Caught
by Clare James
Copyright © 2015 by Clare James. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One
Holy shit, does this guy know what he’s doing in the sack! Or in the bathroom stall, rather.
That was Vivian Blake’s first thought as she watched the video. Watched as he slammed the voluptuous blonde against the wall and drove into her with so much force, it took Viv’s breath away. Though she was watching the X-rated bathroom romp from her iPad—in the privacy of her own home—it didn’t stop the heat from spreading over her chest, up her neck and face, to the tips of her ears. She felt downright pervy watching the footage. The surprisingly clear footage. Yeah, she could see everything. This was no shady production. The picture was clear and sharp, damn near HD. She sank a little deeper under her covers, the cool, crisp sheets brushing against her sensitive skin.
Viv couldn’t help but wonder how she would feel up against that wall. Ah—she squirmed as another wave of warmth rolled in, blanketing her from head to toe, reaching places she hadn’t felt in a long time. It was too much to even think about.
Get your mind out of your pants and focus, Viv.
The tendons in the man’s arms bulged as he held Blondie up, cradling her thighs. It was one of the hottest things she had ever seen. And we were talking arms for fuck’s sake. Once she locked in on his face? Forget about it. The camera was placed overhead so the angle provided Viv with an excellent view of that rugged mug. Piercing blue eyes, strong jaw with the perfect amount of stubble, and plump kissable lips that he used to his full advantage as he brought this unnamed woman to the brink of ecstasy in a bar bathroom.
The guy, however, had a name. A name worth millions. Mr. Bathroom Stall Sex Guy was better known as racing sensation Jarod Cage. And he was a foolish, foolish man.
The recording went viral almost immediately after he’d done the deed. What followed was a steady, and often vicious, stream of media coverage all over Racing Land. Cage Caught Again. More Trouble for Racing Bad Boy. Could This Be the Beginning of the End?
Now, twenty hours later, most of the photos and video clips had been taken down from the scummy websites. The attorneys made sure of it. But as a lucky insider, Viv had one of the few copies left for her viewing pleasure.
And what a pleasure it was.
As she assessed the evidence in question, it was easy to make out the delicious piece of mancake in the stall. Almost too easy. Viv wasn’t even remotely into racing, yet she recognized the man on the screen as Jarod Cage. There’d be no way to deny it was him. She made a note to look into the logistics as soon as she could—the equipment used to get the footage, as well as the methods of distribution—to find out who was responsible for the leak.
PR Rule Number 1: Know your audience. That included your enemies.
Amazed that the guy could hold up this mystery woman for so long, Viv checked the running time on the video. Five minutes. She stroked her own flabby arms and grimaced. Then she typed “go to the gym” on her work calendar.
Jarod shifted his angle a bit, and the woman’s blond locks fell over her full breasts. It reminded Viv that an appointment with her stylist was also in order. She could use some highlights in her hair for summer. She’d already been feeling frumpy lately, and this bombshell wasn’t helping matters. Not that she wanted to ooze sex like Video Girl here—that would not go over well at the office—but she could stand to pump it up a notch. Maybe even start breaking into her collection of shoes, take them out for a spin every now and again. Viv was no Carrie Bradshaw, but she did have a few pairs of Manolos and Jimmy Choos from an off-season sale. She considered them an investment and cared for them like a comic book nerd cares for a first- edition Batman or his G.I. Joe action figure. It was true. In fact, her burgundy sling-backs had never even left the box. What a shame, when they could be digging into a fine ass like the one currently gracing her screen.
Another minute ticked by. Viv’s brain finally, reluctantly, pulled away from Mr. Sex on Wheels and shifted to work mode. It was time for some serious damage control, and they would need to come up with the mother of all excuses for this one. Drinking problem? A bad reaction from prescription drugs? A doppelgänger? She’d have to cook up something good to get him out of this predicament.
How he didn’t realize he was being recorded in this compromising position, she had no idea. Actually, that wasn’t true. She did understand. After dealing with so many athletes, musicians, and actors—and their very delicate dirty laundry—she’d come to realize that incredible talent came with a price…intellect, in most cases. Thus, leaving the other head in charge of the important decisions.
No difference here. It was an open-and-shut case. Thankfully for the manwhore, it was Viv’s job to clean up indiscretions like these and make him nice and shiny again.
And she wasn’t above spinning the story, either. Whatever it took. She never would’ve made it as a lawyer, bound by all the rules and ethics. She was more of a rule bender than follower, an imperative strategy if they wanted to win in the court of public opinion.
The only court that mattered.
Viv paused the tape and zoomed in.
Was that a tattoo on his hip?
Jarod’s jeans hung around his ankles, but she could only get a view of the black spot on his right side when he pulled away from Video Girl. And it was never long enough for a decent look. Damn.Though her skin was unmarked, Viv had an unhealthy obsession with ink. Particularly on hot, strapping men.
She pulled up her laptop and opened Jarod’s file. It was going to take more than this sex show to see exactly what she was dealing with. Not that she really had a choice in the matter. Her boss simply emailed the file on the way out of the office and said, “Read up. Your new client will be here in the morning.”
That was Miranda Wells—president of Elite Public Relations’ Atlanta Group and world-class spin doctor. With one of the most impressive track records in the industry, Elite PR managed clients in major business, sports, and entertainment hubs around the world. The majority of the Atlanta Group’s roster came from the Nashville music scene, Southern athletes, and actors. Miranda knew them all, and she was one woman you never wanted to piss off.
Viv knew that firsthand, which is why she’d hit this case hard to ensure she was more than prepared for her new assignment. Even if tomorrow was the day before the Fourth of July and technically a company holiday.
Who needed picnics and fireworks, anyway?
Viv didn’t work sixty hours a week and move every eight to twelve months for the fun of it. She was there to learn. Recruited right out of college for Elite’s executive track, she had worked stints in the Chicago, Philly, and DC offices before Atlanta. Her goal was to make it to the New York office by the time she was twenty-five, and then start planting some roots. That was the dream. Until then, everything else was just temporary.
But thanks to Miranda, she was already a year off schedule. Viv celebrated her twenty-sixth birthday last week…and it wasn’t anywhere near the Big Apple. The timing of her next move was at her boss’s discretion, and so far Miranda had rejected three of her transfer requests. “You’re not ready,” she’d said each time.
So Viv would do her job and repair the reputation of this latest exhibitionist. What was it with celebrities anyway? If she had a dollar for every sex scandal that came through Elite’s doors…
Viv clicked through the notes and files of this latest PR nightmare, which included some very serious threats from Jarod’s sponsor—the squeaky clean Saturn Corp. It was apparent that the leading American manufacturer of confectionery was not at all impressed by these recent events. As it turned out, chocolate and T-and-A didn’t mix.
Thing was, if Jarod lost his sponsor, he would also lose his place on the NASCAR circuit and millions of dollars in endorsements. This was a career-defining moment for the driver. And if Viv played it right, she could restore Mr. Cage’s image, protect his livelihood, and watch him win whatever it is that you win in racing.
Then she’d be a shoo-in for the New York transfer.
She made a quick detour to search for more information about Jarod’s profession. What was it called anyway? A club? Pastime? Activity?
According to Wiki, NASCAR is a sport. Second only to the NFL in TV ratings, it held some major world attendance titles in sporting events. No wonder the sponsors were worried. The public had serious power in the racing world.
This wasn’t going to be easy. Music, business, even baseball or football, were all in Viv’s wheelhouse. But NASCAR? Let’s be serious. She simply couldn’t comprehend why anyone would think it was a challenge to drive around in circles all day. Or why people would pay to watch.
Didn’t matter. This assignment was a chance to get back on track—see, she was already acclimating—but only if she did everything perfectly.
Eye on the prize.
She organized her paperwork and electronics, creating a makeshift office on her plush king-size bed. Viv loved working in her bedroom—a space that took up the entire top floor in her swanky loft. Soft blue tones covered the walls and seemed to soothe her after the long and grueling hours she spent in the downtown office. It was a cozy nest: a four-poster bed, floral prints, and an oversize puffy chaise. A stark contrast to the main floor, which looked more like a model home with the sleek furniture and modern art. There wasn’t a hint of anything personal to be found. Viv rented the place fully furnished—except for the bedroom—and hadn’t made one change to the place. She never did.
That was Viv, a walking contradiction. She recognized it, but it suited her. She could entertain and look the part of a successful businesswoman if she wished. And then, at the end of the day, she could curl up in her cozy bedroom with her cooking magazines, watch a romcom, or read one of her steamy romance novels.
Speaking of steamy, Viv turned her attention back to the video and hit play. Geez, the sounds that came from that little bathroom stall were enough to make a grown woman blush. Jarod was still going strong. My God, how long could he last?
A loud groan or growl—was it a growl?—echoed in her bedroom. She wasn’t quite sure what that was, but Video Girl sure seemed to like it. And that only reminded Viv how long it’d been since she’d been manhandled.
Not that her experiences were anything close to this, and not that she’d wanted it like that anyway. Still…
Ever since she started at Elite, she’d had no time for a relationship. Men, even those with the stamina of an Olympic athlete and ass of a Greek god, were not part of her plan just yet. Why put down roots and get attached when she’d be leaving soon? And honestly, relationship and commitment or not, Viv wasn’t a hook-up-in-a-bar-bathroom kind of gal. Though she had to admit, she was seriously considering changing her position on that hard-and-fast rule. Thanks in part to this showing of Legally Boned with Jarod Cage.
Thing was, even Viv’s most determined suitors, like Jake at the local TV station, never got to see her naked. Okay, maybe once or twice, but that was it. And it was well over a year ago.
Snuggled in bed, Viv continued to watch the video. Just. A. Little. More. Prep. For. Tomorrow’s. Meeting. Oh God. She was actually pacing her thoughts to Jarod’s thrusts. This was getting out of hand.
Suddenly, Jarod stopped all motion and began talking. But this wasn’t idle chitchat. Even if she couldn’t make out the words, she could tell it was intense and demanding, and apparently so hot it made the woman’s eyes roll back in her head. Viv messed with the volume, straining to hear him, to no avail.
What the hell did he say?
She couldn’t read Jarod’s lips because they were fastened on Video Girl’s ear, and she couldn’t sweeten the audio without the studio equipment they had at the office. It was driving Viv crazy. Not that it really mattered for her work. It was her own curiosity making her mad. His words, and the effect they had on his woman. Holy shit.
Seconds later, they both slumped against the wall, and Viv’s chest deflated like a popped balloon. If it were possible, she’d say she just had a vicarious orgasm. Though hers had none of the relief, so she went to the kitchen and snagged the last of the leftover chocolate cake to find her happy place.
Back in bed with her heaping plate, she made it to the last scene in the footage. Jarod pulled up his pants and rubbed the scruff on his chin, looking perfectly sated. Video Girl was not as composed. She was a messy puddle of afterglow, so Jarod helped dress her. It was odd, and also strangely sweet.
Viv wolfed down the remaining morsels of her dessert, relieved the video was finally over. Then she put it out of her mind for the next few hours while she worked. She read about Jarod Cage’s racing history and his personal life. And that’s when she found another potential crisis to deal with— his engagement to a Gina McKnight, a motocross reporter for ESPN. The article said the two were on the rocks, but still…what a dumbass. Yes, his relationship status would definitely have to be addressed.
She continued brainstorming ideas and polishing her presentation until she was confident she had a strategy in place to solve the Cage crisis. At two in the morning, she shut everything down, closed her eyes, and let the exhaustion take her under. Not surprisingly, it didn’t last. Viv never slept well the night before a client meeting, so she spent the next six hours tossing and turning, dozing in and out. Only this time it wasn’t the stress of the presentation messing with her shut-eye. It was the image of Jarod Cage playing on the screen behind her eyelids and the sounds of his demands vibrating in her ears.
…
Viv moved into downward facing dog for the third time in her morning yoga class, desperate for a pair of fresh panties. Unable to banish the thoughts of Mr. Sex on Wheels and that damn video from the night before, Viv felt dirty and stupid…but mostly, incredibly horny. She was like a groupie or stalker or something, fixated on a man she couldn’t have. It was embarrassing, and completely unlike her.
She tried to burn off the shit-pot of nervous energy simmering under her skin, holding each pose longer than anyone in the class. Her Eagle was something to behold. Still, as she twisted her body into various pretzel-like shapes, all she could focus on was her meeting with the notorious bad boy. In two hours.
Maybe morning yoga wasn’t such a good idea.
But Viv Blake wasn’t a quitter. She toughed out the session, though she felt none of the relief that she usually did by the time the class said Namaste. All of the uneasiness had yet to subside, so she hit the locker room hoping a steaming shower would help.
It didn’t.
She dried off and slipped into a slate-gray wrap dress and pale pink Louboutins, and, oh yeah, the ensemble worked its magic—lifting her spirits and her measly five-foot-three height. She actually felt more powerful with the shoe’s extra inches. So far, so good.
Her makeup was another story. She was hot and splotchy with bags under her eyes, and the minimal makeup she carried in her bag wasn’t cutting it. She’d have to polish up her game face at the office, where she kept the big guns (like heavy-duty concealer, eye brightener, and berry lip stain) for mornings such as this.
Making quick work of her long dark hair, she secured it in a loose bun and headed out to the coffee shop across from the firm, ordering an iced dark roast. She really wasn’t a fan, but couldn’t take regular coffee in this heat. Connecticut had its steamy moments in the summertime, but the Nutmeg State had nothing on Hotlanta.
Viv placed the cool cup up to her forehead as she walked the last block to her building. The city was sleepy for midweek—even at Elite. Everyone was already off celebrating the holiday, leaving the sorry saps like her to hold down the fort.
By the time she walked into her office, she was a soggy mess. “Good Lord, what happened to you?” Mel asked, sitting on Viv’s desk all cute and fresh-faced. Mel was Viv’s best friend at the agency. Actually, it felt like she was her only friend most days.
“The heat happened.” Viv dumped her bags and moved her cup to her neck and chest, trying to cool down. “Dry heat, my butt.”
“Get over here,” Mel said. “Let me fix that rat’s nest.” Mel went to work on her frizzy hair while Viv filled her in on the strategy she developed for the campaign. She needed a second opinion.
“If I want any chance at New York, I have to nail this thing,” she said.
“I know.” Mel finished Viv’s hair with a generous coating of the hair spray she kept in her purse. “But you shouldn’t have to kill yourself to do it. You need to tell Miranda to stick it up her ass.”
“Right,” she said, admiring Mel’s handiwork in her compact mirror.
“I’m serious,” Mel continued, swinging her legs as they dangled from the desk. “Or you could tell her to get bent. You know, whatever. Personalize it as you see fit.”
Viv laughed at Mel’s suggestion about how to handle their boss. If only it were that easy. “I think about that all the time,” Viv admitted. Her lips spread into an evil grin as she imagined the look on Miranda’s face if she ever got up the nerve to tell her off.
Priceless.
“I can see that.” Mel snickered while her friend indulged in the daydream. “Why Viv Blake, you aren’t the model employee that you make yourself out to be. So, once you finish planning our boss’s demise, what do you say we go out for mimosas?”
“I wish.” Viv took the Cage file out of her bag. “In addition to the Miranda situation, I also have to save a porn star today.”
“Aw, your parents must be so proud.” Mel inspected her manicured fingernails—always in some shade of pink.
“As they should be,” Viv deadpanned.
“Why do you get all the fun assignments?” Mel said before belting out her best porn soundtrack—complete with a boom chicka bow wow as she gyrated on an imaginary stripper pole.
Viv could just hug her friend. That girl found the positive in any situation. She was the perfect balm to Viv’s nerves.
Despite her occasional crudeness, Melody Sharp was a modern-day Southern belle. A pretty, pretty princess. Colorful preppy dresses, monogrammed Jack Rogers, and never a hair out of place. Her blond curls were always tamed to perfection, contrary to Viv’s dark mop. Mel was the only person Viv had connected with since college. Her schedule and frequent moves didn’t really allow her to make a life outside of work, so friends were a luxury she usually had to forgo. Until she moved to Atlanta. Not that Mel really gave Viv a choice in the matter. She’d been sitting at her desk the first day she arrived, and had greeted her the same way each morning ever since—with a healthy dose of challenge and cheer. Viv bent her rules for Mel. She made room for her, knowing that when the time came for another move, they’d just shift their daily chatfests from the office to Skype.
Viv stopped Mel’s impromptu dirty dancing with a smack to her behind. She feigned disgust, but was grateful Mel was there to lighten the situation. She had everything riding on the Cage case and could use all the support she could get. Plus, Mel always knew how to calm her. “What are you doing in here, anyway? It’s a company holiday. Don’t you have a picnic to prepare for?”
“What can I say?” Mel smiled. “Your work ethic is rubbing off on me. I also had some things to do before the mini vacay and after your text last night, I had to make sure my girl was prepared. Plus, maybe there’s still a chance you can come to the festivities tonight? We can’t let the Ice Queen ruin all of our plans.”
Yes,Viv was living her own personal version of The Devil Wears Prada. Her boss even had the name and personality to match. Except in this case, the Ice Queen wore Lilly Pulitzer, and there was no amazing closet full of free clothes or trips to Paris.
“Too late,” Viv said, pulling out her makeup bag. “You know I’ll be locked away for the next week working on this.” “You’re exhausted, darlin’. She’s been working you too hard, and now she’s dumping the Jarod Cage case on you? It’s bullshit.”
Viv nodded, working on her eyes. Just a little more concealer and she’d be good to go.
“I’ll make her pay,” Viv whispered, getting the strange sensation Miranda had the place bugged. “One way or another, you’ll see. She won’t know it’s coming, and she definitely won’t know it’s me.”
“Well, that seems to defeat the purpose.” Mel rolled her eyes. “You need to speak up so she stops taking advantage of you.”
“Yeah, I know. But I hate confronting that woman. Sometimes the path of least resistance is best.”
Mel’s brow settled into a rare serious expression. “I’m still worried about you.”
“Don’t be.” Viv put her makeup away with a wink. “How else am I going to get the director role in New York? I have to pay my dues.”
“Okay,” Mel said. “Back to business, then. I found some racing pubs to get you started.” She handed over a stack of magazines.
“Is this from your personal collection?” Viv glanced at the publications.
“Har har. We had a stack in the library. The media relations department does some work for NASCAR. Now is there anything else I can help you with before you get Caged?”
Viv raised a brow. “Is that code for something?”
“No, that’s just what the pit lizards call their time with Jarod Cage. Getting Caged. Get it?”
“Pit lizards?” she asked. “Do I even want to know what those are?”
“The skanks who try to hook up with the drivers,” Mel said. “NASCAR’s answer to groupies.”
“Ugh. What have I gotten myself into?” Viv dropped her head into her hands.
“Racing, baby.” Mel squealed. “And from the looks of your new client, you could have a whole lot of fun with that.”
“Fun?” Viv asked as if she never heard the word before.
“Yes.” Mel shook her head. “Remember fun? Laugh. Flirt a little. Let him take you for a ride, if you know what I mean.”
“Gross.”
“I’m serious. You’re overworked and underpaid. What’s the point of all of this if you can’t enjoy yourself once in a while?”
“You’re one to talk, you know?”
“What do you mean?” Mel asked. “I go out constantly.”
“Sure, but when was the last time you really got excited about someone?”
“My tastes are particular, that’s all.” She shrugged. “I’m not going to waste my time unless it’s the real deal. I’ll know when I know. But we’re talking about you. It’s 2015, Vivi— live a little. Let go for once in your life.”
Viv rolled her eyes.
“Gah, you’re hopeless,” Mel said, bouncing toward the door. “Well, I’ll be around if you need my racing expertise, or if any more of those fun little videos pop up.”
“Thanks for the generous offer, but I’ll be fine. You can run along now. Go to your picnic and leave the heavy lifting to me.”
Mel flipped her off, but Viv knew she didn’t take her insult seriously. Mel didn’t get whipped up about work like she did. She always said she wasn’t the long-term career type, and that was a shame because Melody Sharp was one of the best event planners in Atlanta—whether she knew it or not. But the way Miranda was always pushing her friend, Viv was afraid it was only a matter of time before Mel left Elite and let her parents marry her off to some boring Southern gentleman.
Viv shut her office door so she could do a final run- through of her presentation without any disturbances— though she was keeping the theatrics to a minimum with this one. Most of her clients didn’t appreciate a big to-do. Of course the agents and managers did, but the ticket to winning business with men like Jarod Cage was to make him feel at home. She needed to convince him that he needed her, that she was the best person for the job.
That’s what Elite Public Relations was all about—being the best in the business. Spit and shine. They made problems go away, threw fabulous parties, and brought in loads of the green stuff. By the time Elite’s team was done with their clients, their mamas didn’t even recognize them. And that’s just how they liked it. Even more than that, Viv wanted to win. She also wanted her clients to win. She expected nothing less, inevitable for someone raised by an overachiever like her father, Alan Blake, Esq.
So that’s exactly what she planned to do: win. No matter what it took.
After going through the last of the slides, Viv felt the need to vent and work out the last of her jitters, so she made a quick call to her mother while flipping through the racing trade rags.
Her parents still lived in Connecticut and were counting the minutes until she came home—especially her mother, who made the family her life’s work. Though she’d never admit it, Corrine Blake hoped Viv would follow in her footsteps, get her Mrs. degree from a good school, and start popping out babies. Viv had other plans. Slowly, her mother got on board. With each passing year, Corrine grew more supportive of Viv’s choices. She even seemed envious at times, wanting to hear all the juicy details. Of course, her father thought her job was nothing more than planning parties and going to charity events. Still, she was convinced that once she landed in New York, he’d finally respect her career path.
“Hey, Mom,” Viv said when she picked up on the first ring. Her mother always picked up on the first ring.
“Honey,” her mom sang. “Getting ready for the big picnic?”
“No.” Viv pouted, spinning in her chair to look out the window. Talking to her mom always made her feel like she was five years old again.
“Why not?” she asked.
“I have an emergency situation with a client.” Her cheeks warmed as an image of a half-naked Jarod Cage popped into her head.
“Sounds interesting, do tell.”
Oh, you have no idea. “I can’t give specifics, but I will tell you that I’m entering the world of car racing. NASCAR, for crying out loud. Ugh.”
“And?” her mom asked, not getting the joke—which is exactly what it felt like to Viv. A freaking joke.
“I said NASCAR, Mom.” She was tempted to throw in a duh at the end of her sentence, but thought better of it.
“I’m not sure I see the problem, hon,” Corrine said in that soothing way of hers. “That sport is becoming pretty big—even up here. There are a few guys at Dad’s firm who go to Daytona every year, if you can believe it.”
“I can’t. It’s just too weird—and kind of redneck, don’t you think? All those motorheads talking about how big their engines are.”
“Viv, don’t be so crass.”
“Sorry, but I don’t get it. Driving in circles to see which car can go the fastest?”
“I think there might be more to it than that.” Her mom chuckled. “I’m sure there’s plenty of strategy and skill involved, you just have to read up on it. It sounds pretty interesting to me.”
“Read up on it, pffft,” Viv said, feeling particularly snarky. “I’m not sure you need to be literate to race cars.” She rocked in her chair again.
And that’s when she spotted him in the periphery. In her office. Mr. Sex on Wheels in the flesh.
Mouthwatering flesh.
She’d recognize him anywhere—especially after watching his performance for hours last night. Now here he was leaning against the wall, watching her. Listening…
“Fuck it all to hell,” Viv muttered.
“Well, you sure are in a foul mood.” Corrine continued their conversation, oblivious to the fact that Viv was dying a slow death. “You must be tired, because I know I raised you better than this. Is Miranda working you too hard again?”
“Mom,” she said, not taking her eyes off Jarod’s—whose glare was burning right through her. “I need to go. I’ll call you later.”
“But honey—”
Click.
This was not happening.
To say Jarod Cage was gorgeous would be like saying chocolate is edible. Understatement times infinity. She knew he was hot. Everyone did. But seeing him in person, just a few feet from where she sat, was an amazing sight. Viv paged through the thesaurus in her head and couldn’t find a word to accurately describe the man.
The scruff he sported in the video had grown, just slightly, over the past thirty-six hours. Oh yeah, she had memorized the timeline of events. His thick sandy hair stuck up all over the place, possibly because he hadn’t combed it since the mystery sex tape woman had her hands tangled in it. Though she didn’t want to think about that.
Typically Viv liked her men a little more buttoned up, but Jarod’s unkempt look was balanced by a crisp tailored shirt and dress pants. Yet when his sleepy blue eyes narrowed in on her, holy crap. No wonder he had sex in bathroom stalls. It was probably the woman’s idea. He was a spectacular specimen of a man.
“I’m sorry,” Viv said to him, playing dumb. Not a hard task at the moment with her lust-filled brain. “May I help you with something?”
PR Rule Number 6: Never let them see you sweat.
“After hearing that conversation,” he began, his voice low and rough, “I’m not so sure.”
