Bottle It Up: (A Between the Pines Novel) Read online

  “I know, it’s not your job to take sides,” I say with an exaggerated eye roll.

  His chuckles disappear, as does the smile on his handsome lips when he puts his glasses back on and turns his attention back to his computer.

  Nice job, Emmett.

  You had to ruin the moment.

  “Sorry, that was rude.” He looks up from the glowing screen in front of him.

  He nods, as per usual.

  I’ve learned this to mean he understands, and he hears me, but it’s not his job to get involved.

  “Miss Ford, you’re about to leave to go see your friends, and they’re going to think you’ve been living out of your car if you keep folding your clothes like that!” Greta yells, snatching my Eastlyn Eagles T-shirt out of my hand.

  “Greta, just because I fold differently than you doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

  She lifts an eyebrow to say she doesn’t agree.

  “Fine, I’ll go finish this in my room so you don’t have to watch the disgraceful treatment of my clothes.”

  “Or you can let me do it for you,” she says with her hands on her hips, not giving up on her quest to save my clothes from my mistreatment of them. “I can help you pack if you like?”

  “You are tenacious, I’ll give you that.”

  “Just doing my job, Miss Ford.”

  Standing directly in front of me, hands still on her hips, I swear she’s planning how she’ll tackle me if I try to leave the room with my laundry.

  “Oh, my goodness! Please call me Emmett? The formalities around here make me feel like I’m staying at a hotel. I know you’re both paid to be here, and neither one of you has any intention of being my new BFF, but I’d really like things to be a little less formal, if you don’t mind?” Putting my hands together as though I’m praying, I finish my plea. “I beg you both. Please call me Emmett.”

  Hopper lifts his eyes from his laptop, his face expressionless. Greta just stares at me, hands still on her hips.

  Their replies leave me throwing my hands in the air, defeated.

  “Whatever, I tried.”

  Needing to get out of the room and away from the two of them, I throw my clothes in my basket and begin to leave the room but stop on my way to out of the living room.

  Balancing my laundry basket on my hip, I address the male fitness model at the kitchen island. “So, Hopper, will you be traveling back with me, or will Smith be coming?”

  “Smith and another associate have already left for Eastlyn, and I’ll be traveling with you on the plane tomorrow.”

  “Why are they going a day early?”

  “They just want to clear the bookstore and your house and make sure things are secure before you get there.”

  “Oh.”

  Seems a bit dramatic, doesn’t it?

  “Bookstore?” Greta asks. I’m not sure if she’s being kind and trying to lighten the mood or if she’s really interested, but I’ll take the distraction.

  “Oh, um, yes. My friend Mason and I are opening a little bookstore in my hometown. She’s a pretty big author, maybe you’ve heard of her? She writes under the pen name, Eve Villanelle.”

  That was all it took to tear down that professional exterior Greta had firmly in place. Apparently, she’s Mason’s number one fan, and we spend the next thirty minutes playing Manhattan Diaries trivia. Sadly, I think Greta may have me beat. I swear I learn just as much about Mason from Greta as Greta does from me. The best part is that at the end of the conversation, she calls me Emmett instead of Miss Ford.

  Apparently, it takes being friends with a famous romance author and not being fake engaged to a Hollywood star to get her attention.

  This morning when I woke up, my bags were packed, by me, not Greta, and I had them waiting by my bedroom door. I couldn’t get dressed fast enough. I was ready and waiting in the living room with my bags at my feet like a six-year-old on their way to Disneyland for the first time.

  Hopper stayed at the house last night, which meant I didn’t get much shut-eye with the knowledge that he was downstairs. When he was finally ready to go, I followed him out to a waiting Town Car, where an older gentleman in a black suit was standing next to the back door with his hands clasped in front of him.

  It felt odd having someone new drive me. I know it’s only been a month and a half since Hopper was added to the team, but having someone other than him or sometimes Smith drive me since Josh has been gone is not my norm. Of course, I never would have thought having a driver would feel normal at all.

  I was disappointed Hopper sat up front with the man he introduced as Williams, but did I really expect him to sit in back with me? It certainly isn’t his job to do that.

  Sitting behind Hopper and not being able to glance at his sunglass covered eyes in the rearview mirror felt odd, but not nearly as odd as pulling onto the tarmac where a private jet was parked and waiting.

  Just for me.

  As soon as the plane came into view, the high I’d been riding all morning in anticipation of getting home to Eastlyn, evaporated into thin air.

  Now, here I sit on a private jet that is transporting just myself and my bodyguard. It would be one thing if there were others on the flight with us but with the other two bodyguards already in Eastlyn and Sibby not arriving until the day of the opening, not that I fully understand the need for her to be there, it’s just Hopper and me.

  The stoic man of few words is sitting across from me staring out the window deep in thought, his silence already frying my nerves and the plane's wheels have just left the ground.

  “This feels like a bit much, doesn’t it? I mean, we could have flown commercial. It’s embarrassing to be using this kind of resource to fly two people one state away.”

  “It’s safer this way,” he says to the window.

  His short answer is followed by more silence.

  I pop an Altoid in my mouth and push the tin across the little table separating us.

  “No thanks.”

  I shrug and put the mints back in my bag.

  Once the plane levels out, I unbuckle my seat belt and walk up to the front of the plane to talk to our flight attendant, Kyle, and see if he has any suggestions on how to pass the time. All he has is a deck of cards, but right about now, I’ll take it.

  Sitting back down, Hopper looks up at me. “Everything okay?”

  “Yep, found a deck of cards. Wanna play?”

  As per usual, he doesn’t say anything.

  “Oh, come on. I’m not asking you to play strip poker or anything. We can keep it simple. Go Fish? Slap Jack? War? You pick.”

  “War.”

  I’m so surprised he agreed to play. I'm not sure I heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “War. But I warn you, I’m pretty good.”

  Holy shit. I’m about to play War with Hopper.

  “Is that really something to brag about? It’s not exactly a game of skill. It’s all luck.”

  “Well, I guess I’m lucky when it comes to card games then. I rarely lose.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I take my time shuffling the cards on the table that separates us and then split up the deck so we each have half.

  As we play the game, my stack of cards keeps getting bigger while his dwindles away. It’s been killing me not to make smart-ass comments as I take his cards, but when we both lay down threes, I can’t take it anymore.

  “Okay, big man, now would be the time for you to try to get back in the game because the cards don’t lie, and right now, they are saying your luck may have run out.”

  “Why don’t you just lay down your cards, and we’ll see what they have to say.”

  “Sensitive much?”

  “Nope. I just know how this game works, and it’s far from over, Miss Ford.”

  “Ugh. Listen, if I win this war, then you have to call me Emmett.”

  “Just lay down your cards, Miss Ford.”

  We each lay down our first card, and as si
lly as it is, you can feel the tension mounting as we each flip over our next card. Mine is a queen and his a king, but I’m so off-kilter from our easy banter that I instinctively reach for the cards as if I’ve won. But because I haven’t, my hand lands on his as he pulls away his loot.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but these are my cards. King beats queen last time I played this game.” He quips but doesn’t make any effort to pull his hand back.

  “Oh crap, you’re right. Sorry about that.”

  I pull away but not before heat rolls over my body from head to toe from our momentary connection.

  “What were you saying about the cards not lying?” he says, clearly unfazed and not experiencing the same euphoria our touch provided me.

  “One winning hand does not win the game, my friend.”

  “It’s a start.” He lays down his next card, a ten which beats my four. “Would you look at that? That's two in a row. See, lady luck is still on my side; she just doesn’t feel the need to rush things.”

  “Is that so?” I say, laying down a five and beating his two. “Seems she’s not quite sure whose side she’s on.”

  I continue to win the next couple of hands when we both lay down tens. Neither of us speaks as we go to war. He wins again. Damn!

  He wins the next war, and the next one and all but two of the next hands. He’s back to being quiet, but the smug look on his face says it all.

  Told you so.

  When we go to war one last time, I’m one card short of finishing the hand.

  “Oh, did you run out of cards, Miss Ford?”

  I stick my tongue out at him, unable to stop the immature reaction.

  “Wow, a sore loser. I had you pegged all wrong.” I roll my eyes, and his chest lifts in a low chuckle I can only imagine since I can’t hear it over the roar of the engine.

  “How about we just go with what you have. Let’s just flip the second card and call it good.”

  “How charitable of you.”

  “I do what I can,” he says, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Now, flip your card.”

  “So bossy.”

  I flip over my last card, and of course it’s a two, which means his measly four wins the game. Just as he predicted.

  “Miss Ford, it seems I’ve won.”

  His smug smile turns playful, and just like that, losing feels like winning.

  “So, it does.”

  “I was really hoping I’d win. This Miss Ford stuff is so annoying. You’re stuck spending most of your time with me, so you’d think we could at least call each other by our first names.”

  Ignoring my last statement, he shockingly keeps talking. “So, you’re terrible at cards, may need a 12-step program for your addiction to mints, love books, and you work for one of the biggest communication companies in the world, but I have no idea what you actually do.”

  Is he making small talk?

  Did he just list off things he knows about me?

  Are my eyes bugging out of my head?

  Wait. I didn’t think it was his job to care?

  Am I hallucinating?

  “Correction, I am good at cards, but I thought I would let you win so your giant ego didn’t take a hit.” He smiles, and my heart flutters. “As for my job, well, I manage all of the travel for the company. We have offices and business relations all around the world, so my team plans all domestic and international travel. Flights, hotels, car services, meetings, and whatever else is needed. We have team members all around the world.”

  “Do you like what you do?”

  That’s a good question…

  “Well, if I’m being honest...I miss the actual travel planning I used to do. It was fun actually putting all the trips together. Management isn’t all bad. I’m making a really good living, and I get to work from home, so no complaints really.”

  “Are you going to continue working?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I would think that Josh West’s wife in corporate America could be a little distracting in meetings.”

  “I hadn’t really thought about that, but I guess you do have a point.”

  “You hadn’t thought of that yet?”

  “I can’t say that I had. I mean, most of my co-workers know he’s my best friend. They’ve seen me on his arm in magazines for years now.”

  “There’s a big difference between being a plus one and a fiancée or wife.”

  “True.”

  “And what about your family and friends back home? Do they know this isn’t real?”

  “No,” I admit sheepishly.

  “Why haven’t you told them?”

  “Sibby thought it was best not to put anyone in a place of having to lie to the press or to accidentally let the truth slip if they were ever asked.”

  “How do you think everyone will feel when they find out?”

  “I know my close friends will understand in the end, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m worried about what the older folks in our town will say. My hope is that we have a long engagement that will of course, never end in a wedding, and we can just say it didn’t work out, and we were better as friends. If my grandma doesn’t have to know we lied, that would be ideal.”

  Suddenly, I can’t breathe. The seat belt strapping me to the chair feels like a metaphor for my life. I feel trapped. I fumble with the belt, desperately needing to be free from its constraints. Once it falls to my sides, I jump out of my seat and pace the small aisle way.

  Oh, God. I’m freaking out. Forty thousand feet in the air with Hopper as my witness, I decide to let what I’ve done set it. Leave it to me to pick the perfect moment for a panic attack.

  “To be honest, I really didn’t think it all through,” I say, stopping my manic pacing in front of our seats but with my hands fisting in my hair like a madwoman. “He needed me, and I needed to get out of the same small town as my ex, if you even want to call him that. I mean, except for when I went away for college, I haven’t lived anywhere except Eastlyn. It’s ironic that I help people travel for a living, and I’ve never left North America. I guess I just needed a change.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “And now, with the bookstore opening, I have the change I might have been looking for, but I’m not even there to enjoy it. I feel like I’m entering a new chapter in my life, pun intended.”

  His chuckle shuts me up, and I realize I’m not alone. He may be smiling at my pun, but the look in his eyes is like looking in a mirror. He thinks I’ve made a mistake, no matter how well-intentioned my decision was.

  Stinging tears pool in my eyes, and my voice quivers when I ask what we’re both thinking.

  “Hopper, what have I done?” I keep talking, not letting him answer. “I didn’t think about the aftermath. I didn’t think this through at all, did I?”

  “Mr. West cares about you, and I’m sure he and his team will do all they can to make sure the next couple of years and the aftermath that follows are as pain-free as it can be.”

  “Please stop with the Mr. and Miss stuff. He’s Josh. I’m Emmett.”

  He nods.

  “Hopper, what’s your name?”

  He looks up at me with his head tilted, confused.

  “I’ll call you Hopper if you prefer it, but it feels strange not knowing your first name.”

  He clears his throat. “Max.”

  Why was that so hard for him? And why does knowing his first name lessen my hysterics?

  “Hi, Max,” I say, reaching out to shake his hand while saying his name over and over in my head until the warmth of his hand taking mine distracts me.

  Oh, my. There’s that feeling again.

  Please don’t let go of my hand, Max.

  “Nice to meet you, Emmett,” he says with a subtle smile, not releasing my hand right away.

  Holding my gaze and my hand, he doesn’t let go until the pilot interrupts us, letting us know we’re almost to Pendleton.

  He lets go of my grip and leans back in
his seat. I take my seat across from him, his focus still on me.

  “Anything I need to know before we get there? Any annoying neighbors? Do we need to have a code word in case you need rescuing?”

  Oh, Max. I can think of a million different ways you could rescue me.

  “Nah.”

  “What about this ex of yours?”

  “Oh, he won’t speak directly to me. If he’s at The Verdict, our local bar, he might make things a little uncomfortable. If he gets drunk, there’s a chance he’ll call me a bitch or give me stink eye all night, but I doubt we’ll have to worry about him.”

  “Does he always give you a hard time?” Max growls. His jaw twitching.

  “He’s nothing I can’t handle. Besides, I’m used to it. I only go out with my core group of friends. I always have backup. He knows better.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “I don’t know? Five or six years? Listen, when you have a relationship, no matter how long or short, with someone in a small town, and you break up, it’s always gonna be rough. And when one person feels more for the other person, then it’s even tougher on that person. He’s just hurt is all.”

  The furrow of his brow says he doesn’t like my answer, but the bump from the wheels of the plane touching down on the runway brings our conversation to a halt, but not the ticking in his jaw.

  Chapter 6

  To say it’s uncomfortable pulling into my own driveway being driven in a blacked-out SUV by my bodyguard doesn’t even begin to cover it. Not to mention the SUV’s twin is waiting on the street in front of the house. It’s uncomfortable in LA, but here in Eastlyn, it couldn’t feel more out of place.

  I insisted on sitting in the front passenger seat. It felt like the only way for me to take a tiny bit of control of what feels almost like an out-of-body situation, and I was shocked when Hopper didn’t put up a fight. I wouldn’t say things between us changed dramatically on the plane, but something seems to have shifted ever so slightly.

  For me, the knowledge of his first name changed something. I’m not sure why knowing his first name makes things feel different, but it does. I’m also not sure why I haven’t called him by his name just yet. He didn’t tell me I couldn’t call him Max, but he didn’t say he wanted me to either. For now, I’ll let the knowledge of it roll around in my head and do my best not to use his first or last name if I can help it.