Page 21 of Truth Be Told
I move to the other end of the room. Cohen follows. In this corner is another door, one that wasn’t visible when we first came in. I open it to find a full bathroom. The shower mimics the bright white marble of the fireplace, and behind the glass are several gigantic shower heads. Everything is squeaky clean.
“Are you serious?”
Cohen comes up behind me, smiling. “It’s all yours.”
I turn around, positive he can spot my look of appreciation.
“For tonight, at least.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Cohen. This really helps me. Like I said, I have this… funny thing with driving in snow.”
“I can tell.” He rocks back on his heels. “Anyway,” he moves away, disappearing out the door for only a moment. When he returns, he’s carrying a pile of crisp, white towels. “Here’s some fresh towels, just in case there aren’t any in the linen closet.” He pauses and I take the towels from him. “I didn’t realize it until just now, but I haven’t had any guests in a long time.”
It feels like he’s waiting for me to say something. I set the towels next to the sink.
He continues, “So I’m sorry if anything’s missing.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” I look around, finally noticing the chandelier above me. It’s almost as big as the one in the entryway downstairs. “How could I not be?”
“I’ll bring you some extra clothes, then. A tee shirt or something for you to sleep in.”
I smile at him. “That would be great.”
With that, he leaves me again. I make my way back into the bedroom, and I look up here, too, taking in the incredibly high ceiling. There’s no chandelier here like there was in the bathroom. Instead, there’s a ceiling fan. I walk to the group of switches by the door and flick them up and down, trying them out to see which ones control what. When I find the one that controls the fan, it begins to spin and whir, and its blades move massive, refreshing amounts of cool air.
I take a deep breath as the air spins around me. The breeze invades me and I close my eyes, feeling rejuvenated at the newness of this all already. A free night in a mansion, alone with Cohen Thatcher might just be better than any vacation.
Although truthfully, the biggest reason I feel such a load lifted from me is the fact that I’m no longer attached to that side job of mine. Stripping takes a lot out of you, and I’m just glad I managed to get out before it took everything. Even if that does mean money will be tight for a while.
Cohen reappears, pulling my attention back to reality and to him. “Here you go.” He sets a folded pair of clothes down at the foot of the bed.
I reach out for them, ready to lift them up and examine them superficially. In doing so, my hand brushes against his in the briefest of moments. We both pause. The skin of his hand is warm, much warmer than my always-cold hands, but it’s incredibly rough. I always thought you could tell a lot about people by their hands, and Cohen’s tell me he’s a man who hasn’t always had it so easy in life.
He looks at me as I look at him, our eye locking, and then he pulls away and walks back to the door.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” he says with one of those hands on the doorknob. “I’ll be just down the hall.”
He leaves, pulling the door closed behind him.
I brush my fingertips across what he’s left me – a comfy, oversized gray tee shirt and a pair of workout pants, no doubt both of which are his. I should pick up the pants in this moment, hold them against me to see if there’s any chance that they might fit, but I don’t.
I didn’t even have a chance to thank him one more time.
I get over it pretty quickly.
I’m spending the night in the guy’s house, after all – sorry, not house…mansion– and he’ll be here when I wake up in the morning.
At least, he should be. That would be the case with any other normal person, but we’re talking about Cohen Thatcher here, a man of many mysteries, and we’re also talking about me. And by now, I know better than to assume.
I try not to assume things about anyone to lessen my chances of being taken by surprise. Cohen is a multi-millionaire businessman, I’m sure he could have super important work to attend to. Maybe he’ll be called in and won’t be here in the morning. It’s possible.
In the bathroom, I pull off my clothes and undo my bra. I’ve moved my Uggs to the side, lining them up against the wall, and I uncurl my fingers. I look into my hand at the shiny silver switchblade that I just pulled out of my sock. I unfold it and carefully touch my finger to the blade, testing its sharpness. It’s sharp alright. I’m pretty sure I could use this as a razor right now, if I really wanted to. The fact that it’s sharp as a razor doesn’t surprise me, either; I’m good about taking care of it and keeping it in its best shape.
I snap the blade closed and then slip it down into my Uggs, making sure it’s pushed all the way in at the toe so it’s completely concealed.
Then I run some water over my face and slip on Cohen’s tee shirt. The henley fabric is cool and soft, and I give myself a soothing hug before climbing into bed.
This is the life,I think as the cold silk sheets slide over my bare legs, eventually covering my panties and lower back in similar coolness when I roll onto my stomach.
