Page 38 of Room Service
“Wanna send me a pic?”
“Fuck off.”
“Okay, okay,” he says, laughing at my reaction. He’s been tied down for years, but he still likes to fuck with me about being an over-aged playboy who doesn’t know what to do with his dick. Wanker. “You said she’s married?”
“Separated,” I clarify.
“For how long?”
“A week or so.”
“Jesus Christ, Dorien,” he says with a sigh. “She’s barely in the rebound zone, and you’re catching feelings for her?”
“I’m not catching feelings, and I’m sure as shit not a rebound,” I boom, offended by the insinuation.
“No? Then what the hell are you?”
“I… I don’t fucking know.”
“Might want to get clued up before you start calling me with woman drama,” he taunts, and if he were in front of me, I’d be sticking my middle finger up and telling him to go and swivel.
“I do not have woman drama.”
“Oh, you do, you just don’t want to accept it.”
“Fuck my life,” I say on a breath as a car toots it’s horn below, disrupting the peace of the morning.
“Want me to put Chantel on the phone?” he asks, referring to his wife.
“Christ, no.” I adore Chantel, but I don’t need her on my case about fucking a married woman and having no direction other than my hotel chains.
“Then pull your head out of your arse, Dorien, and figure out where your fuck boy life is really taking you.” He pulls no punches, just like me, and I guess it’s why our friendship has stayed the course.
I grit my teeth and wonder why I bloody called him in the first place. “I wanted clarity, not a goddamn lecture.”
“Then you called the wrong person.”
“Bastard.”
“Always,” he says, not even a little bit bothered by my response to him being perfectly reasonable.
“You’re going to tell Chantel anyway, aren’t you?” I ask, even though I don’t really need to.
“Of course. And you can expect us to be at the hotel in the next twenty-four hours,” he tells me. They know which hotel I’m staying in, because of course I told them about the merger and my impromptu plan to hang around here for a little while, missing out the fact that Elise is one of the maids, of course—they’ll find out soon enough, anyway.
“Wonderful,” I reply sarcastically.
“Looking forward to it,” he says before he hangs up, but not before I hear the sound of his laughter ringing out. But even as I know I’ll get an earful from both of them, I’m okay with that, because they are the family that I chose.
Chapter Thirty-Three
ELISE
“Shit,” I say as I fly from the bed and across the hallway to the bathroom, where I find my maid’s uniform… washed and dried and hanging up in front of the mirror. I frown, but I don’t have time to waste, so I quickly move back into action and get dressed, hoping I can make it to the staff quarters in the next fifteen minutes. I guess being a billionaire hotel owner means that when you request your shit to be washed and dried, it gets done in double quick time. I quickly grab the brush I used last night from the drawer underneath the sink and spot a hair tie next to it. I don’t have time to question how efficient Dorien is with seeming to have everything to hand as I throw my hair up and use an unopened toothbrush to clean my teeth. I’d like to lie in bed all day and relive every moment from last night, but sadly, real life always gets in the way of my fantasies.
I rush from the bathroom and make my way into the main room, my eyes landing on my shoes sitting by the front door, and my body instantly reacting to Dorien stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning on the door frame. Mother have mercy. He looks positively scrummy, but again, no time.
“Morning,” I manage to say as I go to my shoes and slip my feet in them.
