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“Stop.” His demand was immediate and sharp. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jamie noticed her remark had made me uncomfortable.
“Not wanting to work… wanting your bandmates to pick up the slack,” she said, sounding as if she were clarifying the situation, but leaving her first comment in ambiguous territory.
“The only times I’ve done that is when I wanted time to see Daisy before Thanksgiving and when I wanted to stay longer in Ireland after New Year,” he stated, closing her question concisely. “You’re my assistant and can make my excuses. I’m going nowhere except to the couple of restaurants I’ve already booked and a couple of romantic excursions.”
Picking up her journal, Donna forcibly snapped it shut. I smirked at how overtly displeased she looked when she shoved it into her bag and rose to her feet. She looked furious at not being able to manage my man in front of me.
“Right, I’m out of here,” she announced, like either of us had wanted her to stay. “Nice to meet you, Lorna,” I said sweetly as she stepped in the lift and the doors closed before she could offer a reply.
“Meow,” Jamie stated, turning toward me with his eyebrow raised in surprise.
“She’s lucky I didn’t piss all over you,” I remarked, my temper flaring.
“Hey,” he whispered when he realized just how upset I was for the whole exchange. “She can be bossy, but she’s—”
“Harmless? Is that what you were going to say?” I snapped.
“Yeah, usually she is, but it’s her job—”
“To control you? At least that’s what I witnessed her trying to do. She hates me—hates the thought of me with you.”
“Nonsense.”
“Yeah? So that comment about ‘we’ve been here before,’ like you both shared a secret when I knew exactly what she had been trying to achieve with that — Doubt. You did too, that’s why you jumped in to close her down.”
“I knew you’d picked up on that. Look, I’ll admit she’s been useful in making space for me when I’ve dated women, but that’s in the past. This is different… we’re different. I guess I’ve not made that clear enough to her.”
Relief flooded my body to know he didn’t make light of the situation and that he had at least had the honesty not to tell me I was imagining what had gone down.
He snickered. “Lorna. I guess that part was funny. What made it funnier was that none of the guys corrected you or gave you away.”
I felt a smile quirk my lips. “If that girl is spoiling for a fight, she has no fucking idea how much of a scrapper this Irish girl is.”
“See, that’s what I love about you,” Jamie said as he pulled me out of my chair, sat and tugged me back onto his lap. His hand squeezed my thigh. “No one will ever come between us, I promise. And I’ll talk to Donna. I’ll make sure she knows without doubt where you stand in the pecking order for my time.”
“God, I love you, Jamie Fontaine. Pity about that loose reputation of yours. It’s got you into trouble already and I’ve not even been here a day. Aren’t you nervous about what’s coming?” I asked, my heart stalled at my words because people would judge me in what was to be our first appearance as a couple. The fact he’d chosen to do it so publicly in the middle of a tour, made me sick with nerves every time I had thought about it.
“No, although I was, but after seeing how you handled a pro like Donna, not in the least. You can more than hold your own and I should thank that landlady training you’ve had because I fear the press are in for quite a shock when they mess with you.”
Chapter 4
Once I’d relaxed, I took in the suite which was the size of a one bedroomed apartment. Its pure luxury and the elegance of the art de vivre décor was so far removed from my little apartment above the pub and would have been perfectly in keeping with something I’d have found in a stately Parisian home. Jamie’s Terrace Suite accommodation at the Shangri-la Hotel made me feel out of my depth again.
I’d experienced a little of the lifestyle Jamie had access to with my trip to New York and the Hamptons, his private jet, and how people treated him. Compared to the Mandarin Hotel in New York City, the Paris hotel, which had once been Prince Bonaparte’s residence, was far more ostentatious.
My gaze wandered to an enormous bouquet of red roses set in a crystal vase placed on an end table beside a sofa. A crimson red envelope was leaning against it.
“Are these for me?” I asked, sliding off his knee to investigate closer.
“Of course, I hope you like red roses.” Despite our time together, Jamie had never given me flowers before, apart from the promise ring in the shape of a daisy encrusted with diamonds. “Go on, open the envelope,” he prompted. I leaned over and picked up the expensive gold embossed stationery.
Inside the envelope was a simple white card. Taking it out, I read the message written in Jamie’s distinctive scrawl.
Red roses — an extravagant symbol of affection
Traditionally sent by admirers upon their reflection
A rose is a flower, much like any others
