Do you see that girl getting onto the elevator in her uniform and the tired eyes, hair pulled up into a messy top knot even though she’s specifically told messy top knots aren’t for work?
That’s me. Scarlet Rose. Not sure if I introduced myself before. I am now. I’m a college drop-out, blonde, and I live up to the theory that blondes have more fun. I do.
It’s been four days since Shade Sawyer checked in and you’re wondering if I’ve upheld my quest to sleep with him, right?
Well. . . Shade checked in four days ago, and I haven’t seen him yet, believe it or not. And I’m beginning to wonder if I will because of his goddamn security. They don’t let anyone off the elevator, and the only time I was allowed in the room, he wasn’t there. It’s like he’s the president with the way they protect him.
It’s bullshit if you ask me. And annoying.
So there I am, and it’s nearing 8:00 p.m. on New Year’s Eve and I’m in the elevator heading up to the third floor when a group of people step inside with me.
At first I don’t look up. I don’t particularly like riding in elevators with other people. I’m known for hitting the close doors button when I see people approaching. This group caught me off guard.
When the doors close, I ask without looking up, “What floor?” because I’m the one closest to the panel.
“Penthouse,” someone mumbles.
Oh. Shit.
I know that voice.
Your hearts pumping in your ears, isn’t it?
Okay. Maybe it’s just mine and it’s all I notice so I assume you feel the same way. Just wait. It gets worse.
My eyes snap to his, only he’s not looking at me and he’s not even the one who spoke. It was his brother.
His attention is diverted to the phone in his hand. I notice him first, and my stomach jumps to high-five my heart. Only I’m disappointed when I see it is, in fact, Shade Sawyer, in an elevator with me, but he’s surrounded by two women and his brother, Tiller.
Trying to appear casual, I slowly exhale and try to rid my body of the nerves, but it doesn’t work.
The girls are as obnoxious as they come in and the Sawyer brothers lose a couple points with me just based on the fact that they couldn’t get better chicks to accompany them up to their room.
But then a knot of annoyance forms in the pit of my stomach along with a pang of something else. Jealousy. He’s taking women to his room. I’m jealous of these girls, these highly annoying unappreciative girls will be the ones with him when he doesn’t even realize he needs me.
I take a moment to judge them. You can too. I mean, fuck. Look at them. Resembling two chicks who clearly came from a costume store with their shimmery black dresses. They’re twins, obviously, with black hair down to their waists and fake perky tits popping out of their barely-there dresses covering their perfectly round asses.
Seriously? Who has an ass like that? Evidently they work on it, or they have ass implants because they don’t make them like that. I know this for sure. Unless your last name is Kardashian. Then apparently it’s in the genes.
Ugh! Stop, Scar. You’re not the jealous type.
When the elevator begins to move, Tiller notices me. He rips his hood off his head and leans into the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
He says something to Shade in his ear, and his head lift to mine, but falls just as quickly. I should be excited because he looked at me, right?
Nope. He basically looked right through me like I wasn’t even there.
Maybe he doesn’t recognize me? Probably not. Our meeting last year was brief.
As the girls talk and giggle, Tiller pays them no mind and gives me a once over, dark, cautious eyes lingering longer than I would have expected from Tiller.
His mouth twists into something that resembles a smirk, but it fails to last as he asks, “Are you a stripper?”
Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve been asked this from a hotel guest. I toss him a condescending glance, mocking his assumption. “What would make you think I’m a stripper?” I put emphasis on the word like he did.
The girls laugh, thinking it’s an insult, but it’s not. They should be insulted he’s looking at me with them in the same elevator because he certainly doesn’t seem all that interested in them, and Shade, he hasn’t even looked up from his phone.
Tiller brushes his knuckles over his jaw, amusement dancing in his pupils. “I once fucked a stripper dressed like a maid, so I just assumed you were.”
Is he for real?
Sadly, he is for real, and I’m about to have some fun with him to mask my own embarrassment. I smile and wink at him. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but I’m not. You’re in a hotel,” I point out, and then motion to my body. “I’m dressed in a hotel uniform so that would make me a maid, not a stripper.”
To my surprise, Tiller tosses his head back and laughs darkly, a loud booming sound that carries through the small elevator. “We could reenact that night I fucked the stripper if you want, only you can show me how a real maid does it.”
I don’t even look in his direction when I say, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
He nudges Shade with his elbow and then cocks his head to the side, like he doesn’t hear me right, and dang it, he looks just as good his brother. “Can you believe this shit? She said no to me,” he says, like the idea someone would deny him is preposterous.
Shade glances up at him but doesn’t say anything, his head slowly tilting back to his phone. At least I think they do. He’s wearing sunglasses so I have no idea what he’s looking at—aside from his phone, the direction his head is tipped.
When we reach the third floor, I panic internally because I’m supposed to get off on this floor but there’s no way I’m exiting the elevator with Shade on it. I’ll ride it all day long if he’s in here.
Quickly pressing the button, the mirrored doors close and we’re heading back up to the penthouse suite. Me, the Sawyer brothers, and the Doublemint twins.
My stare focuses on Shade and the way he won’t even acknowledge my presence in the elevator with them. I do feel slightly better he doesn’t look at anyone. It’s like he’s in a world by himself hidden behind his dark sunglasses.
My heart pounds in my chest so loudly I’m sure they can all hear it but then again, the girls are laughing and talking so loudly I doubt anyone can hear a goddamn thing.
Look how beautiful he is. He’s leaner than he was the last time I saw him. He’s wearing black jeans and a white button-down shirt, the top few buttons undone revealing his beautiful, artful ink spread across his neck and up the side of his half-shaved head. On the top of his head he’s got a mess of dark hair he brushes to the side, out of his face every so often.
He’s the most beautiful man alive, isn’t he?
Not only do I think that but millions of others do too. Don’t believe me? He was actually voted as the most beautiful man of the year by People magazine and being this close to him now, I can totally see why.
Look at me, Shade! Just look and you’ll remember me!
What the fuck is so interesting with his phone?
Tiller doesn’t say anything else to me, maybe because I dismissed his ass. Instead, he’s looking at the girls in the elevator, as if he wants to shove something in their mouths to get them to stop talking. I know what he wants to shove in there, too.
The more talkative of the two wraps her skinny arms around his waist. “You like me, right?”
Why would she even bother asking that? Of course he doesn’t. Even I don’t ask stupid questions like that.
“No, I don’t like you.” Tiller chuckles, pinning her with his intimidating stare. “I don’t like anyone. I’m just trying to get my dick in your mouth by the end of the night.”
See? Told you.
I stifle back a laugh, smiling internally, but then I’m watching Shade again, his attention on his phone growing more concerning. His left hand that’s holding it is now shaking, his jaw clenching and unclenching, the muscles in his arms tightening and if you look at his chest, it’s rising and falling rapidly, as if what he sees on his phone is disturbing him.
My heart lurches in my chest, goes out to him even though I have no idea what’s going on. All I know is I want to take that feeling away from him.
Tiller senses there’s something going on and pushes off the side of the elevator to stand next to Shade, the girl clinging to his body staying with him, like she can’t possibly bear to part herself from him.
Tiller whispers something in his ear, but Shade immediately shakes his head, as if he won’t entertain the idea of what he’s asking.
The shorter of the twins, the one with the bright-red lipstick on, checks herself in the mirrored walls and then tucks her arm around Shade’s. “It’s certainly true you’re the sexiest man alive, isn’t it?”
Shade says nothing, doesn’t even acknowledge her.
Ha. Sucks to be you, slut.
She ups her antics by purring in his ear, “I can’t wait to see the rest of your tattoos. How low does the one on your stomach go?”
Tiller chuckles darkly and mumbles, “Hate to break it to you, but you’re not going to find out tonight, sweetheart.”
“Says who?” she snaps back, unamused with Tiller. Hell, even her sister wrapped around him laughs.
He nods to Shade and crosses his arms, my eyes landing on his elaborately tattooed hands in the process. “Says him. You need to get the fuckin’ hint.” His tone is so matter-of-fact that I’m surprised she didn’t. She’s the definition of a “pro ho” for sure.
If you’re asking yourself, Scar, what’s a pro ho?
It’s a slut who hangs all over a professional athlete. I learned this by all my research. Thank you, Urban Dictionary. And just so we’re clear, I may be in love with Shade, but I’m most certainly not a pro ho. I can tell you who’s leading the X Fighters points. Shade. I can also tell you how many gold medals he’s won and every event he’s won in the last two years. Thank you, ESPN. I’m definitely no pro ho. Or “moto ho” as some call them.
Worming herself closer to him, she clings to Shade’s side like a monkey attaching itself to its mother.
I’m completely and utterly jealous she’s feeling the heat of his body against hers.
And then she whispers, or rather purrs, “I can convince him otherwise.” To his surprise, and mine, she grabs his phone from his hand and shoves it down the front of her dress where most women store their cell phones. Their bras. Only she’s not wearing one. I have no idea how it stays put, other than the fact that she has huge tits, which by the way, I’m totally jealous of.
That’s not what’s concerning to me. It’s the way Tiller’s watching his brother now. Something about the way he’s fixated on his phone bothers Tiller and holds my attention as well. Shade raises his sunglasses, just enough for her to see his eyes and shoots the Doublemint twin wrapped around him a murderous glare. “Knock it off,” he grits out of nowhere and then he rips his arm from hers, reaches for his cell phone and steps away from her two feet. Aloofness bleeds from his words and my heart drums wilder.
Whoa.
I can’t imagine how the dark-haired bimbo felt being dismissed so easily.
She bites her lip, probably attempting not to cry. Silence falls in the elevator with his demand, the sharpness of his tone echoing through the small space. It’s as if the air vanishes and I find it hard to breathe.
Damn, he can be scary.
Do you hear the way my heart skips a beat and the way my breath catches in my throat suddenly?
His reaction to someone taking his phone is yet another reason why I like him. I dig the intense motherfuckers who aren’t afraid to tell you off.
And guess what? He side-stepped the pro ho and is now standing next to me. As in there’s maybe six inches separating the two of us.
Be cool, Scar. Be cool. Oh, and breathe.
I do. One carefully controlled breath. Or was that a sigh?
Tiller chuckles, giving a slow shake of his head and a pointed glance at the pro ho. “Told you.”
Righting his sunglasses, Shade obsessively rubs the stubble along his jaw, and I’m about to whisper something to him, what I don’t know. That I love him? That he should ditch the Doublemint twins and I can play naughty maid with him?
His head drops between his shoulders, and he shakes it back and forth.
The elevator then dings for the penthouse suite and they all shuffle into the hall, except Shade.
My treacherous eyes drift to his. He stands there for a moment, typing on his phone and I’m about to hit the close door button and lock us in the elevator together, but Tiller yells after him.
“Bro, let’s go.”
Shade’s head snaps up and then he looks down at his phone that chirps with a message, his brow furrowing as he examines it. His jaw clenches, obviously not happy with what’s on his phone. He also has a death grip on it.
And here’s where our contact happens. His shoulder brushes mine and a warm blast of heat hits me at the brief contact. A shiver rolls down my spine, sending electricity through me.
I tilt my head in his direction. A waft of his scent—clean, earthy, masculine—fills my nose and I inhale and shiver once more. He slides his sunglasses to the brim of his nose, his eyes meeting mine, and my stomach knots like a pretzel. My heart flutters in my chest as his beauty slams into me.
How can a man be so pretty? It’s not fair to women.
Though the only contact is our shoulders, I feel the contact we make through my entire body.
He arches a thick devilish eyebrow at me, as if to ask what I’m staring at.
What am I staring at? Is he inviting me to his room? Is that an arch for “Hey, baby, follow me?”
Sadly, I don’t think it is.
Our gazes lock for the briefest moment, and I allow myself to get lost in the blue. As if he knows I can sense there’s something bothering him tonight, he blinks away the expression.
His eyes, lazy yet brooding, give me a slow once over before landing on his phone again.
I wonder if now would be a good time to ask him to follow me on Instagram?
I want to rip the phone from his hands and see what’s so interesting to him, but I saw how that went with the girl. I can see it in his eyes, something’s happening around him that maybe he’s not going to tell me, but it’s real and not good. He’s still pretty, but he’s also a mess of epic proportions.
“Are you okay?” I ask timidly, my voice a whisper.
His emotionless baby blue irises slide in my direction over the top of his sunglasses. He doesn’t answer me, but he does shake his head, his scowl filling something completely unexpected. Pain. Slipping his phone in his pocket, Shade uses his free hand to tousle his unruly hair from his face. And then he steps out of the elevator along with my chances with him tonight because the girls follow greedily behind them.
My heart pounds too fast, my mouth drying. I swallow over the dryness in my throat that feels like I have sawdust in my mouth. I stand on the elevator and then I get pissed, my face heating, anger hitting me that he didn’t have the decency to reply to me.
How dare he ignore me!
Why couldn’t he take a minute to acknowledge the love of his life standing five feet from him? I mean, for fuck’s sake, Tiller paid more attention to me than he did.
But then again, what if there’s something wrong with him? He needs me to make him feel better! You saw that uneasiness. You tell me, is he okay?
Didn’t think so. Still doesn’t help my pride though.
You’ve heard that song “Big Girls Don’t Cry” by Fergie?
Dude, she had it right. I wouldn’t cry just because Shade Sawyer dismissed me. I’d come back like a wrecking ball. Shit, different song.
Oh well, you see my determination, don’t you?
Precisely.