Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(75)

But by day four, our moods have shifted.

Buddha’s silence is wearing on us, and Abel’s cold shoulder continues. By evening Jason sets out to solve both problems, starting with Abel. He dials him and gets voice mail. He then sends him a text message: Dinner tomorrow night, my apartment. Abel replies instantly: Can’t make it. Got a woman thing, but see you at the tournament. Hoping your greatness rubs off on me.

Jason shows me the message and I arch a brow. “Do you believe him?”

“Hell, no. He’s being more of a little bitch than normal.” He punches a number in his phone. “Let’s hope for better success with Buddha.” He listens a moment and then says, “Or not. It’s a generic voice mail. I’ll try a text again.”

He keys a message: Update?

Buddha’s reply is instant: I said a week. Did I not speak English?

? ? ?

DAY FIVE IS BRUTAL. Jason and I sit in the kitchen, drinking coffee, back at the journal entries. “We’re making ourselves crazy,” he says. “Buddha needs to get us answers. I’m calling him.” He punches in his number. “Voice mail, of course.” He sends him a text and we wait. “I’m going to call and text the man until he replies.”

“I’ll try Ella,” I say, punching in her number, but it, too, goes to voice mail. I give Jason a shake of my head. “She told me she was leaving the country.” I get up to refill my cup. “And I swear, Abel has been as silent as she has. Did he leave town?”

“No,” Jason says, “he’s here, and that little situation needs to end as well.” He punches in his number and grimaces. “Another voice mail. And another text.”

I sit back down, and he shows me the message he sent: Get over this pissy attitude. Friday night. My apartment. Pizza, beer, and you and Daniel kissing and making up.

Abel replies as I’m looking: I’m not pissy, man. I’ll see you at the tournament.

Jason says, “Typical Abel. Nothing was ever wrong, when it clearly was.” His phone buzzes and he glances down. “From Buddha,” he says, shaking his head and showing me the screen that reads: I said a week. Wait.

Jason’s jaw clenches and he turns my chair to face his. “We need to talk about what happens if we have no answers after the tournament Saturday night. And even if we do get news, I signed up for a series of games in Europe and we’re working with Davie to allow me to film my portions of the show remotely. Come with me.”

“Jason, I—”

“We have a good thing going on. Let’s keep it going.”

“On your dime.”

“Yes. But if you really can’t stomach that, I just fired the person I had tracking the stock markets for me. She did a crap job. I’ll teach you how to do it and pay you what I paid her, which I promise you is more than you’re making now.”

“You want me to work for you?”

“No, but I know you won’t agree to this unless I make sure you have a job. The bottom line for me: I want you to travel with me, where I know you’re safe, and we can see where this thing between us goes.”

“Because you need me to be safe,” I say, not sure how to take that. “As in an obligation?”

“Not mine. Yours. I officially make it your obligation to help me retire on top. And if I’m worried about you, I won’t. Come with me, Skye,” he coaxes. “It’s six weeks, and we’ll travel with security who we’ll play off as some staff member. And God willing, Jack will have solved this mess by the time we return. Say yes.”

My heart is thundering in my chest, logic telling me it’s too soon for this. But the situation is unique, and I want to go. “My apartment has to be dealt with.”

“I’ll get it handled for you.”

“We just met.”

“And we’ll have six weeks to get to know each other. If you decide you can’t stand me at some point, I’ll get you your own rooms. I’ve never done this with a woman, but life is short, baby. Let’s live it. Say yes.”

Once again, this man is daring me, tempting me, persuading me to gamble on him. And once again, I do. “Yes.”

His sexy, amazing grin is instant, and it tells me I’ve made the right choice with him. And no mobster or crazy groupie is going to change that.

? ? ?

THE NIGHT OF the tournament arrives, and I dress in a new pair of jeans, and I now have my own charity T-shirt to match Jason’s. We’ve confirmed that Jack’s men are in place, which seems to allow Jason to slide into his zone. And there is a zone. I can’t explain it, but it exists. It’s almost a coldness in him, a way he removes himself from the rest of the world. I, however, am nervous, and will quietly fret for both of us, without daring to share that with him and stress him out. But there’s been no note. No action. No anything. It seems like if something is going to happen, it will be tonight.

We enter the main part of the hotel and he signs autographs, stopping several times before we reach the corridor outside the events center. Daniel and Abel are in conversation there, and even Daniel wears jeans and a charity T-shirt. Abel points at Daniel, and suddenly, their conversation is an argument. “Jesus,” Jason says. “It’s a charity event.”

Abel spots us, his hands settling on his jean-clad hips as he awaits our approach, while Daniel gives me a look of utter exasperation.