Page 35 of Something So Strong

Forcing a smile, I take it from her, scan it, and try my best not to let my reaction at the size of her bill show on my face.

“How was your stay with us, Mrs Starwoski?” I ask politely and print the bill.

“Adequate, I suppose.” Her pearl earrings swing as she sharply spins her head to the side, making me privy to the mass of wrinkles she’s trying to hide with her oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses.

“Well, I’m sorry we couldn’t have made it more to your liking,” I force out with sickly sweet insincerity. And I suddenly feel much more comfortable that Kai is so close.

Taking the bill from me, the guest taps her own pen on the marble. Her eyes keenly scrutinizing every charge.

“Here we go,” Kai whispers, creeping closer. And with a quick glance down, I can see one of his feet is between mine. My right hand grips onto the mouse for dear life and I have to ball my left into a fist to keep from reaching behind and feeling his thigh.

“Absolutely terrible. I never made this charge.”

Shaken, I remember my place. “I’m sorry. Did you give your card—”

“And here again! Every day, in fact. This makes me look like an alcoholic.”

“My apologies, Mrs Starwoski,” Kai speaks up. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

The thigh I wanted to so desperately touch just seconds ago is now pushing against the back of my leg as he reaches for the bill. But he doesn’t ease back. He places the paper beside the keyboard, rests his weight on the ball of one hand, and pivots his hips to press himself against my side.

Can she see?

Honestly, I don’t think so. This guest is too self-consumed to notice anything beyond the end of her own nose, but I wouldn’t have cared if she could because this feeling is everything. It has to be what girls feel like when—after making eyes at me all night—I corner them, back them against the wall, and cage them with my arm. They play coy, sometimes pretending to be scared at what I could do to them, but they’re silently counting down with bated breath the seconds until I show them who’s in charge…

“It’s Jean’s first day, so it is possible a mistake was made.”

No, there isn’t. Kai knows just as well as I do the system would never be wrong this many times.

“Was there any chance you loaned your key card to another guest?”

“No,” she snaps at him with an air of offense in her voice.

“Then perhaps, did you leave it unattended?”

“What do you take me for, young man? I’m not an idiot. I was educated at Barnard.”

Well, la-di-fucking-da, lady!

I’m about as triggered as I can get.

I’d bet my entire year’s wages that I’m set to inherit more wealth than this bitch has managed to fuck her way underneath of. Though, unlike her, I know money doesn’t buy respect or manners. But to dare throw around being educated at a half-rate university like it means she can’t be questioned? I just graduated from UCL and have a Master's position waiting for me at Imperial College London. And both of them shit on Barnard. So if she wants to talk about how an education equals unquestionable intelligence, she picked the wrong day to try to muscle her way out of paying for her obvious problem with excess control.

Inhaling sharply and preparing myself to clap back, my hips are thrust against the edge of the desk as Kai pushes harder into me, and my mind goes blank. In an instant, nothing in the world matters except for how the outline of Kai’s dick feels against my outer thigh.

He isn’t hard, but I am.

His body is scorching.

His words are virtually incoherent in my ear.

“Unfortunately, Mrs Starwoski, if neither of those things occurred, then it is your bill to pay.”

This is going to be one of those times where Kai doesn’t let the guest win.

All three of us know she ordered those drinks and thinks she can bully us into not charging her, so she doesn’t have to explain the giant charge to her credit card when she returns home to husband number eight. Her reasoning is completely invalid, but fuck, this isn’t even about her anymore. She’s purely a pawn in Kai’s game.

“I’d like to speak to your supervisor.”

---