Page 24 of The Price of Forever

Jordan nodded gently, seeming to mull over the plan. Then she took a deep breath, straightening her back. “That makes sense.”

“You pack. I’ll find a place.”

She headed for her bedroom while I took a few moments to collect myself. I was no stranger to crisis intervention. During my earlier years, when I was intent on doing the highest profile gigs possible, I’d experienced almost everything. I’d talked down the Princess of Monaco after an unruly crowd had gotten the best of multiple security guards. I’d arrived on site after an intruder broke into a certain A-lister’s Malibu home and helped himself to countless diamonds—and on that afternoon, dried far more tears than Jordan shed tonight. The list of what I’d lived through—and put my fist through—was too long to recount. Which made my reaction tonight strange.

Jordan was different. When I held her, I wanted to continue holding her.

And that was absolutely not going to fucking happen.

It had to be the hour. I checked my watch—2:01 a.m. Yes, it was the hour, and the fact that I hadn’t gotten laid in weeks. That, and I’d seen far too much of Jordan’s ass that evening to be considered of sound mind. What I needed was a cold shower and a good night’s sleep.

And to get laid. By someone who was not Jordan. But that would come later, once we figured out her safety.

I stared dumbly at my phone for a moment before I realized the simplest plan would be to hole up at one of her brothers’ properties. They only had about a hundred houses between the three Fairchilds. She wouldn’t like it—but it would be simple. Elegant, even. I pushed to my feet and went to her bedroom, rapping on the doorframe.

“You know, we could just head straight to one of Axel or Damian’s propert—”

“Absolutely not.”

I deflated slightly. Part of me wanted to probe into the why again, but it was neither the time nor my place. “I’ll find a hotel.”

While Jordan skittered between bedroom and bathroom packing her things, I found the best hideout hotel for a cool 5k per night. Luxury and comfort that would provide something of a reset, which I thought she might appreciate.

I called for the car while she finished up. Legs didn’t work this time of night, so the other driver, Harry, was on call. I released the chair from underneath her doorknob before we shuffled out and locked up. She didn’t seem sad about leaving; instead, she remained expressionless as she slid into the waiting sedan.

I’d booked us a premier suite at the Ritz Carlton, overlooking Central Park. Plenty of space to hole up for awhile. I knew that her brothers would have insisted on getting the penthouse for their little sister, but I suspected that would just upset Jordan further. The goal was to keep her calm to figure out next steps. So hopefully this satisfied both parties.

The lobby of the Ritz was quiet at this time of night, echoing with opulence. We checked in quickly, almost wordlessly, taking the elevator to our twentieth-floor room. As we pushed our way into the suite, it was hard not to marvel over the marble countertops and gold-accented decorations. The place was spotless, neatly arranged, breathtakingly situated.

“Is there only one bed?” Jordan flicked on the bedroom lights and looked back at me, brows furrowed.

“Uh…” I reached for my phone, intending to check the reservation. “I thought I’d gotten two.”

“This looks like one king. Unless there’s another room I’m missing.”

I scrolled through my phone until I found the reservation confirmation for 1 King Bed Suite. Fuck. “No, this is right. I fucked it up. We’ll go back down and get a different room.”

She sighed, sinking into an armchair. “Do we have to? I’m ready to pass out.”

I looked around the living area, jerking my chin toward the sofa. “This probably pulls out into a bed. I’ll sleep here.”

She tipped her head as she studied the sofa. “You think you’ll fit on that thing?”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

“You’re like, seven feet tall. Which must be how you got your name.”

“Keep guessing. I’ll let you know if you ever hit it on the nose.”

She grinned. “You take the bed. I can sleep on the couch.”

“You’re not sleeping on the couch. Your brothers would kill me.”

She glowered, but it was brief. “I’m not sleeping on that bed if it means you have to scrunch into a ball out here. You saved my ass tonight. The least I can do is let you stretch yours out.”

I scratched at my head. She had a point. And I really didn’t want to sleep on that loveseat of a couch.

“We can both sleep in the king,” she finally said. “It’s big enough for, like, four adult humans.”

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