by Shae Ross
“Well, we’ve all made it to Friday.” Mr. Trott’s voice skips a beat when he sees Ben’s face and notices the ugly red scratch across his forehead. His gaze pans over the rest of us, and he blinks and stiffens when he sees me. I resist the urge to hide my face in my hands.
“Is there anything that any of you need to talk about this morning?” he asks, pressing his fingertips into the table and leaning to the edge of his high back chair.
Crickets.
“Well, I’m going to assume the bruises and scrapes on your faces are entirely coincidental and not the result of fighting with one another.”
He grips the stack of documents he’s holding and straightens them by rapping against the table three times. An eyebrow raises over his soft, hazel eyes, as if he’s expecting one of us to fess up, but the expressions on our faces remain poker straight.
He purses his lips. “Okay then, moving on. While you have all been hard at work this week, our marketing team has been assembling a portfolio of your accomplishments.” He holds up a remote and points it toward the back wall. A slideshow starts, and a picture of the MSU logo appears side by side with the U of M logo. Music begins to play and images from the last week of work appear: Devi hanging out the window of our Trixie’s Taco truck, Vaughn shaking the hand of the mayor, Ben and Jillian working over a stack of documents. The pictures fade into charts and graphs, matched up with sound-bite explanations in our recorded voices.
I hear Jett’s voice echo up through the room, reading statistics from our PAN-CAN proposal. A spark of sentiment starts to ignite in my chest. I press my eyes closed, snuffing it out.
“We need to talk about what will happen at tomorrow’s closing event and how our winners will be determined.” Mrs. Trott’s voice carries through the room.
She goes over the rules of the competition again and the system they are using to tally our points. All of our work will be looked at in totality, including our final statements that we will deliver in the form of a speech tomorrow evening.
“Also, tomorrow evening we will be announcing the winner of the fifty thousand dollars from your charitable giving presentations. A representative from the winning charity will attend the event, and we plan to have you and your partner from the other team present the charitable gift. Please have a short speech prepared. Just a few minutes—something relating to why you chose the charity would be nice. Finally, you should all be proud of yourselves for your work this week. The scores are very close, which means the concluding speeches your teams give at tomorrow’s ceremony will be an important part of this competition. It’s a black-tie event, and the limo will pick you up at six p.m. outside the hotel.” She looks around the room for questions. “I’m assuming you can all share the same limo. If there are no questions, we’ll adjourn and let you get to work on your final statements. You are welcome to use our offices or work offsite today.
We filter out of the room and head to the elevators. Devi, Jade, and I are discussing how we plan to handle our day when the guys ease up behind us. We decide to go back to the hotel and work in the lobby atrium. The elevator doors slide open, and I feel Jett’s hand lock around my arm. My gaze shifts from his fingers to his face as he’s pulling me along into the elevator with him. His jaw is set with determination. “We need a few minutes,” he says, jabbing the close door button with a finger. I yank my arm from him and move to the back of the elevator.
“We’ll get the next one,” Ben says as the doors close and our friends’ faces disappear.
I cross my arms over my chest. “That was rude.”
“I’m sorry, but I need to talk to you, Ryan.”
I’m glaring at him but he appears determined to be heard. “You’ve got about thirty seconds,” I concede.
“That bet had nothing to do with what happened between us last night. We made that bet at the beginning of the week when we were all in different places with each other.”
As usual, I can’t resist responding. “And what place were you in with me at the beginning of the week, Jett?” He relaxes his stance slightly and thinks about his answer.
“Pissed off,” he says with an unapologetic tone. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have called State girls dumb and easy. I regret that I said it, but you have to take some responsibility for that prank you pulled. We missed the fucking plane, Ryan.”
He’s right, of course. It was totally overboard to drop them at the wrong airport terminal. I was associating all of them with Phil as soon as they stepped out of that frat house—and Jett’s comments just picked at the scab of sanity still healing over my wounds.
“Regardless, I shouldn’t have entered into that bet. It was immature and I’m sorry.”
He’s watching me as I think about what he said. He moves closer. “I want to talk to you about what happens with us after the competition—our future.”
I bite the inside of my lip and remain silent while his words our future roll in my mind. He takes another step, and I raise my hand against his advance. He ignores it and keeps moving until my fingers are against his chest.
“Ryan.” He covers my hand with his. “Will you let me take you out tonight? I want to talk to you and I don’t want to have to do it by cornering you in an elevator.”
I’m staring into his eyes, inches from mine, and I feel the connection that’s been there between us from the moment he sat down in that limo next to me.
“Look, would I really be asking you out and wanting to talk about our future if I was only trying to get you in bed with me to win a bet? Give me a chance here, Ryan. One night.”
I want this…I want him…and I’ll never know if it could work between us unless I trust him. At the very least, I need to hear what he has to say.
I nod my head a smidge. His lips edge toward a smile, and I nod again more fully. He leans closer and I can feel his breath against my ear. “Six p.m.” His deep voice shoots a tremor through me. “I’ll meet you at the hotel bar and we’ll go from there.”
The doors open and we step out into the hallway just as the next elevator is arriving. Our friends stream out. Ben is trying to talk Devi into joining a coed water polo team, something about playing on rafts, but all I can think about is Jett and the tangled up mess of my emotions.
We all walk back to the hotel and Jett walks beside me in silence while our friends joke and laugh ahead of us. What would it feel like if he wasn’t on the other team and if we truly were dating; the two of us as partners? Would it feel like it did when he worked us through the pan can presentation? I let out a long breath as he opens the hotel door for me. An uncomfortable feeling drops into my stomach. I’ll hear what he has to say tonight, but it won’t change the fact that the competition will be over tomorrow and one of us is going to walk away having lost.
I step into the hotel bar and pan my gaze over the leather chairs and low tables sparkling with tea lights. I’m wearing a sleeveless black dress that dips to a low V, black hose, killer heels, and the remnants of the blue bruise that Devi’s post-boxing makeup couldn’t cover. I feel the weight of stares upon me as I step farther in. A striking figure stands from a bar stool and steps into the light. I’m instantly relieved to see him, knowing he’s here and that I won’t have to sit at the bar alone. I return his smile and walk toward him, and I see in his eyes what I feel in my heart: warmth expanding, flooding into happiness.
I spent so much time thinking about Jett Trebuchet today and what he said to me this morning: Would I really be apologizing and trying to make plans with you, if I’d just wanted to sleep with you? As I spun a dozen different Jett questions through my mind today, the sincerity on Jett’s face when he’d pulled me into that elevator kept coming back to me.
“Hi,” he says, spreading his fingers over my upper back and pulling me in.
“Hi,” I say as he kisses my cheek and whispers against my ear, “You look amazing.”
I want this. I want him, and I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t confess that my feelings for him are
starting to surpass my feelings for this competition. I’m determined tonight to tell him; we can finish this competition and put it behind us without hard feelings. Someday we might even be able to laugh about it.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Sure. Where are you taking me?”
“You’ll see,” he says, and I feel the weight of stares from the patrons as we pass out of the bar, cross the lobby, and step into the elevator. The doors open on the twenty-ninth floor, and I follow him down the hallway to the last room on the right. He pulls out a key card, swipes it over the electronic pad, and opens the door. My mouth gapes and I stare stunned at the room in front of me. He steps out and holds the door open with his arm.
“What’s this?” I say, my voice a measure between awe and confusion.
“It’s our executive suite. I rented it for us…for the night.”
“Are you serious?”
I put my fingers against his arm and peer around.
He shoots me a playful look. “Do you want to come in now, Rose?”
I take a hesitant step. A drift of cool air tickles my skin into goose bumps. Soft music is playing in the background, and the room sparkles around me.
“My God, Jett. I hope you didn’t spend a fortune for just one evening.”
“One evening with you, Ryan.” His hands are in his pockets, and he has an appreciative smile on his face.
I exhale a nervous, laughing breath. “Can you afford this…really?”
“Well, I couldn’t afford the penthouse suite, but this, yes. I can afford it. I’ve worked for my dad since I was fifteen—saved almost all of it. It’ll be worth every penny if it helps me convince you.”
His words startle me. I stare at him, and for a hot second I’m speechless. “Convince me of what?”
He holds a hand out. “That I’m a better person than what I’ve shown you this week.”
I take his hand as my eyes pan over the crystal chandelier above the small dining table. “You’ve convinced me you’re richer than I thought, that’s for sure.”
“Well, that’s not exactly what I’m going for,” he says, laughing, “but it can’t hurt.”
A buzzer rings and I look questioningly at him.
“Hungry?”
He opens the door and a black-tied waiter wheels in a cart.
“Good evening, Mr. Trebuchet, Ms. Rose,” the waiter says in a warm tone, nodding deeply. “Shall I set up service at the dining room table?”
“That’d be perfect,” Jett says. He puts his hand on my back. “While he’s doing that, let me give you the tour, Rose.” I hear soft clinking in the background—the sound of dishes moving, glasses touching—as Jett guides me through the suite. The room beyond the combination dining room/living room is the bedroom. There’s another small sitting area, and past that a huge walk-in bathroom. I glance at the massive bed half full with white pillows. The memory of last night comes rushing back. My stomach drops and I turn away to find Jett staring at me.
“Hey,” he says, catching my waist with a big hand. “Just so we’re straight, I brought you here because I wanted somewhere we could go that would be private, not so I could sleep with you again.”
I feel instantly better with his arms around me. I rest my hands on his shoulders. “Well, you might be disappointed before the night’s over, then.”
When we come back to the main room, the waiter is holding a flame-lit match, hovering it over a white candle. He stands and passes his arm over the linen. Jett leads me to the table and pulls a chair out for me. I’m dying inside. A sweet death marked by overdosing on the possibility of us. “If you have everything you need, Mr. Trebuchet, I’ll excuse myself. Just ring if you need anything.”
Jett thanks him and takes his seat across from mine. Laid out before us is a feast of steak, salmon, salad, and enough silverware for a family of eight. I’m trying to recall what the fork and spoon at the top of my plate are for.
As we eat I’m reminded of how easy it is to be with Jett when we’re not in a boardroom competing against each other. By the end of the meal we’ve talked around a dozen subjects. I’ve dropped one of my heels, and my foot is resting against his thigh.
“I’m stuffed,” he says, leaning back. He rubs one palm over his chest and the other clasps the top of my foot. His eyes watch me with a seductive slant as I lean forward and rest my chin on my hands. “What are you thinking?” he asks.
“This is amazing, Jett. I can’t believe you did this for me.”
He smiles and leans forward, laying his forearm on the table. His fingers curl, inviting mine, and I reach across and lay my hand in his.
“This is what I want going forward, Ryan. Regardless of who wins or loses tomorrow.”
“I want the same thing,” I say. “But…I’m worried and not just about the results of the competition.” I pull my fingers from his grasp and drop my hands in my lap, frowning.
He leans in. “What, baby?”
I breathe in and let out a long sigh. “I want to tell you about my relationship with my ex-boyfriend. I think he’s someone you know. I used to date Phil Derringer.”
“I know that, Ryan. Vaughn recognized you and said something about it earlier this week.”
“What did he say?” I ask him, trying not to sound worried. I’m going to tell him everything, but not knowing what Jett knows—or what he’s been told—still rattles me a bit.
“He said that you dated Phil, that he cheated on you, and it ended badly.”
“Well, that’s all true, but there’s more to it for me.”
“Tell me.”
I reach for my water glass and trace a sliding drop of condensation with my finger, trying to organize my jumbled thoughts. “I dated Phil for almost two years. I was so caught up in the relationship it was hard to see how bad it was getting. I guess I got lost in the drama of it all, and the tension between us just kept escalating. I’m embarrassed I let myself be treated so badly for so long. I honestly thought I was smarter than that.” I look at Jett with a sheepish smile.
“Well, it sounds to me like you figured it out.”
“Hmmm, well, sometimes I think I’m still trying to figure it out. When we broke up I told myself next time I dated someone I’d do a better job being up front about what I want and what I don’t want.” I peer up at him, half expecting him to point out how silly it is to be thinking this deep when we’re just starting a relationship. But all I see in his expression is concern.
“So tell me what you want, Ryan.”
I let out a quick breath. “I actually think it might be easier to tell you what I don’t want.”
“All right, then, tell me what you don’t want.”
I press my fingers to my lips and study his solid expression, as if nothing I could say would cause him to blink twice.
“I don’t want to have to give up my dreams for someone else. I don’t want to be the one having to make all the sacrifices and I don’t want to feel…” I shrug and search for the right word, “unimportant.”
He nods his head slowly and raises an eyebrow. “And…”
“And I want to work, build a career for myself. I don’t want to give that all up because my partner is a rock star. I don’t mind helping you change guitars every once in a while, but standing in the shadows and managing the Jett Trebuchet rock show is not going to be my full-time gig. If you’re looking for someone to do that for you, I’m not that girl. I don’t want to be overshadowed by all of your…” I search for the right word. “Jettness,” I say, waving a palm through the air.
He leans back and laughs, rubbing a hand over the bottom half of his face. I’m laughing, too, but I’m still waiting for his response.
“So, is that all, Rose?”
I hesitate, wondering if he’s completely annoyed, but at the same time worried I left something out. Hmmm. “I think so.”
He smiles, stands up, and tosses his napkin on his plate. “C’mere,” he says, reaching for me. I’m relieved to have g
otten it all out but also a little embarrassed by my “me, me, me” rant.
I stand up and smooth my hands down my thighs. “I know I probably sound bossy.” I look up at him and he’s still holding his hand out. I step around the table and put my hand in his.
“You? Bossy? I hadn’t noticed.” I smirk at him as he pulls me close against him, and his gaze shifts into seriousness again.
“I know you’re a rock star, too, Ryan Rose—knew it from the moment I saw you, and you don’t have to apologize for knowing what you want.”
A slow smile of relief spreads through me. “Will you tell me what you want?” The corner of his mouth lifts, and his fingers graze my cheek and thread into my hair.
“I want you, Ryan.” His words send a tremor through me, and I’m lost in the intensity I see in his eyes. He leans back. “And for the record, I’ve never considered myself more important than anyone I’ve ever been in a relationship with.” He drops his forehead on mine and moves it slowly back and forth. “No man is more important than the team. The team. The team. The team,” he repeats.
“I like that,” I say, smiling.
“It’s a Michigan football quote.”
“Oh.” I twist my bottom lip. “In that case, I take it back.” He laughs, and I step out of his embrace and move to stare out the picture window at the sprawling view of Central Park, silent and dark. “There’s one more thing I need to tell you…about my relationship with Phil.” I look back at him, feeling more than a little hesitant. But if I don’t tell him now, I’m afraid it will be forever buried under the shame of “something I should have told him long ago,” and someday I’ll regret it. If we truly are going to start a relationship—and I want to—I don’t want to feel like I’m hiding anything, and I certainly don’t want him to hear it from someone else. I let out a low breath. “When Phil and I broke up, there was a huge scene…on the front lawn of your fraternity house. I had driven up to surprise Phil…in more ways than one. When I got there, he came out of his room with another girl and it was clear he was cheating on me. I even overheard someone say, “Your MSU booty call is here, Phil. Did you get your days mixed up?”
