Taking the Boss to Bed

Six

What.

The.

Hell?

Two hours and a couple of lukewarm congratulations from Leroy later, and Ryan was still reeling from Jaci’s surprise announcement and “what the hell” or other variations of the theme kept bouncing around his head. Leaving the theater, back teeth grinding, he guided Jaci through the door, his hand on her back. She’d, once again and without discussion, flipped his world on its head. Thinking about marriage? Did she ever think before she acted?

On the sidewalk, Ryan saw a scruffy guy approaching them from his right, an expensive camera held loosely in his hands, and he groaned. He immediately recognized Jet Simons. He was one of the most relentless—and annoying—tabloid reporters on the circuit. Part journalist, part paparazzo, all sleaze. Ryan knew this because the guy practically stalked him in the month following Ben’s death. Jet had witnessed his grief and every day Ryan would pray that Jet wouldn’t capture his anger at Ben and his pain at being betrayed by his brother and Kelly. He definitely hadn’t wanted Jet to capture how alone he felt, how isolated. Soul-sucking bottom-feeder.

Ryan sent a back-the-hell-off look in his direction, which, naturally, Simons ignored. Dammit, he needed him around as much he needed a punch in the kidneys. Ryan grabbed Jaci’s hand, hoping to walk away before they were peppered with questions.

“Leroy Banks and Jax Jackson,” Simons drawled, stepping up to them and lifting his camera, the flash searing their eyes. “How’s it hanging, guys?”

“Get out of my face or I’m going to shove that camera where it hurts,” Ryan growled, pushing the lens away. Unlike the actors he worked with who played a cat-and-mouse game with the press, he didn’t need to make nice with the rats.

The flash went off another few times and Ryan growled. He was about to make good on his threat when Simons lowered the camera and looked over it to give Jaci a tip-to-toe look, his gaze frankly appreciative. Ryan felt another snarl rumble in his throat and reminded himself that Jaci was his pretend girlfriend and that he had no right to feel possessive over her. The acid in his stomach still threatened to eat a hole through its lining.

Just punch him, caveman Ryan said from his shoulder, you’ll feel so much better after.

Yeah, but sitting in jail on assault charges would suck.

“So, you’re Jaci Brookes-Lyon,” Simons said, his eyes appreciative. “Not Jax’s usual type, I’ll grant you that.”

Ryan squeezed Jaci’s hand in a silent reminder not to respond. It was good advice, and he should listen to it, especially since he still wanted to shove that lens down Simons’s throat or up his...

“Mr. Banks, how you doing? You still in bed with Jackson? Figuratively speaking, that is? Where’s Mrs. Banks?” Simons machine-gunned his words. “What do you think about Jax’s little sweetie here? Do you think she is another six-weeker or does she have the potential to be more?”

Ryan heard Jaci’s squawk of outrage but his attention was on Leroy’s face, and his slow smile made Ryan’s balls pull up into his body. Dammit, he was going to dump them right in it. He knew it as he knew his own signature. Ryan’s mind raced, desperate for a subject change, but before he could even try to turn the conversation Leroy spoke again. “They are talking about marriage, so maybe I suspect she does—” he waited a beat before speaking again “—have potential, that is.”

Ryan let fly with a creative curse and shook his head when he realized that his outburst just added a level of authenticity to Banks’s statement. He knew that a vein was threatening to pop in his neck and he released a clenched fist. Maybe he should just punch Leroy, as well, and make his jail stay worth his while.

“So you’re engaged?” Simons demanded, his face alight with curiosity.

“Look, that’s not exactly...” Jaci tried to explain but Ryan tightened his grip on her hand and she muttered a low “Ow.”

“Stop talking,” Ryan ordered in her ear before turning back to Simons and pinning him to the floor with a hard glance. “Get the hell out of my face.”

Simons must have realized that he was dancing on his last nerve because he immediately took a step backward and lifted his hands in a submissive gesture. Wuss, Ryan internally scoffed as he watched him walk away. When Simons was out of earshot, Ryan finally settled his attention on Banks and allowed him to see how pissed he was with him, too. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Banks, but it stops right now.”