Page 14 of Falling For The Billionaire Rockstar

“Good, and my temporary assistant, did you get a replacement?”

“Yes, I sent him the details of your location already. He should be there first thing in the morning.”

“He?”

“You asked that I get you a male assistant instead, sir.”

“I was only . . .” I trailed off, rubbing the bridge of my nose as I let out a labored sigh. “Look, Layla. I am terribly sorry for the way I spoke to you earlier. I should have respected you regardless of the circumstances. No one is above mistakes. The former assistant was uncouth, but I should not have gotten mad at you for it.”

“There was no former assistant, sir.”

“What?”

“Well, there was, but you never met her.”

“What in the name of God are you saying, Layla?”

The call was getting longer than I had expected it to, so I began walking into the hotel. The glass entrance doors slid open, revealing a foyer awash with golden lights from the massive chandelier that hung above.

I looked around, taking note of the little intricate details that made the building a welcome sight. I made mental notes as I inspected the atmosphere.

“Well, I called her to address the complaints you had laid on her, and she told me she was unable to make it to the airport because she fell ill and had even called in sick.”

I stopped, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “Then perhaps someone sent a replacement.”

“I thought that as well, so I called our head branch over there. They didn’t send a replacement, which was an error on their part, but still, no one was sent to you, sir.”

“So, who the hell slapped me at the airport?” I tried to remain calm, but I was visibly vexed. It was one thing that someone on my payroll had embarrassed me in public; it was not hard to deal with. But a total stranger. And I walked away? I inhaleddeeply. New York is a big city, and the chances of me meeting that woman again were very slim. Plus, she looked like she was traveling.

My eyes widened as it all began to make sense to me. The confused discourse, her impatience, the suitcase, her rudeness, her reaction when I grabbed her. We had somehow confused our identities with the people we were supposed to meet.

Either that or the lady was just deranged.

“Once again, Layla, I am sorry for how I spoke to you. Please, I’ll need a change of clothes by morning.”

“On it, sir. I’ll send the new details of your meeting now.”

“Thank you.” I ended the call and walked to the reception.

The lady behind me offered me a small smile, which I returned briefly, as I slid my phone back into my pocket. “Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes, I do. Alexander Steele.”

She returned her focus to the computer in front of her, and her face lit up with a smile when she looked at me again.

“Room 316, business suite,” she said, addressing a staff member who had approached us. He offered to take my briefcase, but I waved him off. He nodded before guiding me to the elevator.

The doors slid open as we reached my floor, and he briskly walked out. I followed him, still noting the décor and architecture.

There were three chandeliers, much smaller than the one on the ground floor, lined up on the corridor, casting hues of light on the cream-colored walls, and my eyes focused on the red rug under my feet.

The man stopped, and I looked up at the door, with the number 316 boldly written on it. He placed the keycard above the door, and as the locks clicked open, he stepped aside.

I thanked him as he handed me the card. “Enjoy your stay, sir,” he said, and with that, he was gone. He did not even ask for a tip.

I entered the room and closed the door before making a beeline to the bedroom. I took off my suit jacket and dress shirt before slumping on the bed and drifting off to sleep.

The next day came quicker than I wanted it to; I groaned as rays of the early morning sun seeped through the slightly parted white silk curtains.

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