21
Emmy
The staff at the hotel were solicitous and practically falling over themselves to make me feel comfortable. All it did was make me feel a bit like a specimen. They were clearly curious.
I was shown to a room that was really more of a suite. It had a sitting area and desk as well as a large king-sized bed. The building wasn't as tall as some others in the area, so there was no skyline view. But at least it was overlooking the street below and not the back of another building that so many of them did in New York. The room was modern but sumptuous—clean lines and comfortable furnishings. The bathroom had a large glassed-in shower that was a rare size for this city, and hanging behind the door was a large white fluffy robe.
I sighed with happiness. I'd order room service just as Trystan had suggested, take a long hot shower, wrap myself up in the robe, and maybe watch a chick flick. For one night, I wouldn't let myself worry about anything. What had Trystan said? Give us both a break? It was true I needed a mental break from worrying about money and David.
On that note, I thought I better get the call to my boss over with. I got his voicemail of course.
"Steven, sorry to call the office number so late. I don't have my phone, so I don't have your cell phone number with me. My uncle went missing today. It was awful. He's safe now, thank goodness. But of course I had to cancel my flight, and I have to make sure I deal with any fallout from that tomorrow. I won't be back for the pitch, but everything is ready for it, the deck is finished and saved on the server. Sorry, again. Thanks, Bye."
Grimacing, I hoped that would do. Steven was a stickler for people sticking to time off organized months in advance. I couldn't prove it, but I was convinced Trina the receptionist lost her job last year because her son had an emergency dental appointment after an accident at school and had to take time off without notice. Steven was an asshole, and for once he would just have to cope without me.
Hunting around the desk area, I found a simple grill-style menu from the hotel, but apparently one could order from any restaurants in the area too. I settled on a piece of fresh fish and vegetables from downstairs because it didn't look like it involved any gluten. Picking up the phone, I was about to dial zero when a voice spoke. "Good evening, Miss Dubois, may I get something for you?"
"Uh, hi." I looked at the phone, then put it back to my ear. "Um, may I order some dinner?"
"What can I get you this evening?"
"I was thinking of the fish."
"This evening we have two choices; an Adirondack Mountain Trout or an Alaskan Halibut. Both outstanding choices."
"The trout please. And is it prepared gluten-free?"
"It can be. I'll let chef know. Any other allergies?"
"Er, no."
"Very good. And Mr. Montgomery instructed that you would be having wine with dinner. Since you've ordered the fish, may I suggest our Sancerre?"
He did, did he?
"Um," I paused, quite taken aback by the whole affair. Trystan was certainly making sure I blew through all the money he'd sent me.
"If you don't like Sancerre, I can sugg—"
"No, no. Sancerre is fine."
"Very good, and what time would you like to eat?"
I looked at my watch, knowing I wanted to shower and wash my hair. But I was also starving. "Maybe in about forty minutes?" I could dry my hair later.
"Very well. Good evening, Miss Dubois."
"Thank you, bye." I set the phone back on its cradle and stared at it for a few minutes. Interesting set up Trystan had here.
I took my time in the shower, letting the delicious stream of hot water beat down my neck and back, pummeling away the stress of the day. The steam swirled with the scent of lavender and bergamot. At least, that's what the labels on the full-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner said. I was pink with heat by the time I emerged. I dried off, put on a tank and sleep shorts, and slipped into the large fluffy robe. I combed the tangles out of my hair and then wrapped it in an extra towel to squeeze some excess water out and keep it from dripping down my back while I ate my dinner.
Just in time. There was a knock at the door, a waiter brought in and set up my dinner on the desk. "May I get you anything else?" he asked as he backed toward the door.
"I'm fine. Thank you."
"Very well. Good evening." The door clicked closed behind him.
Picking up Trystan's phone as I sat down to eat, I saw he'd texted me.
Suit Monkey: Why does someone who doesn't eat gluten have a pizza menu on her refrigerator?
While I contemplated how to respond, I took a bite of trout and moaned. Wow, it was delicious. So was the sautéed spinach with artichoke hearts. Picking up the glass of wine the waiter had poured, I took a small sip.
Within minutes I had cleaned my plate and poured myself another glass of wine. I picked up the tray and plate and set it outside in the hall, then I picked up my glass of wine and fairly crawled into the bed. I felt decadent and relaxed.
Someone who has friends who aren't gluten-free?
Suit Monkey: Fair point. It's good pizza.
Of course. I'm guessing you didn't go out.
Suit Monkey: Too tired to contemplate going out and eating alone.
Eating alone. I took a sip of wine, feeling its warmth spread through me. Relaxing me. Trystan's family situation intrigued me. It must have been some few days for him if he hadn't seen his family in fourteen years and then showed up to the funeral and apparently the reading of the will. It was like a novel.
There must be someone in your family who would put up with you for one dinner? I typed and then deleted and started again. Why alone? Aren't you mending fences after fourteen years? Ugh. No. Not that either.
Suit Monkey: What are you too nervous to ask me? I keep seeing dots appear then go away.
Suit Monkey: And no I didn't look in your bedside table, in case that's what you were wondering.
I laughed. No, that wasn't it.
Suit Monkey: Well?
You said you were eating alone, and that you haven't seen your family in fourteen years. I have questions. I'm curious. I don't know what or how to ask, and I know you probably don't want to talk about them.
I stared at the phone wondering if I'd stepped over a line.
I bet you're sorry you pushed it, huh?
Still no answer.
Grrr. Texting sucked because you never knew if you'd said the wrong thing or it'd been taken the wrong way. But calling him now felt weird. We'd already spoken a few times today. For two people who didn't really know each other, that seemed excessive. So was asking him about his family, actually. It felt normal at the time, but if I had to describe what was going on to someone, I wasn't sure I'd be able to.
Just then he texted back.
Suit Monkey: I'm back. Bathroom break. Been drinking all that local craft beer Armand left in the fridge if you know what I mean. And your damned phone needed charging. Again.
Suit Monkey: To answer your question: It's complicated. So did you eat dinner?
I did. And I'm currently drinking your prescribed wine. Didn't I mention earlier how overbearing you could be?
Suit Monkey: But you like it. The wine, I mean ;)
If I don't slow down I may drink the whole bottle. The Sancerre. It's good.
Suit Monkey: Look at us, we're having a drink together. Cheers.
Cheers! This hotel is lovely.
Suit Monkey: It is. Glad you're enjoying. By the way, I think you were lying about having a cat.
I chuckle out loud. Nope. He just doesn't like most people. Especially men.
Hopping out of bed, I poured another glass of wine and grabbed the TV remote, and then climbed under the comforter. I really should have dried my hair, but it was so cozy, and I was so relaxed. The phone was quiet for a while then, and while I tried to concentrate on a Lifetime movie I came across that looked interesting, I couldn't seem to stop glancing at the phone. Eventually I gave in and texted him again.
I hope you don't mind that I had to turn off all the notifications for your dating apps. They were getting a bit much.
And I guess it was the wine that made me do it, but I kept going to see if I could get a response from him.
Also because I actually started to find myself really liking this one girl. She wanted to get together tonight. It would have been a bit awkward when I showed up instead of you.
The response came immediately.
Suit Monkey: I would have paid good money to witness that meet up.
Ugh. Men, I typed, but I was grinning madly. It felt like I had a bubble in my chest that could explode at any moment. Why do men get off on thinking about girls hooking up?
Suit Monkey: We're simple creatures. Visual creatures. And I'm sure women know how to make other women feel good. Since they have the same parts to practice on :)
So it's women's pleasure that turns you on? I bite my lip as I hit send.
Suit Monkey: Never thought of it quite that way, but . . . yes. I guess so. Among other things.
My own girly parts were buzzing with pleasure. What was I doing? I didn't know but thought maybe I should stop.
Suit Monkey: Where do you keep your meds, I need an aspirin or something. I have a tension headache brewing.
My bubble of I-don’t-know-what-this-is deflated somewhat as I was brought to reality.
In my bathroom cabinet?
Suit Monkey: I looked.
Oh, so he'd seen all my personal items, including my birth control pills. Why that bothered me but flirting with him and asking what turned him on didn't, was anyone's guess. I was a mess of confusing feelings.
Try the pantry cupboards?
The phone rang in my hand. I took a deep breath and swallowed. "Hello?"
"Sorry, it's easier than typing. Which pantry cupboards? I looked, but I'm not sure I know which you mean?"
"There's a pullout pantry, and there's a basket in one of the shelf drawers that has painkillers and stuff in there."
"Shelf drawers?" he repeated. "Not sure what you mean by that." I heard shuffling around and the opening and closing of doors.
"No, it's a pullout one. Regular cupboard door to the left."
"Hang on," he said.
The phone in my hand started doing a high-pitched ring. A video call.
Oh my shit.
I put my wine down and sat straight up. God, I was make-up-less, and my hair was up in a towel. Argh! I had to answer otherwise it would seem like I was avoiding it. With a wince, I accepted.
There was a beep and then Trystan's face and bare shoulders appeared.
"Emmy? Hey."
Holy mother of all Godlike creatures.
The screen focused, and he was brought into sharp relief and high-definition glory.
I stared at him wide-eyed and speechless. Damn, but he was gorgeous. Even with that crinkled, furrowed brow and brown hair shiny and disheveled like he'd stepped out of the shower and had just towel-dried it. He'd been naked in my shower. In my bedroom. Thoughts and visions torpedoed through my brain a mile a minute.
"Emmy? You're frozen. Can you hear me? Shit." He moved, his arm dropping down and . . . I got a drive-by view of his torso.
Suit Monkey wasn't wearing a suit.
A squeak left me—a gasp that had exploded from the pressure, and I realized I hadn't been breathing. I spurred into action, slamming the phone against my robe to muffle the sounds of me letting the air out of my lungs and trying to normalize my breathing. I pulled the towel off my head, and my damp hair flopped down. I raked fingers through it, over it, smoothing, and tucked it behind an ear.
I counted to three then brought the phone up. "Hi," I managed, my voice sounding stupidly breathless to my own ears.
Trystan was staring straight at the phone, one eyebrow quirked waiting for me. As we locked eyes though, something shifted in his expression. His eyebrow dropped, and we really looked at each other for a beat. His eyes looked dark gray, his jaw strong and shadowed. And his lips . . . I didn't think I ever noticed how perfectly formed they were.
"Hi back," he said softly after a moment, and I saw his Adam's apple move heavily. Could he tell on a small screen I was staring at his mouth? Holy shit, but he was absolutely stunning. My memory and his scarce phone photos did not do him justice.
At.
All.
"You're shirtless," I said stupidly.
His perfect lips quirked. "And you're in a robe."
"Did you just shower?" I asked.
"Did you?" he countered.
Fuck. What was going on? This was some crazy foreplay right here. I was so turned on. I squeezed my legs together.
He stared at me.
"So, painkillers?" I asked when I could no longer bear the tension.
"Ahem. Yeah." His gorgeous face disappeared and was replaced by the cabinets in my kitchen.
"Walk forward to the cabinets on the left," I started, then took a break to bite my own knuckle. "The end one has pullout drawers." I watched him open the door. "Okay see the third drawer?"
"Yeah." He slid it out.
"At the back is a basket."
He pulled the drawer out farther until the basket was in view. Sitting right next to the bottle of generic brand painkillers was a box of condoms I'd forgotten about.
Nausea swirled through me. How many times could I feel mortified in only a few days? Something about Trystan made me feel like I was operating on some flayed open level of vulnerability that made everything feel embarrassing.
Of course I had to watch as his hand went for the condoms instead of the painkillers.
"Well, well. Good to always be prepared. But why are they in your kitchen, Emmy?"
The camera angle swung around so I could see Trystan's amused face and cheeky eyebrow.
I covered my eyes.
"Don't you think they should be in your bedside drawer? With your other secrets?"
I took a deep breath, refusing to cower under his teasing. "Do people only have sex in bedrooms, Trystan?" I asked haughtily.
His eyes flickered and he pursed his lips. His gorgeous lips. He held up the box to inspect it. "Well, well, well. You haven't been having sex in here that's for sure. These are unopened, and . . ." He narrowed his eyes as if really examining the box. "Oh, Emmy, these raincoats are expired."
I slapped my hand over my eyes again. "Just get your painkillers and stop embarrassing me," I whined.
He laughed, slow and smooth, making my skin prickle. "Okay. Back in the cupboard they go. Just don't forget you need to replace them."
"If you don't need anything else," I started.
"Wait. Don't hang up."
I slowly took my hand away from my eyes.
"Can we?" His eyes flicked away and then back to mine. "Can we just talk?" He put the pills in his mouth then held up his beer before taking a swig. I got a nice long look at his beautiful neck and watched it move as he swallowed down the pills.
My mouth felt dry. I took a long gulp of wine.