Still So Hot!. Serena BellЧитать онлайн книгу.
him about his wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am version of romance, threatening to tell the women of Carville College, and later the island of Manhattan, that Brett Jordan was not in their best interest. But that didn’t mean he’d influenced her job choices
“I’m making a career out of teaching women not to date jerks,” she corrected.
“Did you just call me a jerk?” He grinned.
Despite herself, she had to hide a smile. “You hear what you need to hear.”
There was a brutal edge to the banter, and yet it felt familiar, very close to the old flirtation. She could miss that, too, if she weren’t careful. This was exactly why she’d avoided all contact with him.
She shook her head. “Let’s not do this.”
“Do what?”
“Small talk, catch up—the whole friends thing. It’s not a good idea.”
The last trace of smile vanished. “I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t.”
Behind Brett, the curtain veiling first class shifted and a vision of adorableness stepped around it, with shiny blond hair, big blue eyes, dimpled cheeks and a clingy purple dress totally unsuitable for plane travel. Celine.
Instantly Elisa felt better. Screw Brett Jordan and his burning gaze. That was then. Celine and Rendezvous Dating were now. “There she is.” She made her voice light. “Hallelujah.”
He didn’t turn to look behind him. He kept his attention fixed on her. “The Facebook site. We’ll catch up online. I’ll friend you.”
She needed to end this conversation now. And she needed to avoid him for the rest of their overlapping time on St. Barts. She prayed he wasn’t also on his way to the island’s singles resort where she and Celine were headed. Wouldn’t that be the cruelest joke. She wanted him far away from her boot camp weekend. Far, far away.
Her heart pounded. It was not in her nature to be cruel, but this was self-preservation, pure and simple. She needed him gone, immediately. “No. No Facebook. No Twitter. No email. No nothing. I’m not interested in being your friend, virtual or otherwise.”
An unexpected expression crossed Celine’s face, where she stood behind Brett. Confusion. Concern. Celine touched Brett’s arm, and he turned toward her, a smile on his face.
Elisa’s internal warning system shifted into overdrive.
That wasn’t just any smile. That was Brett’s patented twenty-four-hour smile.
“Hey,” said Brett to Celine. Affectionately.
Oh, shit.
Celine’s face was tipped up toward Brett like a flower receiving the sun. “Wait a sec. You know Elisa?”
Elisa could only watch this terrible slowly unfurling mess. With an audience. People had stopped trying to pretend they weren’t listening. Elisa could see naked curiosity on a few faces.
Brett frowned. “How do you know Elisa?”
No one spoke for a moment, and Brett’s eyes moved from Elisa to Celine and back again.
And then he got it.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said to Celine. “If you were trying to date a guy who isn’t a jerk, you missed the mark by a mile.”
2
CELINE LOOKED LIKE she’d been punched. She had a sweet heart-shaped face that made her appear younger than her twenty-two years, and her bottom lip trembled. Elisa turned on Brett, years of self-righteous anger reasserting themselves. “Do you have to act like such a jerk?”
In the seat behind Brett an older woman hid a smile, but Elisa felt no sense of triumph.
“Apparently,” he said easily. He leaned back against the nearest seat, clearly enjoying himself. “I always was good at it.” The occupant of the seat gave Brett a dirty look, but Brett couldn’t have seemed more relaxed if he’d put both hands behind his head and kicked off his shoes. It pissed her off, not only because she was sweaty and stressed out, and he was the coolest customer on earth, but also because he looked so freaking good. Why were cocky asshole men so hot? It was just. Not. Fair.
She had to rein it in. Her attraction, her irritation, her temper. This was a disaster on so many levels, she didn’t know where to start figuring it out. And their audience was turning against them, passengers starting to gripe audibly to each other. Drama was one thing, open conflict another.
She’d wanted attention. That was the whole point of this outing. But now things were totally out of her control. There was this—this swerve. She didn’t want eyes on her as she untangled these knots. “We’ll talk about this after the flight lands,” she said, with as much authority as she could summon.
Brett shrugged. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Celine watched them, her gaze moving from one to the other, as if the volley of words was visible.
“I’d like to know what’s going on.” Elisa crossed her arms.
Brett raised his eyebrows. “Ask your client.”
“I thought there might be two sides to the story.”
“There’s no story.” His expression dared her to push him. “Tell you what. I just got up to stretch my legs, but I’m perfectly happy to hang out here in coach. I’ll take your seat, Elisa.”
Celine opened her mouth once, closed it again, then managed to speak one word. “Brett?” She looked up at him, borderline pleading. Even through the haze of her own anxiety, Elisa’s dating coach radar shot to high alert. Desperate! Take it down a notch! She tried to broadcast this with her gaze, but Celine wasn’t looking at her. “I’m sorry,” Celine whispered to Brett. Actually it was closer to a whimper. “I was going to tell you.”
Brett shrugged. “Okay. That’s great. I appreciate that. But you’ll pardon me if this is just a little too effed up for me. I’m a tagalong on a dating boot camp weekend. What role did you have in mind for me?” He addressed the question to both women. “Fluffer?” He chuckled.
Elisa closed her eyes. It was either that or laugh hysterically.
“Br—”
The red-haired flight attendant stepped out of first class and glared at them. “You can’t congregate here.”
Elisa squeezed Celine’s shoulder hard. “Hon, let’s go sit, okay?”
The flight attendant’s male counterpart—tall, dark and chiseled—appeared behind the redhead and put a hand on her arm. “Everything okay here?” he asked her.
He’d leaned close to ask it, closer than the situation required. Alert! Chemistry! Were the two flight attendants a couple? Or did he just wish they were?
“Please return to your seats.”
The sharp command from the redhead snapped Elisa out of her romantic reverie. “We’ll just—” Elisa began to say, tugging on Celine.
The passenger behind Elisa touched her sleeve. “Is that Celine Carr?”
“No.”
“It is! It’s Celine Carr. Guys, you were right!”
There was a flurry of activity as the passengers within earshot dug through their carry-ons, pulled out pens and notebooks, and shoved them toward Celine. Cell phones popped up above the seat tops and into the aisle, clicking with artificial shutter noises.
“Please,” said the redhead. “I can’t have you gathering in the front of the plane. You need to return to your seats.”
The passenger who’d touched Elisa’s arm turned to the flight attendant. “Can