Fuck. I groaned low and wasn’t surprised when a series of knocks came from below, followed by my phone vibrating with a message. But rather than the usual thrill, Ezra’s message filled me with dread even before I clicked. Talking. Text. Carrier pigeon. Didn’t matter. I so did not want to have this conversation.
But I wasn’t a total jerk, so I opened my messaging app. Might as well get this over with.
I’m sorry. I should have told you about the media inquiries. He’d added a bunch of apologetic-looking emoji.
But I didn’t crack a smile as I typed a quick response. Yeah, you should have. You have to let me do my job.
His reply came equally fast. That’s what my mom said. Let you do your job.
Despite the late hour and my own exhaustion, my eyes popped wide. Wait. You told your mom about us?
Not exactly. Ezra was typing so quickly that the faint clicking sound reached my bunk as I waited for the rest of his reply. She maybe sort of guessed, but I didn’t confirm.
I groaned loud enough that he had to have heard. Ezra. This hot bodyguard business from the press is bad enough. I can’t have word of us hooking up getting out too.
It’s my mom. She’s not gonna talk. He added a funny GIF with zipped lips, but I still wasn’t laughing as he continued texting. But I’ll be more cautious. But like I’ve said, I don’t think it’s terrible if people see us as friends.
Fuck. This was such a clusterfuck. I’d bought into his friendship idea, and that was entirely on me. I’d willfully chosen to ignore how easily people could leap from assuming we were friends to assuming way worse.
My fingers pounded hard enough to give me a cramp as I replied. My professional reputation is on the line here. It’s not about friendship. It’s about my company and what I’m building, and the type of person I’ve spent decades trying to be. Gossip about us being chummy undercuts all of that.
“Wow.” Ezra’s dramatic inhale echoed before he resumed texting. Way to tell me how you feel. We’re not friends?
This situation was now full-on FUBAR. I’d wounded him, and I’d eat my damn phone to save him the hurt. Sorry. That’s not what I meant. We are friends, but it sucks that it has to be a secret friendship. I wish I could see any other alternative.
While I waited for Ezra’s reply, my phone buzzed with a different message. My father. Exactly what this mess needed.
See you made some headlines. Let me know if you’d like me to put you in touch with my PR fixer. She can spin anything. Too bad you’re not working for me. You could have that low-profile presence you crave. Or maybe you’re enjoying being a thirst trap. Stay in touch.
Fuck. I thumped my head against the mattress. No way could I reply right then. Being outright hostile wouldn’t get me anywhere with him. And he knew perfectly well I wasn’t going to take him up on his offer of a PR person or a job. But he had to slip those little barbs in, remind me I was still his kid, and by fucking around with a client, I wasn’t as different from him as I wanted to believe.
My gut churned, full of caustic acid by the time Ezra’s reply came in.
We can talk more in Philadelphia. Maybe things will seem clearer then. And at the least, I can make up for not telling you about the press. He added a winking devil emoji which only made me feel that much worse. He was being nice, but somehow his lightness only further darkened my mood.
That’s probably not a good idea. I shouldn’t be seen leaving your room late at night when the press is so focused on us right now.
That got me a fast reply from him. So you’re ending things?
The sane thing would be to say yes, end it all right here and now, but hell if I could do that. Even hovering over the Y key had cold sweat snaking down my spine. That acid in my belly rose into my throat as I typed. I didn’t say that. But at least let’s allow the news cycle to cool off a little.
Have it your way. His reply was followed by a loud thunk like he’d flopped back against the bed, and I didn’t blame him. This sucked. And far from having it my way, neither of us would win here. I rolled over, making my bunk squeak, craving him so badly I ached. Nope, definitely not getting it my way. And what was worse, there was no way things could improve. And that fucking sucked.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ezra
Duncan was still pissed at me by our arrival in Philadelphia, which resulted in a miserable twenty-four hours of him being professional as hell and more distant than I’d ever seen him. And by our arrival in New York, I’d had enough. As the band finished an appearance at a radio station, I turned to Kate, who was busy chattering about lunch with one of the other crew members.