Chapter 5
Claire
Where the hell were all the damn bartenders?
How could such a massive party not have any? Nearly everyone had a drink, but there were no standard bar areas. I didn't understand how any of this worked. Why did the ultra rich have to do everything so counter intuitively? It was all so frustrating!
I wandered around for a while aimlessly, just trying to calm down. Did Maynard know that Chance was going to be here?
Maynard had an infuriating way of keeping me guessing. Every time I thought I had him figured out he'd act the complete opposite way. He kicked that model couple out because they were mean to me, then he got insulted in the elevator. Maynard inviting someone like me in the first place didn't even make sense!
What should I do now? Should I just leave? He told me I could, but that was before I took his hand in the elevator. He already paid me, there was nothing stopping me from leaving.
Still, that look he gave me when he thought I'd turned down his offer was stuck in my mind. That sorrowful look melted me. Was that why I was still here? To see if there was more to the man than he let on...
Ugh, I wanted to scream! I hated feeling like this! I'd done all this with Chance, I couldn't stand doing it again!
And to top it all off I couldn't even get a fucking drink!
Finally I spotted a hotel employee walking around with a handcart loaded up with several cases of alcohol. I followed him to what looked like a newspaper kiosk. Each room had one of these, but I just thought they were part of some theme I hadn't understood.
I should've known that they weren't there as a social commentary about how print media was dead. No, they were filled with alcohol. I felt a little silly for not figuring it out faster.
The waist high front shelves had every beer I'd ever heard of and far more that I hadn't. The back shelves were chock full of spirits so expensive in regular bars that I'd never dared to ask about them in case even the questions costed money. Between the two shelves was a small table with every mixer I could imagine.
“Um, excuse me?” I asked the man restocking the empty beer shelves, he stopped and smiled attentively at me. “Do you know when the bartender will be back?
“There are no bartenders. We encourage guests to make their own drinks.” The man said, almost apologetically. I could tell he wasn't used to Maynard's way of doing things either. “But, I know a few recipes, I might be able to make you something. What would you like?”
Why would Maynard have all this liquor, then force guests to make their own drinks? I snorted to myself, just another in the million questions I had about that man. I wish I didn't think about him so much. It seemed that he'd been on my mind constantly since I met him. It was even difficult to focus on my research at work today, because I couldn't get his damn blue eyes out of my head.
“Uh, sure.” I snapped out of my daze. While searching around all this time for a drink, I hadn't given any thought to what kind of drink I wanted. I just asked for the first thing that popped into my head. “Uh, sex on the beach, if you can, please?
I almost cringed at my selection. Maynard was still on my mind, so of course I'd be thinking of sex...
“We don't have a beach up here, but I can clear everyone out of the fountain room—” The thick voice behind me wafted through me like satiny smoke. The same way it had when his sweaty, rock hard body was on top of me, whispering sexy promises. I turned quickly to face him, suddenly feeling the fabric of my panties rubbing against my swollen clit. “If you want to get wet.”
Maynard thanked the employee, dismissing him with a casual wave. I struggled to push the image of Maynard's corded muscles dripping with water, from my head. Damn him.
“You startled me!” I hoped that was enough of an excuse to explain the sudden flushness in my face and my rapid pulse rate. I didn't want to be this turned on near him, since I was still pretty angry.
“I've always liked a 'slow comfortable screw', care to try one?” Maynard grazed my shoulder as he walked by me. The combination of his heat, slight pressure and scent as he passed, raised the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. It reminded me just how torturous that elevator ride with him was.
“Why don't you go 'comfortably screw' yourself,” I said, with as much indignation as I could manage. The threat came off too much like an actual question than a curse. I was still too off-kilter from his abrupt arrival to have the tone I wanted.
“I haven't had to do that in quite awhile, shit I might have forgotten how.” Maynard flipped liquor bottles around like a fancy mixologist, pouring two drinks smoother than anyone I'd ever seen. “You mind giving me a refresher?”
It occurred to me why he didn't have bartenders. This was part of the show. He would inconvenience a whole party just to be able to show off a little bit more. He was truly unbelievable.
Spitefully, I grabbed a regular beer off one of the chilled shelves and drank that instead of the beautiful drink he'd prepared for me.
If my rebellious act bothered Maynard, he didn't show it. His smirk widened as he carefully topped each drink with a splash of orange juice, then abandoned them to grab himself a beer as well.
“Why did you invite me here?” I scoffed at his doesn't-matter-to-me gesture. “Are you trying to torture me? Are these the kinds of games that bored rich people play?”
“The only torture I like is in the bedroom.” He shrugged. “And is it really torture if you beg me for it?”
Wow. He was laying it on awfully thick, even for him. I'd already told him I wasn't sleeping with him again, but that didn't stop Maynard from switching into overdrive mode
“Just cut the crap, will you?”
“Why should I?” Maynard took a sip of his beer, a quizzical expression on his face. “You're the one that bailed on me when I needed you.”
“I didn't know Chance was going to be here.” Heat rushed to me again, but this time it was because I was getting upset. “Seeing my ex-boyfriend changed the situation”
“What changed the situation was you deciding to fuck me over.” Maynard's eyes narrowed at that. “Do you have any idea, what position you put me in?”
“Are you really this shallow?” I was sorry for the way I left, but did he really chase after me just to attack me? “I was hoping that at least some part of this—” I waved my hand at his meticulously cultivated image. “—Was an act. Do you give a damn about anything other than yourself?
“Why the fuck should I?” Maynard's voice was almost too low to hear, but became louder as he continued. “Women come and go. And people you care about, die.”
Maynard's face darkened like a lone cloud blotted out the sun above him, his perfect, careless playboy exterior finally cracked. The background music and chatter in the room evaporated into steam as Maynard's voice got louder. Everyone stopped what they were doing and gawked. Some people took out their phones to record the melt down, and others just left because of the awkwardness.
“This hotel is the only fucking thing I have. It's all I care about!” Maynard screamed at the room full of people, then threw his beer bottle at the balcony's glass wall. The whole pane of glass came crashing down, and shattered in a brilliant display. When all the noise ceased, and it was quiet enough that my own thoughts were deafening, Maynard finished his thought. “And now that's gone too.”
I felt like a statue, all the anger I had just a moment ago drained away. Maynard Cooper was more a symbol than a man. I could only imagine what the media was going to do to him once all these cellphone videos of him losing his temper, hit the internet.
Maynard made his way through the shattered glass and out on to the large balcony.
Seeing all the rage and pain in Maynard's eyes, part of me felt like I was watching a Greek tragedy. He didn't come off as the type that flies off the handle at the drop of a hat, there had to be more going on.
Maynard was losing his hotel, when did that happen? Did I somehow play a part in that by not going to that meeting. Even if I did, what was one hotel to a billionaire? What had happened with his sister that changed him so much?
No one went to talk to him, to see if he was alright or even to find out what had happened. For several agonizing minutes I stood alone in the middle of the room and watched as everyone filtered out. Music and laughter flooded into the room from the open door. The rest of the party rolled on unchanged.
In the time I'd been with him, I had seen Maynard greet many people as a host, but none as friends. Most people seemed to only know him by name or reputation, I didn't get the impression that anyone really knew him.
In a sense, he was alone in a sea full of admirers.
I tried to decide what I should do next. Certainly no one would blame me for leaving. But when I finally moved my legs they were headed in the opposite direction. I was walking toward the balcony, toward Maynard. I hadn't known what it was like to be a celebrity, but I knew loneliness all too well.
My heels crunched on shards of broken glass as I carefully made my way out onto the expansive, cobblestone balcony. I wasn't dressed to be outside in December, but that didn't matter. Heat lamps lined the overhang roof and the bottom of the metal railings that ran down the length of the building's balcony.
Maynard leaned on the railing and looked out over the city he called home. The hotel's height made the view incredibly serene. We were up too high to hear the horns and hustle of everyone on the ground.
I carefully navigated the uneven stone flooring to sidle up next to him. I had no idea what was going to come out of his mouth next, a joke, a come-on or maybe even an insult, but I did expect him to say something.
Nothing came. For a long while we didn't speak at all, we just stared out over the horizon. The sky was overcast, but the stars were still out in the form of a million window lights, that shined below us. It felt like we were gods standing above the heavens.
Sexual innuendos aside, I understood the appeal of living somewhere sixty-nine floors off the ground. The scope of it made all my problems seem so insignificant. I wasn't totally cool with heights, but something about the breathtaking view just filled me with this sense of hope.
I looked at Maynard. His hair was rustled slightly, and the suit he wore wasn't as pristine as when I'd first seen him in the lobby. It dawned me that I'd seen Maynard as a one-night-stand, a mystery, and as a larger-than-life host, but never did I take a moment to try to see him as just a man.
“Hey,” I said. Maynard turned slowly to face me. He was just a handsome man, whose burning blue eyes made my knees quiver...“Are you OK?”