Chapter 46

Early the next morning, I was rushing around my hotel room when the telephone rang – not my cell phone, but rather the phone on the night stand.

I gave it a worried glance.

In five minutes, I was supposed to be meeting Zane in the lobby, where we'd be catching his limo to his next scheduled interview.

Still, vowing to make it quick, I answered the phone with a breathless, "Hello?"

It was Carla, the receptionist from the main office, who sounded a little breathless herself. "I'm terribly sorry to ask, but…" She hesitated. "Is Mister Bennington there?"

I felt my eyebrows furrow. "You don't mean in my hotel room?"

"I wouldn’t even ask, but it's an emergency." She lowered her voice to just a whisper. "Everyone knows, so there's really no need to hide it."

I froze. "Everyone knows what?"

"That you two are…you know."

"No," I said. "I don't."

She sighed. "Oh great. Am I in trouble now?"

"Why would you be in trouble?"

"I don't know," she said. "For not pretending?"

"Pretending what?"

"Not to know."

I made a sound of frustration. "Not to know what?"

After a long moment, she whispered, "That you're his…" Again, she hesitated.

"His what?"

And then, in a low whisper, she dropped the hammer. "Mistress."

I sank to a sitting position on the bed. The term, as old-fashioned as it was, felt like a slap to the face, especially because Zane and I were barely on speaking terms. I said, "Excuse me?"

"Oh come on," she whispered. "You're the only one who pretends."

Where on Earth had this come from? "I hate to tell you this, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

She was still whispering. "Listen, you seem like a really nice person, and I'm just hoping I don't get in trouble for this, but you should probably know that he's already admitted it."

If I weren't already sitting, this would've knocked me on my ass for sure. "He has? When?"

"I dunno…Maybe a month after you were hired?"

That asshole. Trying not to lose it, I said, "And just who did he 'admit' this to?"

"To that bedding supplier from Cincinnati."

"Boris Feldman?"

"I think so."

"So, let me get this straight," I said. "Zane Bennington – our boss – told Boris Feldman that I was his mistress? Am I understanding that right?"

Sounding more nervous than ever, she whispered, "Oh, no. You're angry, aren't you?"

Yes.

I was.

But not at her.

On the phone, Carla muttered, "I knew I should've kept my big mouth shut."

By now, I hardly knew what to think. But I did know that none of this was Carla's fault. Absently, I murmured, "No. It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Uh, yeah." I paused. "Wait a minute. Was that why you were so nervous when that guy showed up with those flowers?"

"Well, wouldn't you be nervous?" she whispered. "I mean, I know Mister Bennington sees other people, but…" Again, her words trailed off.

"But I don't?"

How humiliating was this? I could only imagine what everyone thought of me. Not only was I the ho-bag sleeping with my boss, but I was so pathetic that I let him run around like some kind of horn-dog while I waited at his beck and call.

Carla sighed. "Well, I've never seen you with anyone else, except the guy with the flowers. And you seemed pretty eager to get rid of him, so I just figured…" She paused. "You know what? This is really none of my business."

All of this was giving me a headache. I reached up to rub my temples. By now, I hardly knew what to say. Somehow, I managed to mumble, "No. It's fine. I'm glad you said something."

"Oh, sure," she whispered, "you're glad, but what's gonna happen when Mister Bennington finds out?"

"Nothing's gonna happen. It's fine."

"If you say so." Carla said, sounding far from convinced. "And I'm sorry to push the issue, but I've gotta know. Is he around? Like, maybe in the shower or something?"

Oh, good grief.

Through gritted teeth, I said, "Did you try his room?"

"Sure, but—" Abruptly, she stopped. "Never mind."

"But what?" I asked.

After a long pause, she said, "But someone named Tiffany answered. She said he'd been gone for hours."

I felt my hand tighten around the phone. "Tiffany? As in the senator's fiancée?"

"I'm not sure. She didn't say." Carla paused. "So is he there?"

It seemed like a ridiculous question. After all, if Zane Bennington were here in my room, I certainly wouldn’t be asking all of these stupid questions. And why? Because I'd be too busy throttling him.

"He's not here," I told her. "And in fact, he's never here."

"Oh." She hesitated. "Because the penthouse is that much nicer?"

"No," I said with all the patience I could muster. "Because I’m not sleeping with him. I don't even like him."

That made her pause. "Really?

"Yes. Really." In the back of my mind, I started listing the reasons.

Because he's a total prick.

Because he lied about me.

Because he was awful in all the ways that counted.

And… Before I could continue with my mental list, a thud just outside my hotel room made me pause. This was quickly followed by a yelp, and then a scream. I looked toward the sound and felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. The screamer sounded like a guy.

Well, that was odd.

Into the phone, I said, "Sorry, but I've gotta go."

"But what about Mister Bennington?"

Fuck Mister Bennington. But I didn’t say it, because none of this was Carla's fault. So instead, I promised to keep an eye out and quickly hung up before dashing to the door to see what on Earth was going on.

I poked my head out of the doorway and looked down the long corridor, just in time to see Zane Bennington – shirtless, no less – dragging the senator away by his ankle.

What the hell?