“I have somewhere to be. If you need anything, give Malcolm a call. The man never sleeps. The drinks are paid for, and I told the bartender to put anything you would like on my tab. Goodnight, Miss Fairchild.” My name on his lips simultaneously makes me wet and bewildered. We went from flirty to formal in seconds.
I watch as he strides toward the elevator, his presence stopping strangers in their tracks. I get the impression it’s not his fame that causes this reaction—it’s the confidence and masculinity emanating from him in waves, commanding the attention of everyone around him. I can’t take my eyes off him until the elevator doors obscure my view, his eyes finding mine in the final second before he’s gone. Even twenty meters away, I can’t breathe.
I sit for a while contemplating the summer ahead. I didn’t anticipate feeling so turned on by my boss. I think back to the last time I saw him. How could I have been so blind? I remember my libido being alive and well at that age. I can’t believe my younger self didn’t recognize the unmistakable sexual energy that is Hunter Vaughn. I’m almost mad at myself!
I nurse my drink for a half-hour before heading to my room to review the itinerary for the next few days, wanting to be prepared. I need to impress Hunter if I want to keep this job.
It’s a struggle to stay focused, tonight’s interaction playing over and over in my head. I stop on more than one occasion to satisfy my frustration—the fantasy of his crystal blue eyes watching me as I bring myself to orgasm. My imagination runs wild with thoughts of his tongue caressing every inch of my body. And just as I scream his name for the fourth time, my hand cramping with overuse, it hits me. Not only did I compare him to a father figure, I said we were practically siblings. That was the moment he stopped flirting with me.
Fuckity, fuck, fuck!
I’m an ass-twat. I grab my papers and move to the small desk in the corner of my room. The silence is unbearable, so I switch on the television in hopes I won’t continue to obsess over a man I hardly know, but in true me style, I’m accosted with the face of Hunter Vaughn on the sixty-inch flat-screen. The sports world is consumed with his entrance into the Hall of Fame, and I can’t tear my eyes away. I venture down below one last time before changing the channel. It’s only then that I realize I’ve been pouring over my papers with my one-flick hand. My itinerary is going to smell like va-jay-jay juice. Could this night get any worse?
I crawl into bed, exhausted by my own stupidity. Tomorrow is another day. I’ll get it together. I have to. I need this job, and if I want to fulfill my goal this summer, I need to shape up and quit making a fool of myself. Maybe I’ll call James. He was cute and is in town for a few days. Then, I remember watching Hunter put James’ business card in his pocket. I forgot to ask for it back—just one of my many mistakes today. Hopefully, I’ll see him around the hotel. I could use a distraction. Being around Hunter Vaughn all day, every day, for three months is going to be a blissful kind of torture.