25
Emmy
I forgot to close the black-out blinds, I realized as I blinked bleary-eyed against the shaft of light coming in the room. My mouth was dry like I had a cotton ball for a tongue, and my head was pounding—a long slow thudding. I might have drunk that whole bottle of Sancerre last night. Though my body was hurting, it also felt lethargic, relaxed, satisfied. I stretched on a long moan and then froze.
Everything came rushing back to me. Trystan's voice. Oh, God. His sexy commands. I could hear them blasting through my brain right now. Instant, aching arousal swirled through me at the same time I was slammed by acute embarrassment. Oh God. What had I done?
Maybe it was just a dream.
A very, very, sexy, incredible dream with no consequences. At least no physical consequences.
I shifted in the bed and realized I was very, very naked below the waist, my sleep shorts balled up against my thigh. Dragging them out from under the covers, I stared at the pineapple design like it somehow was to blame. Not a dream then. I chucked them away from me.
Just as I slid my gaze over to the phone, it buzzed. As if it might bite, I slowly and carefully picked it up.
Suit Monkey: Morning, beautiful. P.S. Stop overthinking it.
"Aaargh!" I said aloud to the room. What the hell was I supposed to say to him today?
What did last night mean? We lived in different cities for God's sake. What was this?
I kept hearing myself in my head along with his words. I let him hear everything, and in the cold light of day it made me feel vulnerable and so embarrassed. Mortified.
Should I quickly nip this in the bud with my pride intact? Maybe say: sorry, I had a bit too much wine, I don't know what came over me?
The phone buzzed again.
Suit Monkey: Call me when you wake up.
I laid the phone on the side table. The worst part was I remembered I was the one who started it. He was getting freaked out about my resident ghost, and I figured I'd tease and distract him. Little had I realized how successful that tactic would be.
I didn't think I had the courage to talk to him right now. God, I hardly knew him. How did I manage to have phone sex with someone I'd never met? What should I text back?
Spread your legs, Emmy. Wider. His voice was in my head, and I was aching again. I don't think, in my whole life, anything had ever turned me on as much as Trystan had last night.
I let out a shaky breath and got up on weak legs, took another shower, and blow-dried my hair. After I checked in at work, I would call the airline. In my panic over David's disappearance I hadn't tried to change my ticket, I'd had to cancel it, not knowing when David might be found. And the chances of getting on a last minute flight on a Friday were slim to say the least. I looked around. There'd be worse places to stay another night, but I'd rather not blow all the money Trystan had sent me for my place. I could put it toward David's move.
Feeling braver, I finally picked up Trystan's phone. There was a missed call from him and two more text messages. I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. I should text him back and stop being a coward. But then I saw the words. Something about my boss. Shit.
I opened his email and found the email he'd forwarded from my email to his. It was a curt email from my boss about time off and our pitch today. My stomach sank. Honestly, I'd already prepared everything for it before I left, he was being dramatic. Not that I was saying I was expendable, but surely this one time they could manage without me?
I sat at the desk and picked up the room phone.
"Miss Dubois," a voice intoned from the handset. I jumped. I'd forgotten about the beck and call thing they had going here. "Good morning," the voice went on. "May I order you some breakfast?"
"Oh, uh." I hesitated. I'd thought about walking to find some coffee. "Actually I just wanted to make a phone call."
"Yes, ma'am. Connecting you to an outside line now. Go ahead."
A dial tone came over the line, and I punched in the office number for my boss. At least that was a number I knew by heart. Which said a lot about my work-life imbalance.
"This is Steven," my boss answered.
"Steven, it's Emmy."
"Emmaline, you better be on the way in to work, but I'm guessing by the two one two area code you are still in New York."
"I am. Sorry. I hope you got my message yesterday about what happened."
"I did. But Emmaline, this pitch is important. I assumed you would be on the next flight back here."
"I'm sorry. No. But the pitch deck is ready, it's saved—"
"Not good enough, Emmaline. I'm not sure you really value your job here. We were counting on you to bring this in. I was counting on you. I didn't want to have to make this public," he dropped his voice, "but if we don't hit our quarterly revenue projections, I'm afraid there'll have to be some downsizing. I'm sure you don't want to be responsible for people losing their jobs."
My stomach fell further. The reality was I wouldn't put him past laying people off just to make his point. And I was especially curious about how much he took out of the company to pay for his lifestyle and his flashy deep-sea fishing boat, The Lucky Hooker.
"Of course not, Steven. This was unavoidable. And there's no way I can meet the noon deadline even if I got on the next flight."
"You'll call in then."
"I can't." I strengthened my resolve and swallowed. "I'll be with David. I need to make sure he's okay today after yesterday."
"Emmaline, I expect you to participate in this pitch."
I blew out a frustrated breath, not wanting to say a hard No again. "I'll try."
"Good. It will have to do. Just know I'm extremely disappointed in your work ethic. I'll text you the call in number."
"O—"
The line went dead. "'Kay," I finished lamely.
"Ugh," I complained to the empty hotel room. "Steven is so annoying!"
God, I really needed coffee. I'd started my morning embarrassed, now I was pissed off too. This was definitely not a situation to be in without several shots of espresso.
I threw yesterday’s clothes in my bag. Retracing my steps around the room to make sure I didn't forget anything, I opened the wardrobe even though I hadn't used it and froze.
A couple of men's suits and three shirts hung there. My gaze tracked to the narrow set of shelves where I saw underwear, socks, and a blue tie laid out neatly. Next to the tie was a toiletries bag with the initials T.M monogrammed on the side.
What the hell?
Wait. I knew Trystan was a part-owner. He said he could get a room, but this must be his room.
I frowned.
But why did he have a permanent room at a hotel in the city where he lived? His apartment wasn't that far away.
Unless . . .
Oh my God.
Acid from my empty stomach threatened to crawl up my throat.
This . . . this was where he had all his hookups so he never had to take anyone home for the night.
I stepped backward, my calves colliding with the bed, and sank onto the edge. Did we basically hook up? Was I one of his hookups?
Shame and humiliation tore up and down inside me, free-wheeling with all my insecurities until my stomach was aching and in shreds.
I'd been touching myself while he listened, from this very same bed where he'd heard countless other women screaming his name. God, he must have been laughing at how easily I came apart for him. For a stranger.
So ironic that it would be in his hookup hotel.
I suddenly felt dirty and . . . stupid.
I was so, so stupid.
My nose burned as I fought tears. God, what a morning.
I took a deep breath, trying to think clearly. It wasn't like he'd forced me. I was angry at myself more than I was at him.
But he wasn't getting any more from me, certainly not tears. And I was not staying another night here in this high-end bordello like a concubine. Ugh.
I stood and took five deep, long breaths. Then I walked calmly to where I'd laid my purse. I picked it up, grabbed the handle of my wheelie bag, and headed toward the door.
Trystan's phone was buzzing again on the desk, but I left it there and opened the door of the room.
Two seconds later I returned to the desk and picked up the damned phone.
Because of David.
Obviously.
"What do you mean, there's no bill?" I whisper shouted at the poor frightened girl at the front desk.
I was trying not to make a scene, but failing miserably.
"Th-there just isn't. It's Mr. Montgomery's room, and it's already paid for." She lifted her shoulders helplessly. "It's just his. There's no billing attached."
"But—but what about the food? My dinner? And the wine?"
"Same?" She winced.
"Asshole!" I exploded and immediately regretted it. "Sorry. It's not your fault. I just, I never would have stayed if I'd known."
"Why not?" she asked in confusion. A phone rang incessantly in the back office.
"Ugh, never mind. Can you call me a cab?"
"Mr. Montgomery has a car—"
"No, just no. Please. For the love and dignity of all pussies everywhere, please just call me a cab."
The girl sucked her lips between her teeth, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold in a laugh.
"I was talking about cats."
"Sure," she said and picked up the phone receiver in front of her. "Let me ask the doorman outside to hail you a cab."
A man's head popped out of the office behind the front desk, eyes scanning the reception area. His gaze landed on me. "You Emmy?"
Oh, hell no.
"Mr. Montgomery would like a word."
"I just bet he would. Tell him . . ." I sighed. Defeated. I had no fight left. "Just tell him . . . no."
"No? That's it?"
"Yes. Just tell him no."
The man shrugged and slunk back inside the office. The girl at the front desk was smirking. "Your cab is waiting."
"Thank you. Sorry about my outburst." I gathered up my stuff.
"It's fine," she said. "And I'm not sure if this helps or makes matters worse, but he, uh, Mr. Montgomery, only uses his room himself. He, uh, gets another one if he has, um, company . . ." she trailed off in obvious discomfort and scratched her nose.
"So that he doesn't have to actually spend the whole night with someone," I finished her sentence. "You're right, I don't know if that makes it better or worse." I walked away then stopped. "But thank you," I told her and headed out to my waiting cab.