From Enemies to Expecting

Prior to today, Logan had been almost deliberately affectionate, as if he was only paying attention to her because their on-camera relationship required it. She was trying not to ascribe any meaning to his seemingly subconscious touch other than the obvious—he was technically at work and probably focused on that.

Besides, they weren’t a real couple. There didn’t have to be meaning to anything he did. In public, everything was fake. She didn’t have to dissect his moods or worry if he was thinking about ditching her. None of that mattered, which was what made it great.

“CEO, huh? So everyone reports to you and you could fire them all?”

He nodded with a shrug.

That was a job she was glad Cass had signed up for at Fyra. Trinity would hate having so many people looking to her for answers.

She scooched down in her seat. Wasn’t that still the case with the marketing campaign for Formula-47? Skipping town on the wave of positive publicity didn’t absolve the fact that a lot of people depended on her to hit a home run on this one.

And Logan had apparently invaded her consciousness to the point where she was making baseball analogies.

She’d noticed that around Logan, her muse was inspired. She’d gotten a double dose of inspiration from that scorching-hot round of kissing Saturday night, but the dozens of half-finished sketches hadn’t moved her much closer to her goal. Something much more...encompassing than mere kissing might be the ticket, and she had a four-day trip ahead of her to prove her theory.

The next time she got naked with Logan, there would be a whole lot more happening than a conversation, and no one would be putting on clothes for quite a while. But she didn’t want to clue him in that she had a stake in taking this very public flirtation behind closed doors.

When they got to the hotel, a slew of photographers waited outside the sliding glass doors. The limo Logan had chartered slid to a stop near the valet stand, but he didn’t get out right away.

“By the way, I tipped off the local press that we were coming to this series. Together,” he said. “As a couple. I hope that was okay.”

“Brilliant.” She’d wondered if this was the typical welcome a baseball team received in a host city. But it was the general manager and his girlfriend-slash-fiancée that they’d come to see. Nice. “Maybe we should think about hiring someone to follow us around with a camera. I like the organic reach of having unbiased third parties pick up the story, but it couldn’t hurt to goose things a little.”

“Got it covered. My publicist does, anyway,” he amended as Trinity lifted her brows in question. “She’s sending someone to all three games to take photos of us in my suite.”

“We have a suite?” Like with a bed? Suddenly the prospect of sitting through three baseball games got a little more interesting. “You should have mentioned that way before now. Maybe we can take an adult nap during the middle part when nothing happens.”

She waggled her brows to be sure he picked up on the double entendre.

His chuckle warmed her enormously. “It’s not like a hotel suite. It’s a skybox with seats for people to watch the action on the field, but with air-conditioning and a bar. I also invited several acquaintances to come hang out with us. It’ll be a party.”

Oh. That still sounded better than being outside in the sun while watching guys in uniforms hit a ball. “I shall be attentive and adoring in front of your friends. And the photographer.”

Just that morning, a new article had made the rounds with damaging allegations about Fyra’s animal testing practices. Cass had already involved their lawyer to see if they could sue. But anything Trinity could do to negate that bunch of BS would only help.

He climbed from the limo and helped her out, slipping an arm around her waist to guide her inside. The porter began pulling luggage from the limo’s trunk as people surged forward, cameras poised to begin snapping money shots of the couple they’d come to photograph.

“Nice shoes,” he murmured in her ear as flashes went off around them.

Yeah, she’d worn her six-inch Prada heels even though her ankles got puffy when she flew. The straps were cutting into her flesh and she’d lost feeling in her toes at least three hours ago. But she liked it when he could put his arm around her, too.

“You’re welcome.”

He grinned, and she promptly forgot about her ankles. Maybe she could talk him into an adult nap right this minute. Just to take the edge off. Her insides had never quite cooled after that second kiss Saturday night, and she’d be quite happy to pick up where they’d left off.

But then she distinctly heard him tell the hotel clerk two rooms. “What?”