Delicate Us

Chapter 3

Trace

Trace stepped into the office, his eyes seeking Syler out on their own accord. She was seated in his usual chair at the head of the table with her back straight and shoulders relaxed, but her head was tilted down. A pastel pink, oversized sweater rested loosely around her thin frame, and her blonde hair was down and slightly in disarray. Like she hadn't bothered to do anything with it since she had awoken this morning.

At the sound of the door opening wide enough to tap the wall behind it, her sapphire eyes latched onto Trace's and his entire body went rigid. An electric fear came over him as his mouth went dry and his heart skipped a beat. She was just as beautiful without makeup as she was at the concert last night. Her eyes brightened on Trace in a way he couldn't withstand the beauty of. Quickly, he averted his gaze to Kyle who was smiling ear to ear at him.

Trace silently walked to Kyle who was leaning against the floor-to-ceiling window, grabbed him by the upper arm, and dragged him to the door. With a quick glance at Syler, he said, "Excuse us."

She gave a sullen grin. "Okay."

Trace shoved Kyle into the hallway and shut the door behind him. In a loud whisper, he said, "What the fuck is she doing here?"

His brown eyes seemed to sparkle in delight, as if he was proud of himself for being some sort of puppet master. "I called her manager."

He narrowed his eyes in disgust. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"She can fix your reputation!"

Silence stretched as Trace processed his answer. "Is she here against her will?"

Kyle pressed his lips in a hard line and circled his neck backward in a gesture that suggested Trace's question was dumb. "She came willingly. She agreed to come."

She agreed to come see Trace. Something about that sentence felt good—created a light somewhere in the depths of his heart. He quickly glanced over his shoulder to look at the closed door to the room where she was waiting. "Why would she do that? She doesn't even know me."

"She knows you."

Trace's brows lifted in surprise. "She does?"

"Yeah," he grinned slyly, "from the internet."

Trace rolled his eyes, irritated by Kyle's juvenile humor. "Get her the hell out of here."

With a quick shake of his head, Kyle stepped backward several times until his hand clasped the doorknob to the office. "Not until you hear the plan."

"What plan?"

"Come and you'll find out." He pushed the door open and stepped into the room, nodding to Syler.

And when Trace entered, her eyes pierced him with intensity and a tinge of something... desperate. He didn't let that hinder his cool, casual gait as he chose the seat across from her and one to the left so that she had to put a little extra effort into looking at him, in hopes she wouldn't. "So sorry about this," Trace began. "Whatever he said, I'm sorry. It's not true. I don't need you."

"Trace–" Kyle hissed.

He put his hand up to stop Kyle, though Trace never once let his eyes lift off Syler's pink lips that pressed into a line as she looked to his agent. "You're free to go."

Her eyes snapped back to his, body shifting ever so slightly toward Trace's odd seat position. "I know you don't need me. But, I need you."

Trace let out a laugh as he sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "I hardly think you have a bad reputation."

Syler sighed, leaned forward, and placed her chin on her fist in a way that smushed her cheek up and pulled her lips, making them appear plumper, like pink candy he wanted to suck on. "No, but I have a lot of stalkers. And I'm hoping if people think I'm with a," she paused to let her eyes roam Trace's face, buzzed cut head, broad shoulders, muscular forearms, "huge football player with an aggressive streak–"

The sound of the word "aggressive" had Trace leaning forward swiftly, arms resting on the table. "I don't have an aggressive streak."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked away, contemplating. "You put people in the hospital the other day."

Trace slammed a flattened hand against the table, annoyed that she actually believed that—embarrassed that that was all she knew of him. "I didn't!"

Kyle stepped behind Trace, gripping his shoulders. "Let the lady finish."

Syler waved a hand to Kyle then linked her hands together on the table. "It's fine. I don't know what happened, but whatever did, it's good enough for the public to think you have an aggressive streak."

He stood abruptly, making her flinch. Slowly, Trace stalked to her, pulling out the chair beside hers and sat down, maintaining eye contact. The only thing separating them was the corner of the table.

She sat back, perhaps to create more space, eyes widening in fright while she pulled her linked hands under the table and into her lap.

"I can't stress this enough," Trace began. "I don't want to fake date you."

Something dashed through her eyes. Hope? Amusement? ...Sadness? Whatever it was, it pulled Trace closer to her, like she held her own gravity.

The corner of her mouth tipped up. "Sure looked like you might have wanted to last night, Kelton."

Trace's face flushed with heat. She saw all the videos. She watched his ridiculous face as he drooled all over her the entire concert. The sound of his last name on her lips, tensed him, pulsing him to hardness. He took a deep breath to calm the storm rising in his body.

She leaned closer, as if she was basking in taking some sort of power back she may have thought she had lost throughout their interaction. The air between them buzzed with tension, and it felt like sparks were soaring in his peripherals, snapping and cracking around his head as he gazed into her eyes.

"Are we going to help each other, or what?"

Trace couldn't seem to escape the spell she was putting him under–couldn't get himself to deny any request she had. There was no use—it was written all over his face the night of the concert. He wanted her. And if he could get a step closer to claiming her today, he would. She wanted him to. "Hand me the contract and a pen."

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