“Now you’re a music critic?” Xavier asks, the tendons in his neck taut as he reins in his temper.

  Why do I feel like I’m in the middle of a fight for control that one has a hard time ceding and the other’s having fun testing?

  “That’s not what I meant. I was simply telling Vince that this new song he was singing—”

  “Heart of Mine.”

  “Yes, is more in line with what his audience expects. And if he’s breaking away from Bent and trying to establish himself then—”

  “He’s already established himself just fine.” That fleeting, tight smile is flashed my way. The one that says clearly, I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. “I assigned you someone. It’s your job to know this information.”

  Talk about unrealistic expectations considering he paired me with Vince on the fly yesterday. There’s a reason people say if you can survive McMann, you can survive the industry.

  “Because this is a career for you, right? Not just some job to fill the time as you figure out what to do with your life while gaining bragging rights that you have access to the famous? Like it is for most of the associates out there? If it were, you would have found the time to know everything about our newest client so you could anticipate outcomes, mitigate expectations, and assist in planning for his future.”

  He has a birthmark on his inner thigh. How’s that for knowing your newest client inside out? Choke on that, you asshole.

  “Only then do any of us want to hear your opinions on Mr. Jennings’s career. And if you’re not willing to put in the time and effort, there are a dozen more in the room behind you waiting to take your place.”

  Embarrassment heats my cheeks over letting him berate me like this in general, but also in front of Vince. I know I’m better than this, but I also know I have to pay my dues to move forward. Unfortunately, sucking it up and swallowing my pride is what’s needed for the time being.

  Apparently, each step up the rung comes with a little more respect. Or at least, so I’m told. Right now, the rung I’m on isn’t exactly feeling that way.

  My smile is placating despite the stiffening of my spine. “I assure you that—”

  “She was just giving me the honest feedback I asked for.” Vince steps farther into the room, his shoulders squared as he shrugs and his tone impenitent. “Truth be told, she was right on the money.”

  “It wasn’t her place to opine,” Xavier says.

  “Well, I prefer it actually. Most people tell me what I want to hear, kiss my ass because of who I am. I respect that she had the balls to say the truth versus sugarcoat it.” He looks from Xavier to Kevin and then back. “That’s why I asked that she be a part of my brainstorming sessions.”

  Vince looks my way, his expression impassive, but his eyes ask questions I don’t want to answer. Why do you put up with this shit? Why do you let him treat you like this? What happened to that headstrong girl I used to know?

  She’s still here. She just got sidetracked for a while, made some sacrifices, and needs this job to get where she wants to be.

  “Understood,” Xavier says with a curt nod. “Kevin will make sure that she’s kept in the loop on all of those types of meetings.”

  “Preferably all meetings,” Vince says in this unspoken tug of war.

  “That’s not exactly the hierarchy we have set up here,” Xavier says.

  “Then make the adjustment,” Vince says, clearly aware he has the power in this relationship.

  “Of course. I’ll make an exception for the next couple of weeks while you’re in town and we’re sorting through our plans for you.”

  “Great. Make sure you do.” Vince takes a seat and unceremoniously props his combat boots on the conference room table as if discussing my fate and my job duties are something he has a right to do. My hands fist over this sudden helplessness I feel. “Now that that’s settled, let’s get this boring shit over with. I have studio time we’re cutting into, and my muse is speaking to me.”

  “Of course.” Xavier’s mouth pulls tight momentarily. “Bristol? Why don’t you give us about thirty minutes to go over some things, and then you can show Mr. Jennings down to the meeting with the documentary team.” He looks to Vince, clearly unhappy to be asking his next question. “If that’s okay with you, of course?”

  Vince nods. “It’s fine.”

  “We’ll let you know when you’re needed again.”

  “Sounds great.” My smile is quick but relief even quicker as I swiftly exit the conference room.

  I’m beginning to think I’m going to need something stronger than coffee to get through today.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Bristol

  “I’ll get it to you by tomorrow morning. I have a few more things I need to add to the list before it’s ready to go,” I say to Bianca as Simone and I pass her cubicle.

  “Sounds good. At least I know when you say it’ll be done, it’ll be done. Unlike some others around here,” she says a little louder than necessary to which a coughed bullshit is heard from the other side of her cubicle walls.

  We both laugh, and I schedule a reminder on my phone for later today so I don’t forget my promise to her.

  “So what gives then?” Simone whispers. “Why is he using you as some kind of leverage against Xavier?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  “Girl, were you doing more than just serving the man his drinks last night? Is that why he’s demanding your presence at every meeting?” she teases. “Because if you’re skipping out on telling me those details, we are no longer friends.”

  “Will you shut up?” I look around to see if anyone could have heard her. I know she’s joking, but the last thing I need is rumors flying around.

  “Oh please.” She laughs.

  “I’m serious. It’s like he’s put a huge target on my back with McMann,” I say as we reach my cube.

  “Who’s put a target on your back?”

  Simone yelps quietly at the sight of Vince sitting in my chair, one ankle resting over the opposite knee. His large frame eats up what’s left of the small space that his presence doesn’t already own.

  “Oh. My,” Simone murmurs under her breath before giving one last look and then walking off.

  And while she may be ogling, the suppressed confusion and anger over how Vince used me as a pawn in his power play with Xavier returns.

  And then it dies a rapid death as one thought permeates all others: my pictures.

  I have a few seconds of abject fear until I see that the frame that displays Jagger in all his goofy, adorable glory is still facing toward the cubicle wall where Simone’s feet had knocked it earlier.

  If Vince were to see a picture of Jagger, he’d know. There’s no way he couldn’t.

  The relief that floods through me is short-lived as my scattered emotions struggle to find footing.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He shrugs in that cocky, casual way of his. “Trying to figure out what that look on your face is for.”

  “What look?”

  “The one that says you’ve seen a ghost.” His eyes narrow as he studies me.

  “No ghost.” I keep my eyes on him instead of scanning my space like I want to, just to make sure there are no other visible personal effects. I have a lot to figure out, and right now isn’t the time to do that.

  Clueless to my personal war, Vince angles his head and simply stares at me. It makes me feel like he can see right through me. “Then what is it, Shug, because there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  My nervous laugh flits through the air. That’s the good and bad of being so connected with someone. They see everything when you want them to . . . and even when you don’t want them to.

  “Not telling you?” I snort and divert. “How about you stop using me to piss off my boss.”

  “Again with the anger? I thought we brought it down a notch last night. What? Did you go home and decide you hated me again and figured you’d make sure you put your foot down today and really let me have it?”

  “Are they ready for you downstairs?” I ask.

  “You’re not answering my question,” he says completely unfazed. “Was this a predetermined reaction this morning or does seeing me just bring out the best in you?”

  Why is everything so casual for him, so easy, when it comes to interacting with me when I feel like I’m tiptoeing barefoot around shattered glass?

  “It’s cuz you missed me so much, isn’t it?” he continues.

  “I’m not doing this with you.”

  “It seems you don’t want to do a lot of anything with me.” Vince stands to his full height while I look around fervently, hoping it will prevent people from hearing this conversation. When I look back, he’s scratching just above his waistline, fingers holding the black T-shirt up so that I’m greeted with a glimpse of his happy trail.

  “This right here.”

  His groaned gasp as I playfully nip the dent of muscles is a seduction in and of itself. “What about it?”

  “I could lose myself here all night.” I look up the plane of his chest and meet those pale eyes. His lids are heavy with arousal as he stares intensely at me.

  His smile is crooked. Arrogant. “By all means, Shug. Take all the time in the world. You won’t find me complaining about it.”

  The memory hits me out of nowhere. Hard and fast and so very real and, by the smirk on his lips when I meet his eyes, he’s remembering it too.

  “Let’s go,” I say, tearing my eyes away from him and his happy trail.

  “Where to? For that drink you promised me? Good idea.” Frustrated and exasperated, I grab him by the arm and pull him out of my cubicle, his low, rumbling chuckle grating my every nerve. “God, you’re so easy to rile up.”

  I stare at him for a beat, no doubt my cheeks are flushed, before stalking through the maze of cubicles toward the back elevator on this floor. The hall leading to it is closed door after closed door behind which are various stored items. Files. Furniture. Electronics. Places where no one should be, and therefore, whatever flirtatious taunts that Vince may throw my way won’t be heard.

  His footsteps fall heavy behind me.

  At least he’s not arguing with me about that.

  But he’s chirping little comments as we go. Comments made to irritate me further but that I try valiantly to ignore.

  If there is such a thing as ignoring Vincent Jennings.

  “Where are you taking me? This isn’t the elevator I came in on,” he says as we reach the end of the long hallway.

  “You’re right. It’s not. It’s the cargo elevator.” I turn to face him to find his brow furrowed as he studies me. “Oh, wait. I’m sorry. I forgot that you need to have everyone staring at you to feed that giant ego of yours.” I roll my eyes. “Forgive me for not thinking of your needs first.”

  “There’s that animosity again.”

  “You’re goddamn right it’s there,” I grit out.

  Vince steps into my personal space. Space I want to step back and reclaim, but that would only prove to him that he’s getting to me when I don’t want him to know that. “What is your problem because last time I checked, my presence excited you and it wasn’t in this way.”

  His comment was meant as a joke. That crooked smile and sheepish eyes say so. But all it does is churn up confusion I don’t want to feel and cause all the cylinders of my temper to fire.

  I step into the elevator that has just opened, keeping my back to him until the doors shut. And the minute they do, I whirl on him, finger pressing into his chest and anger spewing.

  “If you want to have a pissing match with McMann, then have one. Keep me out of it. I need this job, and when you leave, whenever it is you’re leaving, I still have to be here. I still need the job. The income.”

  He stares at me, jaw ticking, eyes flaring, but he doesn’t say a word.

  “Why are you here at McMann anyway?” I ask. “Clearly you have issues with Xavier, so why’d you sign with him?”

  “I don’t have issues with him.”

  “Could’ve fooled me. Why’d you leave CMG?” I ask of his previous management company.

  And it’s that fleeting grimace, the one he tucks away just as quickly as it comes, that tells me there’s more to the story than I thought.

  “He’s a prick, I’ll give you that, but he’s good at what he does,” Vince says evenly.

  “So you hired a man you hate?”

  “Hate’s a strong word.”

  “How about dislike? Is that better?”

  “It is.” He gives a measured nod followed by a slow crawl of a smile. “You know me, I’m not exactly a fan of being told what to do.”

  “Then McMann was the wrong person to hire.” I snort.

  “I needed the change of scenery and someone who knows the playing field. He’s one of the few who fits that bill.”

  “Yeah, well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re just as bad as him.”

  “Yep, sure am.” The roll of his eyes pisses me off.

  “Well, he talks about me like I’m his property. You did too.”

  “Then start acting like you’re neither to either of us. That would be a good place to start.”

  I stare at Vince with wide eyes and a blank expression, uncertain what to say.

  I hate that he’s right.

  “You don’t understand. McMann eats junior associates for lunch, and you just served me up on a platter by telling him I offered my opinions.”

  “The Bristol Matthews I knew didn’t let anyone tell her what to do. I was hoping she was still around.”

  “That’s not fair.” My words are all but a whisper as my ego takes a hit, and we stand there staring at each other. This job is my sole source of income. It barely covers my bills, a few extras for Jagger here and there, and the interest of my deferred student loan payments, but it gives me the experience I need and the free time for studying. Losing it is the last thing I need, and Vince being here, pulling his chest-thumping bullshit like he did in the conference room, makes that a possibility. I refuse to let him be the reason everything changes in my life. Again.

  “Bristol?” he finally says.

  “Hmm?”

  “You need to push a floor, sweetheart, or we’re not going anywhere.”

  “Oh. I didn’t—”

  But I’m silenced as he leans past me and pushes the button for the tenth floor. It just so happens that to do so, his entire body presses against mine.

  And this elevator, the one that’s used for cargo and is larger than normal, suddenly feels so damn tiny with Vince occupying what feels like every inch of space and breath of air in it.

  When he pulls his arm back, he doesn’t move his body. All six foot plus of him remains firmly against mine. His cologne is subtle. His breath smells like mint. And when I dare to meet his eyes and the intensity in them, it’s my own breath that sucks in.

  Seconds feel like minutes.

  Minutes that need to end but that history has me holding on to.

  “Do you remember how good we were?” he murmurs. His breath feathers against my lips as he runs the back of his hand down my cheek.

  Chills chase over my skin as my head and my body battle for control of the narrative. One that knows this can’t happen. The other that craves for it to happen.

  “Vince.” It’s barely a whisper as his hand slides down my neck to the curve of my shoulder so his thumb is resting on my jawline.

  “I know. It’s crazy it’s still here after all this time.”

  “We can’t—”

  He runs his thumb over my lips to stop me from talking. His thumb . . . when all I want it to be is his lips.

  He rests his forehead against mine, his mouth a whisper away, and we just stand like this for a beat.

  My pulse thunders.

  My chest constricts.

  But my head knows so much better than to start this.

  And when the elevator dings, I’m not sure if the sigh I emit is in relief or defeat.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bristol

  Focus is a struggle.

  And it’s not because I’m past the point of exhaustion where coffee usually works.

  It’s the elevator that I can’t get out of my head. Vince’s hand on my face. The way his words made me feel.

  And the confusion both created.

  How can I hate a man and be tempted by him? How can I have spent years telling myself that Vince Jennings doesn’t mean a thing to me, and then the first time I see him, feel my heart tripping over itself to ignore the scars he previously left there?

  Vince’s words come back to me: The Bristol Matthews I knew didn’t let anyone tell her what to do. Where was she earlier?

  The problem is, I thought I knew who the new Bristol Matthews was. The After After Vince one. Now I’m beginning to worry that I don’t even have a clue. That I’m nowhere near as strong as I thought I was.

  Deep-seated disappointment in myself hits hard. But not as hard as the punch of Vince’s deep tenor reminding me just how good we used to be.

  Neither thrill me.

  And yet there I was acting like a giddy schoolgirl pining for her ex like she forgot all the bad that’s happened.

  But I’m not in high school.

  And there is so much more at stake than my reputation this time around.

  But the question that remains is why? Why did I want him to kiss me? Why am I still thinking about it?

  For nostalgia? For old times’ sake? For unadulterated pleasure? To prove I could kiss him and walk away and be in control of it rather than devastated by it?

  But those are all games. Games I’m too old to play and don’t really want to play anyway.

  “I know. It’s crazy it’s still here after all this time.”

  Attraction. That’s all he was talking about. Our chemistry. The way our bodies react to one another’s without thought.

  Isn’t that who Vince is though? He was always good with words. With making me feel wanted.

  But that’s where he stopped at everything else. He loved me till he didn’t. He needed me until he didn’t. He wanted me until he didn’t.