it and it’s not?”

That was his grievance? Her agreement? Roman was the only man she’d ever met who’d be capable of starting an argument in an empty house.

“Then it’s settled. Ro’s going to work today and Struan will be needed.”

“Yeah, and there’s no reason for me not to be there.” No one knew he was the man in the pictures. “But we’re towing a ‘nocomment’ line. Nothing gets said about the picture, the past, or the future, without Bambi’s agreement.”

It hadn’t occurred to her they could say what they wanted while she was locked up in the palace walls.

“The break gives you a chance to look through some of the requests. Decide if there’s anything that’s safe to do. It won’t be now, but maybe when things have settled…” These interviews again? Appearance requests? She just nodded. “Mieux will come over with everything you’ll need. If you want to write up any statements or comments, she’ll pass them on to us for approval.”

Somehow that last word implied, while Roman’s side sought to approve whatever was coming from her proverbial mouth, in return, she’d only get consultation. Forewarned before they threw any grenades. Did that mean she needed to be forearmed? Her arsenal wasn’t exactly packed with options.

This would have to end sometime, and her exit strategy…? Nonexistent. The reason for that was at her side. Of its own accord her body relaxed against his, just a little.

“Exit” suggested away from Struan. That was not somewhere she wanted to be.

“Chic will let you know if there are wardrobe changes.”

Because whatever was supposed to be on the calendar would now be canceled or rescheduled? Surely one outfit was as good as the next for a social occasion. They wouldn’t be going to a pool or a costume party. Though with this being LA, she wouldn’t bet anything on that assumption.

Struan would go to work, Roman and Magnus too. At this rate, all she was good for was going back to bed. She’d only just got up and ready for the day, and already she was eager for it to be over.

Oh no, wait, she took that back. The ultimate punishment would come before bedtime. An intimate evening with RomanLowe, smiling nice for the cameras, just what would that entail exactly?

NINETEEN

TO GIVE ROMAN his due, he’d been more charming through that evening’s meal than he had on other nights.

“Struan’s not used to being the fuck up. That’s the problem.” Unfortunately, with the subject continually returning to his superiority over his brother, Roman was no less insufferable than normal. “He knows how to fall in line, how to do what he’s told. He can take instruction, direction. This is him acting out or a sign of his ability to make stupid decisions.” Roman snickered. “I think it’s a signal he’s better staying in his lane.”

Her position was impossible. Impulse demanded she argue and defend Struan, that she point out he hadn’t fucked up or made any bad decision. He’d simply followed his own desire for once. And, yes, that desire might be sexual, in this case, but that didn’t diminish his right. Choosing her, from what she could gather, was the first thing he’d ever chosen for himself.

The meal was lovely, neutral, polite, she’d done her duty, right? No waves. No opposition. She’d nodded along and let Roman listen to his own voice all night long.

“It’s getting late.”

“Do you want dessert?” he asked, sliding a hand to the middle of the table, his fingers beckoning hers.

Damnit, she’d have to reciprocate.

Every muscle clenched as she forced a smile to her lips and allowed him to hold her hand there near the edge of the table. Just because she hadn’t seen press didn’t mean they weren’tthere. Everyone had a camera these days, and in LA especially, most all wanted to make a name for themselves somehow.

Magnus said they picked the restaurant to control the visual. Did he mean they were surrounded by friendly people influential enough to spread the tale of what they’d seen in the right circles? Would that straighten out what Roman classed as Struan’s mess?

Holding his hand didn’t feel right, neither did gazing into the smile on his face. Smug was the only word that came to mind to describe it. Did he feel like he was getting one upon his brother?

She definitely didn’t want any part in that pissing match and would always choose Struan. Still, not rocking the boat made his life easier.

“It’s getting late,” she said, “I’d like to get to bed.”

“No argument here.”

He stood up, hand still in hers, and helped her onto her feet.

“Shouldn’t we ask for the bill?”

“It’s covered,” he said, still bearing that cocky arrogance.

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