Page 45 of Dirty Sweet Cowboy

Page List


Font:  

I look down uncertainly. “I guess I was just watching you,” I explain meekly .

“You’re really going to just wait for something to, what, drop into your lap ?”

“No, of course not,” I protest. “But I just wanted to think about it a little bit; is that so weird? It’s a big decision, Bea. I’ll know when it’s right. And we have all weekend at this conference to poke around and figure stuff out, right? Maybe inspiration will strike me in one of the group sessions or career counseling breakout groups or something .”

“Yeah, I guess,” she rolls her eyes. “So, I guess we should just check in to our rooms then? Pick out which panels we’re going to attend ?”

I smile, glad she’s not going to keep berating me on this point. Sometimes Bea can be a little bit overbearing. She calls it enthusiasm. It’s more like a charging bull .

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I think the lobby is this way .”

We head out to the opulent lobby, immediately dropping our voices. Between the lush, tufted sofas and potted palms, recent college graduates mingle with minor celebrities and business owners. The place is so beautiful, it feels like a library or church or something. Like we should be quiet .

“I think that the check-in desk is over here,” I mumble, turning 180 degrees and looking for some kind of sign. “I left our bags just over here, next to the, oh my God — ”

I stop up short, momentarily startled. A poster for the event swims in front of my eyes, almost refusing to come into focus .

Bea shuffles up next to me, gasping slightly .

“Ava, isn’t that… don’t you know him ?”

I swallow, or try to. That dirty blond, shiny, wavy hair. Those sky-blue eyes. It has to be him .

“He’s the keynote speaker? Yikes,” Bea mutters. “Awkward .”

I scowl, trying to get a hold of myself. Try as I might, I can’t really see him. It’s like looking into the sun .

“It’s not awkward,” I sniff. “What’s awkward about it? We probably won’t even see him in person. Besides, he probably doesn’t even remember me .”

Bea gets her suitcase from the check-in area, rolling it quietly across the ma

rble tiles while suspiciously looking me over .

“Sure looks like you remember him,” she observes .

“Only barely,” I huff, trying to make my voice sound less defensive, less irritated, less of everything. “Water under the bridge. He is some billionaire investor now anyway. Doesn’t even breathe the same air as we mere mortals do .”

“Probably has it shipped in special from his secret lair,” Bea agrees, nodding .

“Yeah, ha-ha, probably,” I chuckle, glad her attention is not completely focused on me now .

But those eyes… I have to glance back. It’s definitely him. Those bright, intense eyes that always seemed to stare right through to the middle of me are now in the middle of that life-sized poster. I’m having a hard time looking away. It’s just some publicist’s photo, and I know it is not looking right at me, but it almost feels exactly the same .

“We should get checked in,” I mumble, forcing myself to turn around. Bea goes all businesslike again, striding importantly across the lobby toward an alcove where four young women stand in matching outfits. I hurry behind her, happy to put some distance between me and the soul-piercing gaze of Ethan Mercer .

“What do you mean, you don’t have our rooms? But we have reservations?” I hear Bea saying to the frightened-looking young woman as I walk up .

“What’s going on?” I ask .

The woman Bea’s talking to looks about my age, with a healthy, freckled glow and perfectly white teeth. Tiny strands of ginger hair have escaped from her conservative bun and are haloing her reddening cheeks as she taps nervously on her laptop .

“Well, with the conference, we’re booked, and it appears your reservation… I mean, I see it here but… I mean — ”

“What’s wrong?” I ask Bea. “Is there a problem with our rooms ?”

“Just take a breath,” Bea tells her, holding up her long, slender fingers. She has a Jedi-like ability to manage stressful situations that I am immediately grateful for. “You see the reservation there, right? Two rooms? Queens? Adjoining ?”

The girl gets more flustered as she taps. “I mean, yes, I see them. It’s just that they’re not here ."


Tags: Jess Bentley Romance