Page 61 of Beauty & Chaos

“You could’ve just messaged.” I tell him. “You don’t need to keep buying me flowers.”

“I like sending you flowers. What’s the problem? Don’t you want people knowing you’re fucking me?”

I choke on my next breath.

Cough, cough, cough.

“Christ. Travis. No, I don’t want people knowing about my sex life, and I’m sure neither of us wants to be connected withone other. The media would spin it in ways that harm both of us.”

He’s a billionaire, and I’m a controversial podcaster right now. They’d have a field day, making something out of nothing.

He lets out a low growl.

Despite my frustration, that growl permeates my barriers, and I swear my panties are wet from simply the sound of his voice.

“Fuck the media.”

I frown.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, surprised by the grouchiness in his tone.

“Are you alone?”

My brows fly up my forehead. “No, I have a guy in my bed, and he’s licking my pussy while I’m reading your note and talking to you.”

“You better be fucking joking right now, Brooklyn.”

“Wow.” I drop the note and spin on the stool looking out at my empty apartment. “I never picked you for the jealous type.”

“I don’t get jealous,” he says darkly, and something in me knows the unspokenI get evenis right on the tip of his tongue. “Put me on FaceTime.”

Hell, no.

I look terrible after a long day at work. There is no way I’m letting Travis see me like this. I caught up with Detective Ward, a contact from myNew York Timesdays, regarding Leo Taylor and have only just got home.

“I’m not having phone sex with you. I just wanted clarity about the weekend. Where are we going that I’ll need warm clothesanda bikini?”

“Mostly you won’t need any clothes.”

“Travis, I swear to god.”

“I’m not telling you, Brook. Pack a dress, warm clothing, and all your sexy lingerie.”

Christ.

These men have no idea what it takes to put together outfits and look sexy. All they need is a pair of jeans or shorts and a couple of shirts. Add a jacket if cold.

“So not a tropical island.”

“No.”

“Are we flying?” I ask, guessing the passport means we’re leaving the country.

“Yes.”

“Ugh. I’m not a spontaneous person.”

“I told you on Monday. This is hardly spontaneous.” He laughs.