Thrown into the world of celebrity public relations, Kalani quickly learns what happens when public relations becomes personal relations. Follow as Kalani finds herself stuck between two powerful men who have had a feud for as long as either of them...
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Make a deal? What does he mean deal? Brooks eyes me for a reaction and I'm sure if I wasn't as tired as I was feeling, I'd not have given him one. But, given we were about 4 hours past my usual bedtime, my feelings were displayed all over my face. I stare at him with my eyebrows furrowed and my arms crossed over my chest, I sit back in my chair and fold my legs. With my eyes still completely connected with Brooks, we're both waiting for the other to make a move. Hopefully, the way I was slouched suggested I was not in the know about what he was talking about.
Did I care?
Not particularly, but I was sure as hell curious to what he was about to come out with. We sat still and in silence staring at each other. Honestly, when I'm tired it's like an unfamiliar side of me arises from her sleep.
Nic finally breaks the ear-piercing silence, "If you're done eye-fucking each other, I'd like to get this over with so I can go home."
Brooks clenches his jaw, it seems like we're all on edge, given the time. But something tells me Brooks is a very high-strung person as is.
"I want to make you mine." He finally chimes out. My eyebrows do the fucking splits over his statement. It must out of character for him to say something like that because Nics head snaps right in the direction of Brooks and I catch his jaw tense in my peripheral vision. How could he want to make me his when he's only known me a hot minute? Better yet, does that mean he would own me? I couldn't think straight, I just wanted to blurt out every feeling and thought sprinting through my mind. I was about to be a hot mess, but I didn't want to lash out in front of Nic, nor did I want to cause a scene in front of Brooks but I needed answers! And overtired Kalani was out to play tonight. I sit up and try to sound professional, but it's more apathetic,
"Can I talk to you, Mr. Favreau?" I question a little too apathetic. When I notice Nic doesn't take my clear hint of wanting to speak to Brooks without an audience, I add,
"Alone." Hinting at Nic to leave us alone so I can throw every question I have at Brooks.
Nic rolls his eyes and turns to say something to Brooks in the same language spoken before. Brooks, through all of this, doesn't take his eyes off me. I feel like this is some sort of sick game. Like Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out somewhere and yell Pranked! Because this feels way too surreal to believe.
While surrounded by my inner torment, Nic stands in a huff and shoots his eyes towards me. If looks could kill, I'd have been dead the minute Nic took a seat at the round table. He disappears behind the double doors, but not before swiping the crystal bottle that held home to the Scotch Brooks was sipping.
"You wanted to speak alone, so, speak, Miss Jackson." He says casually as he lowers his glass from his perfect lips, to then sit back on the coaster. I begin to lose myself in thoughts of what could be, if I only had the courage to jump this table and have our lips touch. I exhale and close my eyes as I realize, I still was yet to say a thing.
