Page 10 of All the Gossip from Paris
The last he saw of his bags, was as they were being loaded onto a gold luggage cart. He’d only ever seen those bird caged shaped trolleys in movies. Next to his gear he spotted a large black travel bag. It looked hand crafted, and expensive. Sophie must have brought with her in the town car.
“Now Ms. Royal. As you are no doubt aware, it’s New York Fashion Week at present. One of the major design houses has booked the Presidential Suite for the entire week. So, I’m afraid we’ll have to put you in the Royal suite for tonight,” said the immaculately dressed woman who appeared to be in charge. She handed Sophie a white and red embossed security keycard.
“Oh, please call me Sophie. And the Royal suite will do just fine. It’s only for the one night,” she replied.
I think we’ll manage.
At the last place he’d stayed in while travelling, Liam had shared his room with several rats and a family of bed bugs. He wasn’t going to complain about having to stay in one of the super expensive suites here at the Royal Resorts New York.
He couldn’t imagine what Sophie would have made of the guest house in San José which had charged him the outrageous amount of sixty five bucks a night.
Villa Banana, two star hotel, my ass.
That would teach him to follow the golden rule of checking Google reviews of hotels before he booked them. He was still mentally kicking himself for having been so naïve when Sophie took hold of his arm and began towing him toward a bank of shiny elevators.
Liam looked for the luggage trolley, but it was nowhere to be seen. “Are they bringing our stuff up with us?” he asked.
She pressed the button. “When you stay in the suites, guests and luggage don’t travel together. There is a separate elevator for the porter to use.”
“Oh.”
The elevator doors opened, and Sophie dragged him inside. As the doors closed behind them, she turned to Liam. “It’s not about being too good to travel with the Royal Resorts staff. It’s about space. Most guests who stay in these places usually bring a ton of luggage with them. One of my Greek aunts brings eleven suitcases with her as a matter of course.”
Liam owned two suitcases. One good one. And one that was so old and battered he’d been on the verge of throwing it in the garbage before Ryan had taken it.
Staring at the floor of the car as it raced up to the 65th floor, Liam pondered what might happen next. He and Sophie were spending tonight in an upmarket, luxury hotel suite.
Hold your horses Liam Collins. She hasn’t actually said you will be sleeping here. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
Sophie might just want to spend some time with him, after which she’d expect him to take his stuff and leave. Liam slyly checked his watch. It was now close to eleven o’clock. The trains out to East Orange ran until a little after midnight.
His brother had missed the train home one night. With nowhere else to go, he’d gone back to Camille’s design workshop. Ryan had ended up sleeping on the couch. When he’d woken the following morning, she’d invited him downstairs to her apartment.
And…
Maybe I should miss the train. Grab my own sliding doors moment.
As she stepped out of the elevator, Sophie, who still had a hold of Liam’s arm, announced. “Come on. Let’s get into some comfortable clothes, then we can check out the drinks cabinet.”
Liam quickly forgot what he was about to say. His attention had been captured by the floor to ceiling windows which ran along the wall opposite to where he stood. Outside the bright lights of New York City glittered like a million stars.
The familiar shape of the Empire State Building stood proudly in the center of the view. Framed liked a glossy 3D postcard. “Holy…” he whispered.
He couldn’t begin to imagine how much this room—no, scratch that —this suite, would cost a night to rent.
Probably more than I earn in an entire year.
Liam was well and truly out of his comfort zone. He shifted his weight, taking a step back. Ready to bolt for the door.
“Have a seat. Make yourself at home,” offered Sophie.
Liam glanced at the nearest chair, then quickly checked his hands. Had he wiped the fried chicken grease off his fingers?
All his windswept and interesting bravado fled like a thief in the night. It took what little remained of his courage not to follow it through the door. Sophie was so far out of his league.
I have no idea what I am doing here.
CHAPTER SIX
