Page 42 of Enemies Off Camera
“Yes?” I answer, startled, my voice jumpy.
“I said, you don’t have to worry about your things. Kat arranged for valet service to bring everything up.”
Valet? “Is this a hotel?”
“Not to my knowledge,” he says, amused. “I was told it’s a full-service condominium.”
“Oh,” I murmur. Then I remember Jaxon’s voice telling me tobe nice. “Thank you.”
I wish I could stay in the car forever. I imagine his apartment is a typical bachelor setup—leather couches, neon beer signs, maybe even a pool table smack in the middle of the living room. But whatever it is, I’m bracing for a mess. Still, I muster the courage—and the will—and push the door open.
“Here goes... everything,” I whisper as I step out, now standing on the curb.
My pulse races. My stomach flips.
God, I wish this didn’t have to happen.
THIRTY-TWO
The process goes smoother than I expected.
Anita handles it—a woman who looks to be in her mid-twenties, all long, glossy black hair that she flips every so often like punctuation. Her red dress is tight, her heels high and loud. She’s the one assigned to program my fingerprint into the system so I can access every elevator in the building—especially the ones leading to Jaxon’s private residence and the garage, where a parking space awaits me, should I ever decide to drive my own car.
“You also have free access to our rental car service through Jaxon,” she says after asking me to test the elevator by pressing my fingertip to the glass pad.
A green light flashes. The doors slide open. Everything works.
“Perfect,” she says, satisfied.
She steps in beside me. Once the doors close and the elevator begins its silent climb, I catch the full force of her perfume. It’s nothing like what the WAGs wear—sweet, sophisticated, the scent of restraint. Hers is heavy, almost edible, wrapping the small space until I can taste it. The air thickens. My stomach turns.
“Jaxon is one of our premier residents. He’s so personal and down-to-earth. All the girls love him. You know…” She shrugs a shoulder. “He’s the best.”
I smile. This is the part where I’m supposed to say something to prove I agree—that he’s so damn great, the best boyfriend in the world, and how lucky I am to have found him. Something like that.
But all she does is trigger a memory I’ve worked hard to suppress—successfully, until now. Jaxon, too close, his lips near mine, my desire battling my will. This little thing between us isn’t real. It’s fake and will always stay that way.
Thankfully, she doesn’t require a response. The doors slide open, revealing a sun-drenched entryway that feels more like an art gallery than a hallway. We step onto polished concrete floors, reflecting the natural light pouring in through floor-to-ceiling windows just beyond.
“Wow,” is all I can manage as I take in the shimmering blue of the Pacific, the curve of the marina, and the clusters of anchored boats bobbing gently in the harbor.
“I know. It’s quite stunning, especially for one gorgeous, single man.” The way her eyes flit across my face—she’s looking for a reaction.
I fold my arms across my chest, letting an old, uncomfortable sensation ripple through my stomach. The last time I felt this way was when Blaine broke my heart—known publicly as ladies’ man Toby Lane.
I don’t want to feel this way, especially not while Anita continues her tour, showing off a stylish living room with low-profile Italian sectionals anchoring the wide-open space. A glass coffee table disappears almost entirely into the design. I never thought of Jaxon as an art person, but among the succulents in concrete planters are a few well-chosen abstract murals that add tasteful pops of color.
One side of the room features an enormous television mounted to the wall.
“He likes hanging out in this room,” she says, eyes again drifting to gauge my reaction.
The more she drops these little hints about knowing Jaxon personally, the easier it is to forget our elevator moment earlier. That? That was a game. He was trying to seduce me into submission.
Well, it didn’t work.
Cue slightly jealous girlfriend.
“And you know this how?” I ask, injecting the perfect amount of agitation.
