“John”

“I don’t know why you torture yourself like this.” Oliver slicks a palm across the leather-wrapped steering wheel of my Town Car as I peer out a tinted window. We’re parked in front of the Melrose. Waiting.

“I want to make sure she makes it out.” And that no one hassles her.

“Yeah, because she might get lost on her way down in the elevator.”

I ignore him, remaining still and studying the front doors as rain collects on the window and disturbs my line of sight.

A man in a charcoal suit ambles down the sidewalk, stopping next to my car. He glances at the Melrose and tilts his umbrella just enough for me to catch his profile before he heads in.

“No fucking way.” Oliver says exactly what I was thinking. “Tell me that isn’t Trey Bancroft.”

My veins heat as I watch him fold his umbrella and nod at the doorman, walking in like he owns the place. The asshole checked his watch a second ago, which tells me he’s likely meeting someone.

I pull the door handle and step out into the rain.

“Bad idea,” Oliver says.

I straighten my tie and head toward the entrance. If Camille is still fucking Trey after everything that happened this year, I’ll lose it. I’ll fucking lose it.

I bought her exclusivity, and I saved her from that piece of shit narcissist.

Oliver follows after me, keeping two steps back and scanning our perimeter. I stop before we head inside.

“You need to stay in the car,” I say.

His blond brows scrunch, and he reminds me of a dog who doesn’t understand his master’s command.

“In case Camille comes through the lobby,” I explain. “If she sees you with me, she’ll know I’m . . . John.”

Oliver retreats to the car, and I head inside where Trey waits in line at the front desk.

“Trey.” I grip his shoulders. We’ve met a few times before, but only ever casually.

He startles slightly before turning to face me, and within seconds his face lights as if he’s posing for a picture on his campaign trail. His hand extends to mine.

“Mr. Montgomery,” he says. “Pleasure running into you here. Didn’t expect to run into you at the Melrose. White House all booked up?”

Why anyone would think a twenty-nine-year-old man would live with his parents for any reason is beyond me.

“Something like that,” I say. “What brings you here?”

I know for a fact the Melrose has no conference center, restaurant, or rental facilities. If you’re not checking in, you’re passing through the cozy bar for a drink.

“Raining like cats and dogs out there,” he says. “Thought I’d come in to get out of that mess.”

I don’t believe him. The man’s reputation for lying didn’t evolve by accident.

“Well, good seeing you, Trey,” I lie. “Just wanted to say hello.”

Trey nods.

“Oh, and I think the line for the bar is that way.” I point him away from the front desk, a subtle yet polite way of telling him I don’t buy his bullshit.

His smile fades. “Thank you.”

I take a seat in the waiting area, grabbing a newspaper and staying within earshot of the front desk area. Trey is next in line. He hasn’t so much as glanced toward the bar. When it’s his turn, I observe as he tells the clerk he’s meeting a friend but he doesn’t know her room number.

“The name, sir?” the clerk asks.

The elevator dings before Trey answers, and our gazes shoot in that direction. Camille steps off, her wool coat buttoned and black leather gloves covering her hands. Her hips swing as she struts past us both, and her tasteful kitten heels click against the marble tile with each stride.

She doesn’t look at anyone, but everyone within a fifty-foot radius looks at her.

My heart hammers.

Never mind that an hour ago I was plunged deep inside her; seeing her here and now, knowing I can’t talk to her or touch her, makes me want her all over again.

She tucks a sleek, dark lock behind her ear, and I catch a hint of the pearl earrings. I saw them in a window display this morning and thought they were only fitting. Diamonds are cliché, and not nearly as rare as most people think. Pearls, on the other hand, are different. You don’t find a pearl in every oyster you crack, only the special ones.

“Complimentary umbrella, miss?” The doorman hands her an open umbrella the color of midnight.

With that, she thanks him and disappears into the night air.