Page 21 of The Arrogant One
“Well, hopefully, we’ll see you back soon. Can I get you a bellhop to assist with your luggage?” She lifted the receiver of her phone.
“That won’t be needed. Thank you.”
“Does the valet know you’re leaving? I’ll call and get your car?—”
“Already taken care of.”
She set the phone back down and nodded. “Have a wonderful day, Mr. Weston, and thank you for staying with us.”
I thanked her and walked out of the lobby, where my car was waiting out front. I handed the valet the bills that I’d tucked into my palm, and while he put my suitcase into the small trunk, I got into the driver’s seat.
I hadn’t even reached for my seat belt, the door not even closed, when I smelled her.
The fruity jasmine.
The scent wasn’t strong, like she was sitting in the car with me, but strong enough that my eyes closed and the hottest breath exhaled through my nose.
Immediately, my brain went back to last night.
When she’d stripped off her clothes and revealed her body. When she sat on my fucking face on the chair in the living room. When I held her against the wall in the bedroom. When I tasted her again in the shower. When I’d positioned her on the dresser, using the second condom before I had more delivered.
An evening of fucking.
That was all it had been.
So, why had there been disappointment when I woke up this morning and reached for her and she wasn’t there? And when I had seen that she hadn’t left a note? And why was I aching for her now?
“Can I get you anything, Mr. Weston?”
My eyes opened. The valet was standing outside the driver’s door, holding it like he wanted to close it for me.
“No,” I replied.
He shut my door, and my hand went to the gearshift, my foot on the clutch, my gaze pointed at the driveway ahead.
But I didn’t move.
At least not forward.
What I did instead was reach for the button to roll down the passenger window and got the valet’s attention as he stood a few feet away.
“When did you start your shift this morning?”
“At six, sir.”
“Did you see a woman come out here? I don’t know if it was around that time—earlier or later. She was wearing an emerald-green dress, long black jacket, sky-high heels. Black hair.” My jaw tightened. “She’s gorgeous.”
“A woman who meets that description did come down.”
My chest tightened. “And I’m assuming she was picked up?”
“Yes, sir. By a rideshare.”
I nodded and rolled the window back up, shifting into first to pull out of the entrance and onto the road. I wondered why she had preferred to take a rideshare rather than waiting for me to wake up and take her to her car at the restaurant.
An answer I was sure I’d never get.
I wasn’t even a mile past the hotel when Brady Spade’s name came across the screen of my dashboard. He was one of the owners of the hotel chain, a longtime business partner, and one of my best friends.
