Bluest of Blue

ignored.

CHAPTER

1²

Legs—that's all that filled Wade Addison's vision. With a crook of his finger, he slid his glasses off then blinked. Nope, his eyesight was fine. Right there, in his office was the best damn pair of legs he'd seen in a while.

And those two appendages captivated him after glancing away from his computer screen. The woman attached to them wore a skirt short enough to grasp and hold his focus, which was a miracle within itself. Calculations had filled his head most of the afternoon and not much else distracted him when he was like that. But, yeah, the long line of her calves, the curve of her thighs—all a decadent shade of chestnut—were worth noting.

He dropped his glasses onto his desk and let his gaze continue up in a slow crawl, because women like her was why he had a pulse and a working dick. Her hips had the perfect dimensions of an hourglass. Her slim waist clinched that thought. Fantastic breasts. Her face was unfamiliar, pretty in a perfect dimensions sort of way but he was willing to be an extrovert after one glance.

He almost smiled when he asked, What do you want? His tone bordered on annoyed but that wasn't anything new. His moods liked to swing from trees anyway.

Her brows lifted for a fraction of a second, but her expression remained blank. I'm looking for Dr. Wade Addison.

Now he could almost forgive her. Over the past three months he'd let his hair grow. The shortest strands brushed his shoulders. He wore a plain white T-shirt, board shorts and thong sandals without socks. If she confused him with a beach bum rather than an astrophysicist that was only fair.

Almost forgive her. He wore his lab coat and papers and computers surrounded him. His office, for all intents and purposes, held a big ass telescope in the middle of the rounded room, and someone had to have directed her there. So either she was dense or lying.

And you are? he asked.

Do you know where he is?

He narrowed his eyes. If anything, his evasive question should have been the clue. Dense. He'd go with that until she proved him wrong.

As for the question, he considered how to answer. A woman who looked like a pin-up was searching for him at work. A woman who had no idea what he looked like.

You can leave a message.

Her mouth pinched into a thin line as though she smelled bullshit. At least her instincts were on point. How well do you know Dr. Addison?

He had moments of introspection, some voluntary and some forced. Wade had a good fix on who he was. Pretty well you can say.

She stalked forward, and again he focused. Her skirt bunched tight right along her pelvis. Not enough for details but more than enough for his imagination to fill in the missing components. So all he could do for a moment was watch the roll of her hips—mesmerizing. Maybe the heels she wore gave her sway the added emphasis, but that line of creased fabric cutting across from hip-to-hip would fuel dreams.

Her hand thumped against his research papers, severing the view. He glared at the red nail polish on her fingers then brought his hard stare up. Hazel eyes. They were more brown than green. This close he could see the sharp clarity behind her gaze, and knew she'd caught him eye-fucking her walk.

I'm guessing he's your advisor, she said, her voice no less measured. What do you think of him?

This close he could also pick up the scent of her perfume—she smelled fucking edible. She probably tasted better. Too bad she was dense.

Dr. Addison is an asshole. That much wasn't a lie. He also lacks the basic desire to communicate. He works an insane amount of hours, at weird times. He'd rather demand than ask. Lastly, and probably the most important factoid, he wouldn't like you in here.

She blinked. That much of a taskmaster?

The description hadn't even budged her. Interesting. Do your work and you won't get a complaint but in general he's just an asshole. Why do you want to know?

She straightened, her teeth scraping over her bottom lip. It was a fantastic bottom lip—the kind that should get bitten often. He blinked this time.

I have to work with him, she said, and you're not the first person to say he's troublesome.

Troublesome? Ass creeping underwear was troublesome. Wade was the bully who gave atomic wedgies.

He narrowed his eyes. Word choice was everything. More than once she'd picked a benign descriptor. Women tended use harsher words when gossiping.

Cautious, he said, You want to know how to get into his good graces?

She nodded like he was getting it. Exactly.

The list ranged from a thousand things to two on any given day. He wouldn't tell her the important ones.

He scared up a smile for her...well, for his answer. He really loves coffee. Whipped cream, chocolate syrup and a ton of sugar. He should be here in a little bit. You should come back in an hour or five.

Or never.

Her smile fell, and a flicker of irritation flashed through the green of her eyes. He almost laughed. She was trying to bullshit him of all people.

He also likes those back massages you can get in the mall. And he did. Nimble fingers, cheap prices and the white noise of elevator music—malls were often the best places to think.

She made a noncommittal noise at his confession. Would you mind giving me a tour while I wait? This is the first time I've been in an observatory.

He was toying with her and they both knew it at that point. She had to. He sighed. People wondered why he didn't like...people. Wade's work schedule ensured he wasn't around when clueless adults could come bumbling into his work space. He didn't mind talking about his work, probably the only thing he felt comfortable blathering about with strangers. Kids, he definitely didn't mind. They had a thirst for knowledge and no preconceived ideas about space or his occupation. But clueless adults...

He bit back a frustrated groan. From her intent expression, she wouldn't leave him alone or let him ignore her.

Leaning back in his chair, Wade pointed behind him. Computers. They calculate stuff, and sometimes when they are feeling frisky, they can simulate events in space. Mostly based on math. Over there is something called a telescope. You can see space with it.

He waved his hands around to encompass the room. It was round, like the observatory itself, filled with high-tech equipment that cost millions of dollars. Even he didn't know what everything did. It just made his life easier.

And she wasn't making his life easy.

Hub of the observatory. Tour over.

Her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile. And what is it you help Dr. Addison do? That's an assumption. Sorry if it's wrong. He's your advisor and you are sometimes a lackey, right?

Bullshit, served with a smile. He sat up a little straighter in his chair, his interest in her turning to wariness. But he was patient and willing to play along until she hit him with the punch line.

It's too bright outside to show you through the telescope.

He pawed through the manila folders on his desk until he found the right one. "This is Betelgeuse. Not Beettlejuice. Though I love that movie. It's about 430 light years away and it's going to explode. Well after I die, so I'm not too worried, but I like the idea of that. One of the stars in our galaxy, that's pretty damn close to Earth, is going to turn supernova."

Don't scientist already know what happens when a supernova explodes?

Scientists were pretty sure Earth was flat. Things like atoms didn't exist. Both of Einstein's theories about relativity have just been confirmed as true over a hundred years later. So I feel like I have some job security.

Huh, was all she said for a moment before digging around her blazer's pocket. She pulled out a business card and offered it to him. Call me when he comes in. I have to meet with Dr. Scott.

Hearing his boss's name made his blood run cold, and any amusement over their exchange died. Why are you looking for Dr. Addison again?

She smiled and it only sharpened the clarity in her gaze. I'm his publicist.

The only problem with that was he didn't have a need for one. He dropped the card stock onto his desk like it could poison him if he held the paper too long. Can you get to Dr. Scott's office on your own?

She tilted her head, probably surprised at his gentleman-like offer. He was only seventy-percent asshole.

I'll manage. Thanks again. She blessed him with a wide smile and her bottom lip looked lickable.

Because he was one-hundred percent man, he watched the sensual sway of her hips as she walked away. Damn nice view. He waited until she cleared the doors to whip out his cell phone.

Victor answered on the third ring. Who died? The man's words were spoken in a flat tone, but Wade had known him long enough to catch the humor.

No one yet, Wade answered the question without pause. I need you to do a background check for me.

Victor was former Army, an EOD tech, but now he worked freelance as an IT tech. When he was really motivated, he could upend the Internet to find any information. A friend asking for the favor tended to fall under that umbrella. Who?

Wade didn't have to glance at the card again. Her name was burned into his brain—along with the image of her lips and legs. Sophie Lake, a publicist.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Victor asked, Do I want to know why I'm doing a background check on a woman?

His gaze tracked back to the doors. If Sophie had worn a skirt that simply followed the line of her curves, he might not have managed a thought, much less questioned her intentions. She came searching for me and had no idea what I looked like.

Victor grunted. I don't like the sound of that. Give me a few hours. I'll email what I find.

Thanks. Wade glanced at the time on the computer.

It was almost five. Soon Victor would be going home to Ashley. Jealousy tightened his gut but with a forced exhale, Wade let it go. No need to give himself something to obsess over. Anything more.

Sophie was his current problem and Ashley never was. He ended the call and glared at the card.

Sophie, he bit out.

The name didn't fit the woman, too soft. Her breasts maybe. Her lips definitely. Her eyes told the true story. The words that fell from her mouth didn't match the sharpness in her gaze. Though she served up clueless optimism as a shield, he could see the edge of dark. Wade knew the kind of soul-sucking shadows that could reflect in someone’s eyes—knew them intimately enough to consider them his mistress.

But her dark, her past wasn't his problem. His boss had hired a publicist for him. That only meant Dr. Scott had found the right leverage to turn the tables on Wade. And that meant Wade would have to do publicity for the observatory, something he'd avoided for five years. He balled his hands over the mounds of research. Once again his brain power wasn't enough.

Tension crawled up his spine and made a home. Fuck me.

He had to find a way out before Sophie became his permanent problem.

Sophie Lake quietly closed the office door behind her then settled into the chair across from Dr. Scott. The man's tight smile greeted her as he held up a finger while he continued his phone call.

Poor guy. With the bushy brows and gray hair he looked like someone's sweet grandpa. He'd papered his office walls with family photos and degrees, proving her theory had merit.

Yeah. This man was no match for the likes of Wade Addison. Her boss had dropped his file on her desk and muttered a godspeed. That was her only warning, and everything she'd learned about Dr. Addison told her he was going to be a damn problem.

If she discounted Wade's thesis and any other published works, his file was thinner than a blade of grass. Not a single bit of social media, newspaper article or a blog post—not even under a pseudonym.

Secondhand information filled Dr. Addison's file. His brother and friends had posted pics, in-jokes and the like on their social media accounts. His brother and friends had plenty of things online from thesis statements to vacations and girlfriends. So that left Sophie with a file of theoretical papers on dark matter, star constellations and grainy cellphone pictures of the fucker.

A mountain of pictures still hadn't prepared her to see him in person. He was handsome in that rugged way women tended to fawn over.

Be honest with yourself, Lake.

Sophie glanced at the ceiling and sighed. Looking at Wade as a man, not as a client, she could understand one of the theories he'd written for some science journal—the primitive imperative to procreate. If she wasn't so evolved, her mind would have chanted man hunts, woman collects berries. He could pull her hair, thump his chest, all because something deeply buried in her DNA told her he had strong genes. It wasn't just that his face had symmetry or that his jaw promised chiseled lines. All of that was topped off with the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. A gaze that told her no matter how abrasive she was, how commanding, he'd meet her mettle and not crumble.

I'm an asshole. She would take his words as a warning and never doubt him. And not let a stirring of attraction sideline her. Cocky men who could back up their big talk were her weakness. She needed him to be just a client. A boy genius used to being the smartest person in the room—and right more often than not.

But Dr. Scott didn't need to know all that. The grandpa scientist wanted to believe all his worries were just that—worries. His most promising astrophysicist could bring in money for the observatory.

Dr. Scott ended the phone call then asked her, If you're here in my office instead of his, can I assume things didn't go well?

The question proved her latter thought held water. He wanted to believe everything would be fine. Her job was to reassure him the money he'd plunked down would yield good, profitable results. I met him and he's as bad as you...

Lake, you need to get better at telling the half-truths. Sugar coating shit is part of your job.

Dr. Addison is going to take a lot of work.

Dr. Scott, in all his tweed jacket glory, plopped into his chair with a heavy sigh. Are you sure you're up to the task?

Here she could shine. Sophie had yet to meet a client she couldn't spit shine like a new penny. It was likely why Wade had ended up on her desk as a client. She got the hard cases, the St. Jude's lost cause cases. It's why she survived, no matter the obstacle—love, heartbreak, loss of limb...nothing would stand in her way of repairing her image.

More than up to this challenge, she told the older man. Don't worry about it. Give me two weeks and he'll be ready.

He chuffed, the soft sound filled with doubt. Two weeks? Are you sure you met Wade Addison?

Instead of thinking of Wade as masculine, drool-worthy—and not just book smart sexy—man that could make any woman with a pulse reconsider her morals, Sophie recast him in her mind as a toddler. Dr. Scott and anyone else in the scientist's life had kowtowed to his tantrums. She wouldn't give in. What was the point of being forged in fire if she didn't test her strength and see exactly what it would take to break her this time?

I can assure you, I met Dr. Wade Addison, and he is not a problem.

Sophie didn't think he could be mistaken for anyone else. Not even his brother Grady, though they did look alike. Wade was broader in the shoulder, thicker in the waist but all muscle where it counted. If she'd seen him in the grocery store she might have spent more than a moment checking him out and not in a sly way at all.

But he was her client now and she didn't fuck clients. She'd learned that lesson the hard way.

After two weeks, I'll go over a game plan with both of you, she said. You need funding and you're right to think he's the face for a campaign. He's young, he's smart and his background is interesting enough to get the media into a frenzy over him.

Are you sure? I have other candidates we can use.

The file her boss had given her included the full roster of scientists who worked at the observatory. Their credentials were impressive, but that file had also included their published works alongside Wade's.

She had to put cotton in her ears to make sure her brain wouldn't dribble out from boredom. Wade's work, though molasses thick at times, made her sit on the edge of her seat, and she knew jack shit about astrophysics. What little she did know of that field of science Neil De Grasse Tyson had said, but Wade had a way of describing things almost poetically. He could take dry facts and turn them into beauty.

The public would love that. After six years working as a publicist, she knew the lost causes and when a toad needed to be turned into a prince. Wade was a toad. Probably poisonous. She'd be covered in warts at some point, but Sophie could turn him into a fucking king among geeks.

Just let me handle him, she said to Dr. Scott, her tone sweeter than honey. If he comes to you, direct him back to me. It's important that you don't give in. I've gone over his employment contract and it's right there in black and white that publicity is part and parcel to his ongoing research.

Dr. Scott winced. He always goes back to—

She put up her hand to waylay the excuse. Not a problem. His shoulders lowered in relief. I'll suggest you make yourself...less accessible to him for a few days.

His expression changed with the big smile. I think you're right.

You should head out early for the day. Because sooner or later, Wade would come straight to the source. Sophie would be waiting. And do you mind if I use your office?

He was already packing up his shit for the day. Sure, sure.

She smiled at him. Grandpa was smart. I'll walk you out. I have to get my briefcase out of the car anyway.

On the way there she'd smooth over any other worries and wave away doubts. Sophie liked to multitask.

Grandpa looked at her with adoration. I think you are the perfect person for this job.

The only perk of being humiliated mid-career was that she grew Teflon skin and balls of steel. The rule, or rather hers, was to never become the story. Spin it, direct it so that her client came out smelling like roses even if they were covered in shit, but never, ever be the headline.

Again.

It was one thing to test her strength, another to fool her twice. Clients turned lovers only cared about their own skin, covering up their own secret shames. Everyone else was a potential sacrifice. She'd been one and the media dragged her until there was almost nothing left to her. She was forced to grow that impenetrable skin and never let someone else sacrifice her first.

Dealing with Wade, and whatever was his reticence to publicity, would be a cakewalk.

CHAPTER

√4

In four hours time, Victor had sent six emails with at least three compressed files in each. His friend was good at finding secrets—no question—but Sophie Lake had left one hell of a digital footprint. Even with Victor summing up the finds in the initial emails, Wade's brows refused to lower as he read about her clients and her.

Wade slouched in his office chair and frowned. She was good, damn good as a publicist. When the media decided to focus on her relationship with a client, she found a way to change the narrative within days. The rock star she'd fallen for—a douchebag who cheated on her and then blamed her for it—ended up on a series of has-been reality TV shows, and Sophie's career continued to rise.

His background check amounted to...fuck all. Yes, he knew about her past. The fucker she dated had made sure to allude to her adventurous sexual desires in more than one interview. He had no doubt she wouldn't falter if he brought it up. She'd already taken a worse hit and kept strutting.

He was fucked if he couldn't wiggle his way out of this. The computer behind him beeped and he ignored the sound, mired in his own mortality. Dr. Daniel Scott had cornered him and was