Page 7 of Slumming It
Forget his privates. Apparently, hewasa massive tool.Anti-social. Abrasive. And beyond callous.
It wasn't just hearsay either. I'd seen photos.Damning photos.The guy reallywasan asshat. I mean, seriously, who abandons their girlfriend on the side of the highway?No one nice, that's for sure.
And, as far as the size of his organ, he might've paid for those stories himself to stroke his oversized ego. With his kind of money, he could afford anything.
On the upside, he was finally making a move. Sure, he wasn't yet stepping into his shoes, but he was standing near them. That was a good sign, right?
Nope.
All too soon, a dark dress shirt dropped to the floor only inches from those empty shoes. My stomach sank, which was really saying something, considering that my pelvis was already hugging the carpet.
I chewed on my lower lip.What to do?
Was this where I jumped out and confessed? But to what?As far as the truth, he would never believe me, and I couldn’t quite blame him forthat, even if I could blame him for a bunch of other things.
His words from earlier echoed in my mind. A dumpanda shithole?
Jerk.
But of course, Reese Murdock would look down on a place like this. He owned a bunch of luxurious hotels from coast to coast – places with room service and spas and heaven-knows-what else. He could afford to be contemptuous.
Me, not so much.
It didn't take a genius to figure out why he was here, inthishotel when he could've stayed at the Diamond Resort.
Obviously, he was keeping a low profile – or trying to.Idiot.Like nobody would notice a six-foot-two billionaire buying beer of all things at the local quickie mart.
I kept my gaze trained on the discarded shirt, praying that his pants wouldn't soon follow. As I watched, I said a silent prayer that Vivian would still come through.
I was still praying when a light knock sounded at the door to his hotel room.Vivian.Ithadto be. It's not like we had room service, and the only housekeeper on duty was me.
As I watched, Mister Moneybags – shoeless and apparently shirtless, too – stalked to the door and opened it just a crack. In a low voice that was barely civil, he said, "What?"
Outside the door, Vivian's voice trembled as she said, "I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, but I need your signature on something up front."
He paused for barely a beat before saying, "No, you don't."
"Pardon?"
"I paid cash," he said. "In advance. Plus a deposit."
"Yeah, but…" Vivian hesitated, and I swear, I could hear the wince in her voice when she finally continued. "You still need to sign the paperwork. I reallyamsorry."
Knowing Vivian, she truly was. I was sorry, too, but only because I was causing my sister so much distress.
Boy, wasIgonna hear it.
When the guy made no reply, Vivian tried again. "It'll only take a minute. I promise."
"Is that so?" His voice was still low, but now with a distinct edge. "Like you promised me privacy?"
Ouch.
My sister always kept her promises – or at least tried to, which made me feel lower than pond scum as she offered up yet another apology followed by another request to sign this mythical form.
Once again, he flat-out refused, as if it would kill him to walk five minutes and sign a name that wasn't even his own.
As Vivian continued to plead her case, I considered the logistics. As far as paperwork, we had a basic form, which he had surely already signed, even if hehadused that fake name and no credit card whatsoever.
