Page 74 of Cougar Chronicles

“Sugar mama?” Veronica again. “He didnotuse that term!”

“He did. He knows his career…. He wants to….the way he’s been living.”

Stacy tried furiously to decipher Dino’s meaning, until Veronica’s voice carried right outside into the hallway.

“Stacy doesn’t have any money!”

“Bestselling author… Grandmother….”

Stacy’s heart dropped to her belly. Money? Michael thought she had money? She made a decent living, but she was hardly rolling in it. She was a bestselling author, yes. A bestselling erotic e-book author. Hardly the bigtime. She was lucky enough not to work a day job, but wealthy she was not. She lived in a two bedroom townhome with her cat. She had a car payment and a mortgage and some months, when royalties were low, she ate a lot of hamburger and ramen noodles.

Had Michael been playing her? The sky diving, the lovemaking—had it all been a ploy to ingratiate himself to her so she’d take care of him? He wanted to be her “kept man?”

“Well, I’m not going to let him do that to Stacy.”

Veronica stormed out of the room, her full lips in a taut line.

“Ronnie, wait! You can’t tell him I told you—”

Dino ran out the door after her. They both stopped short when they saw Stacy.

“Oh, Stace. Oh, God,” Veronica said.

“You don’t have to tell him anything, Ronnie,” Stacy said. “I’ve heard enough already, and I’ll tell him myself.”

Emotion stormed through Stacy as she ran to the elevator and hit fifteen. No! No, damn it! Why did this have to happen? God, she’d let herself fall in love with the bastard!

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Was she sad? Angry? So many different feelings gripped her insides, surged through her veins. Finally, when the elevator dinged her arrival, one sensation stood out among the others.

Betrayal.

Though the bed had been made and no longer showed the remnants of their lovemaking, Michael’s suitcase sat at the edge of the wardrobe. Her own fault, of course. After their amazing afternoon, she’d invited him to move into her room for the remainder of the conference.

Well, he could now consider himself uninvited.

Not satisfied to merely push the suitcase out into the hallway, she opened it. Inside sat his underwear, his sundries, his shirts and jeans. One by one, she pulled them out and tossed them into the hallway as she sobbed incoherently.

“How could you, you fucking asshole?”

Boxer briefs, jeans, tight T-shirts littered the hallway. In the bottom of his suitcase was a cobalt bottle of vodka. “Yeah. I suppose you thought you’d get me drunk. Well, I’d have to be drunk to sleep with you again.” She threw the bottle into the hallway where it smashed into icy blue shards against the wall.

Last, she threw the empty suitcase into the hallway amidst the designer clothes, the expensive cologne, the razor, the toothpaste and toothbrush…

She slammed her door shut, flung herself on her bed, and wept some more.

Seven

Oh shit.

Clearly, this wasn’t leading to anything good. Michael shuffled through his belongings cluttering the hallway outside Stacy’s room. He should call housekeeping to clear away the glass from the broken bottle of vodka, but first, he needed to see Stacy and make sure she was all right. His skin tightened. Fuck. He was actually nervous.

What had gone wrong? Thank God she’d given him her extra keycard. He slid it into the lock and opened the door.

Darkness flooded the room. He switched on the light. Stacy was on the bed lying on her back, still in her scarlet formal gown, one arm flung over her eyes.

His heart thumped. “Stace?”

“Go away, Michael,” she said without moving.

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