Page 53 of Room Service
“Um, why?”
“Because you’re staying with me,” he confirms, like we’ve had this conversation and duked it out already.
“What? No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Dorien, I’m very grateful for what you’ve done for me, but I live with Celeste, and she’ll wonder where I am,” I tell him, hoping he’ll see reason.
“You have a phone, so text her to tell her to come up here later, so you can inform her.”
My mouth literally drops open.
“Dorien, I need to go home,” I say, and he looks at me like I’ve said the dumbest thing ever.
“You are home,” he tells me, and I look at him perplexed. And then I snort a laugh, which I’m hoping he finds kind of endearing rather than cringe.
“Dorien, you can’t be serious about me staying in your penthouse,” I say, not even forming it as a question because it’s too crazy to even contemplate.
“I absolutely fucking am,” he reiterates, his face deadpan.
“Dorien, listen to yourself,” I begin, and he keeps his mouth shut to hear exactly where I’m going with this. “This is nuts. I can’t stay in the penthouse… I work at the hotel, for goodness’ sake. What would the other staff think?”
“I couldn’t give a fuck what they think.”
“Yes, I’m well aware, but… I work here, Dorien, and not to mention we’re just fucking—”
“Excuse me?” he interrupts, unable to keep the irritation out of his tone. “Just fucking?” he questions as he bends, getting down so our eyes are level.
“Well, yeah…” I sound unsure, and I know he can see it as much as I can hear it in my voice.
“We are not just fucking,” he states. “We went past the ‘just fucking’ stage before last night.” I go to bite my lip again but quickly stop myself as he stares at me with a new kind of fire in his eyes. “Are we clear?”
I wonder if he can see the tug of war going on in my mind, and I wonder if he understands it.
“But… we’ve gone from one extreme to the other,” I say quietly, still unsure of myself. “Shouldn’t we have dated first? Got to know one another? Learnt about our likes and dislikes, that sort of thing?”
“I know you dislike putting yourself out there, especially now, and I know you like being called a good girl in the bedroom,” he responds, which earns him a light smack on the top of his arm.
“Be serious, Dorien.”
“I am being serious, buttercup.”
“Buttercup… why do you call me that?” I enquire.
“Because the first time I met you, I knew you had a light inside of you that needed to be coaxed out—I saw it, I still see it, and buttercup was born.”
I frown. “And you got buttercup from that?”
“Would you prefer good girl in public?” he teases, and I roll my eyes.
“Okay, okay, but, Dorien, shouldn’t we just hold off on the moving me in part?”
“No.” And with that, he gently guides me back to the bedroom, covering my modesty as I go, and I resign myself to the fact that Dorien Dukes just moved me in.
Chapter Forty-One
ELISE
