Fucking Genevieve Ellison.
That’s what happened to him last week. And seven days later, Chasin was still chewing on it. The woman plagued his dreams, invaded his thoughts, and the more he thought about her, the more pissed he became.
The bitch had turned him into the one thing he hated more than anything—a cheat. He didn’t care he wasn’t the one in a relationship, he’d still fucked another man’s woman. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d spent time with her, made her laugh, and started to fall in love. They hadn’t spent a great deal of time together, but enough to know he wanted to get to know her better.
They’d connected.
At least he thought they had.
Memories of that night churned his gut, yet every time he thought about her pretty smile, husky laugh, quick sense of humor, the way she kissed, tasted, felt wrapped around him, his dick got hard and his chest burned.
The woman he’d spent the last week trying to forget, yet knew he never would. She belonged to someone else, was the type of woman he despised. Yet, in some place deep inside of him, Chasin couldn’t shake the feeling that she was perfect for him.
A therapist would have a field day with this shit. Talk about mommy issues—son falling for a cheating liar just like mommy dearest.
What the fuck did that make him?
Weak.
“’Preciate it. But there’s nothing to share. Got played by a bitch. I’m over it. Let’s get this done so I can get home and get some sleep.”
Alec took in Chasin, assessing the veracity of his answer, quickly calculating the lie. Alec gave him a curt nod. “We’ll talk after the meeting.”
Again, awesome.
Chasin hit the lobby and jerked to a halt.
What the fuck?
Genevieve.
In the flesh—standing right the fuck in front of him.
Long brown hair, straight as a pin, and he knew she didn’t do anything to make it that way. A sexy sleeve of tattoos twined around her right arm—ivy, orchids, sunflowers, daisies, gardenias, a medley of flowers from wrist to shoulder. All vibrant colors that at the time Chasin had thought fit her personality. She was in cut-off shorts, cowboy boots, and some flowy top that hid her breasts, yet still managed to tease.
Chasin’s jaw tightened, and it proved he was a son of a bitch when he didn’t bother trying to shove away the images of those thighs pressed tight against his head, or her long, sexy legs wrapped around his hips. He didn’t bother because he knew from the last seven days that when the memories started to invade his thoughts, there was no use trying to stop it. They’d push in like an assault team and wouldn’t quit until he could think of nothing else but her.
Then the golden eyes he wanted to forget but couldn’t snapped to his. Genevieve reared back, lost her balance, and stumbled. Nixon’s hand shot out and he caught her by the bicep. Something ugly curled in Chasin’s stomach. Something that felt like jealousy—an emotion he had no right to feel.
The woman wasn’t his and never would be.
What was wrong with him?
Chasin knew the answer to that—not only was the woman sex on legs, but he’d grown soft. He’d watched his friends find women and fall ass over tea kettle in love. He’d thought that shit was like magic and it would somehow happen to him. Then when he’d pulled Genevieve from the river, he’d thought he’d been struck by lightning and his dream woman had literally fallen right in front of him. All he needed to do was rescue her from the chilly water and they’d drive off into the sunset.
“Chasin?” she whispered.
Fuck him.
That voice gutted him.
Hurt mingled with irritation—he’d been played. How was it possible for her to be under his skin in a way no other woman ever had been? Hell, yesterday he’d had to change the radio station twice because he could swear the woman singing sounded just like Genevieve.
“Why are you here?”
Nixon’s hand had fallen away but he was still standing close. As irrational as it was, Chasin wanted to demand that his friend step away from Genevieve, even if Nixon was happily married and was not the type of man to stray.
“Is everything okay?” a woman asked.
Chasin’s gaze slid to the woman standing next to Genevieve long enough to note she was short and blonde. Not giving her anymore of his attention, Chasin’s eyes went back to the sexy brunette he couldn’t stop thinking about.
“Yeah. Everything’s fine, Bobby.”
Bobby.
I swear I’m being careful. It’s only a few days, Bobby, then you’ll be here.
The air around him turned stifling, his heart pounded against his ribs, and suddenly Chasin couldn’t swallow past the lump in his throat. Genevieve was staring at him with a mixture of hurt and triumph. She knew he knew he’d fucked up.
Colossal, huge, biggest fuck-up of his life. He’d jumped to conclusions and screwed up royally. Had he taken a minute and asked, she would’ve explained, he knew she would’ve. The time they’d spent together, she’d been open.
If only he hadn’t been such a dick.
“Let’s head in.” Nixon motioned to the conference room.
Genevieve hesitantly stepped into the room. Bobby, the blonde woman followed, and Alec was next. Nixon caught Chasin’s attention before he could walk in.
“You know her?”
“Yep.”
“We gonna have a problem?”
“Probably.”
“You fuck her?” Nixon’s voice had dropped to a whisper.
“Yep.”
“Christ. We’ll talk after the meeting.”
No, they wouldn’t. Chasin wasn’t staying after they were done—he was following Genevieve out the door and he’d explain.
Chasin and Nix had barely gotten into the room when Bobby launched in. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice. Melissa, Vivi’s manager, tells us you guys are the best and we’re fortunate you’re willing to fit us in. Talk about dumb luck, Vivi coming here with you literally three blocks up the road. I thought she was nuts coming out to the boonies. But damn, now I’m grateful.”
Vivi.
No flinch when her friend used the same nickname he’d called her that night.
“Genevieve’s the client?” Chasin asked.
“Yes. She uses the name Vivi Rush though,” Bobby explained.
An unnatural amount of bitterness crept in. Genevieve hadn’t mentioned she was a singer. No, not a singer—Alec said country music star.
What in the actual hell?
He didn’t know shit about country music. He’d never had any interest in listening to a song about a man losing his dog, his woman, and his truck all in the same day. That shit sounded depressing. So not knowing a damn thing, he had no idea who Vivi Rush was.
“Let’s get to the country music star part,” Chasin said. Genevieve flinched, the same way she did when he’d called her Vivi, which meant she didn’t miss the bite in his tone.
“Chasin—”
He didn’t allow her to finish and asked, “And why does Genevieve need protection?”
Chasin felt it, all eyes were on him. Nixon and Alec were alert, Bobby was confused, and fuck him, Genevieve looked scared.
“A fan has an unhealthy obsession with Vivi. At this point, we feel—”