Page 73 of Only the Wicked
“Thank you, sir. I hope you enjoy your stay. Jonas will escort you to your suite.”
The valet whisked away our luggage, leaving us clutching our computer bags, the last remnants of our separate lives before this weekend together. Of course, my bag is a tote bag with a laptop tucked inside, whereas Rhodes carries a charcoal gray backpack.
Rhodes takes my hand and we follow Jonas, a middle-aged man with a thick moustache and a rounded middle. Based on his jolly demeanor, he doesn’t mind wearing a polyester uniform and stiff, shiny black dress shoes all day.
When we arrive at the elevator, the attendant shows us how to press the card to the pad before hitting our floor, as if the technology is new and he expects we need the explanation.
In the reflection of the brass-plated elevator doors, I catch sight of Rhodes and me, holding hands. The clothes we’re wearing feel far more casual than the guests in the lobby. We’re still dressed for a vacation in the mountains. Of course, Rhodes’ black T-shirt probably cost several hundred dollars, the same for the faded jeans he’s wearing and the sneakers. There’s not a logo on him, but his outfit feels expensive. And of course, there’s his watch—a brushed steel Rolex submariner, with a chunky body and pedigree that compliments his stealth wealth.
Growing up, my parents took me to hotels like this on vacation, hotels listed on the Forbes recommended list, so I’m not in awe. Knowing what I know about Rhodes, I wonder, should I act like I’m impressed?
Our gazes meet in the reflection, and a warmth spreads through me that settles the second-guesses. Above all else, we’re having fun. Our reflection is that of a couple on a weekend getaway, and I suppose, that’s what we are.
If I wasn’t here for KOAN, would I be acting any differently? Without a doubt, yes, I would. For one, I definitely wouldn’t get in a plane and go away with a random guy. On my own, when not on a job, I would’ve taken his phone number and suggested we meet up again at some unnamed time in the future, and scoffed at cutting my vacation early, no matter how much I wanted to spend time with the guy. I don’t lose my head or let fluctuating hormones alter my direction.
Yet here I am. Fortunately, I want to spend time with Rhodes. He joked I’m like a drug to him, but it’s a contagious sensation. An unsettling one, but I don’t need to stress. True to my disciplined nature, I’ll stay on task.
I’ll enjoy my time with him, and as planned, say goodbye on Sunday. And what about that resume? Am I going to push for a job with ARGUS? If Brie, our West Coast operative, gets discovered, is that what Hudson will want? I should regroup with the team.
I scanned the lobby and didn’t see anyone I recognized. But that doesn’t mean a KOAN operative wasn’t there.
The elevator doors open, and I’m reminded that Quinn aimed to plant listening devices in the suite. Did they succeed?
Let’s hope not. I don’t particularly treasure the idea of facing colleagues after they’ve overheard me having sex.
Jonas opens the suite with a flourish, revealing a circular entry with a crystal chandelier in the center and a wooded mural scene painted on the wall behind a sofa curved to align perfectly with the rotunda.
A brass rack of clothes and stacked Neiman Marcus boxes greet us. The scent of new fabric and tissue paper mingles with a distinct fragrance—something floral with hints of sandalwood. My fingers brush against silk, satin, and other luxurious textures as I circle the rack. My parents took me to nice hotels, but they never brought a retail store to us. The gentle rustling of protective garment bags sounds almost obscenely loud in the hushed opulence of the suite.
“Your delivery, sir.” Jonas announces. “Your luggage is in the bedroom. May I give you a tour?”
Rhodes passes him something, I presume cash. “We’re good, thank you. I’ve stayed here before. I’m familiar with the layout.”
“Excellent, sir. Please let us know if we can be of assistance.”
And with that, Jonas exits.
“What is all this?” I ask, circling the rack, noticing some garments have protective liners while others don’t, but everything looks expensive..
“I said I’d take care of everything.” Pride oozes from his smile. “There’s a formal event tomorrow night and I was hoping you’d be my plus one, and…” he shrugs, like it’s no big deal, “some of the restaurants in town have dress codes. There should be shoes and whatever else. My instructions were to send anything you might need for a weekend in D.C. and to provide options.”
Even knowing he’s wealthy, this level of casual extravagance catches me off guard. “That’s why you said not to worry about going back to my place.”
“Yep.” He has his phone in his hand and has already stepped past what must be tens of thousands of dollars of clothes, shoes, and whatever else he had sent up. “We’ll send back what you don’t like.”
“How did you know my size?”
He has the wisdom to appear abashed. My brain kicks into gear. He used ARGUS to check my purchasing habits. Is that possible?
I wait…patiently watching him squirm.
He rubs the back of his neck. He’s uncomfortable.
“Don’t read anything into this.”
My arms cross over my middle. It’s a defensive position, but my instinct tells me to shift, to appear more open, less like I’m appalled. I lower my arms and that feels unnatural, so I sit, knees slightly apart. This position might not be best either.
“My ex was your size.” He rubs the back of his neck. “You’re completely different people, but she was about your size.”
