Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
When I arrive at the hotel, I scurry through the lobby, my heels sliding over the polished marble. Once I make it up to my room, I glance at the box and the mess I left behind getting ready for the dinner. I have no idea which one I should tackle first.
I don’t want him to think I’m a slob, so I grab the free plastic bag hotels give for miscellaneous items, like dirty laundry, and set out on a mission. I scoop items up off the bed and floor, filling the bag to the top. Then I throw hangers into the closet, and toss the bag, along with a few clothing items.
I scan the room. It looks lived in, but presentable. Now, for the box. I pull on the ribbon and untie the bow, then remove the top. Tissue paper covers what’s inside, secured with a designer seal. I gently tear the seal away and push the paper to the side, revealing a shear ice pink negligée with a matching lace thong. I finger the silk straps of the sexy garment. It’s beautiful, but I’ve never worn anything like this before. Not even to just try on.
My breathing becomes quick and shallow. “Get comfortable,” he’d said.
Is that sex speak for get dressed up in lingerie?
When I move the box to the bed, the phone on the nightstand begins to ring. I worry my lip. Could it be Barclay canceling? I take two steps toward the phone and place my hand on the receiver. After a deep breath, I answer it.
“Hello,” I say in a shaky voice.
“Tessa,” my mother sputters. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all night. How are you, dear? Back in the room for the night?”
“Hi, Mom. Sorry I missed your calls,” I say, debating how much I should tell her about my day, including the dinner with Barclay. “And yes, I’m going to bed soon.”
It’s not a full-blown lie, more like wishful thinking, and besides, too much information will bring up questions I don’t know how to answer yet. It’s not like I’m sixteen and missing curfew. I’m a grown woman.
“Is New York everything you thought it would be, dear?” she asks.
“Oh, Mom, you have no idea—” There’s a loud knock at my door, and I pause. It’s him. It has to be him. Panic sets in.
What do I do?
30
Tessa
“What is it, Tessa? Is everything okay?” No one knows me better than my mother, and from over a thousand miles away, she senses something is up. She’s right too.
I have a cover model worthy CEO dressed in a bespoke tuxedo with sex on his mind standing at my door. It’s not a scenario my mother or I dreamed of when I got on the plane and left Alabama. All I dared to hope for was a decent job—or the prospect of one.
At least I’m not sleeping my way to the top. It’s the only solace I have in Barclay not helping me find a job at his company. He must think it would complicate things between us. Plus, there’s my lack of experience with guys, let alone older men like him, and it’s complicated enough.
“Hold on a second. Someone’s at the door.” In a hurry to get to Barclay, I can’t find the mute button on the phone display.
I lay the receiver down on the nightstand next to the phone and walk to the door, passing by the satiny, sheer negligée sitting in a heap on the bed. Another complication I can’t hide. I smooth my dress down over my hips, adjust the halter strap around my neck, and open the door.
My breath leaves me in a rush. Barclay’s leaning against the doorframe, one hand in his pocket while he uses the other arm to brace himself. I lost my heels when I arrived back at the room and forgot to put them back on in my haste, so he hovers over me more than usual. He’s a massive man, and so massively hot, I might melt into a puddle. I should’ve told my mother goodbye and that I loved her. His looks are that lethal.
And how did his stubble get even sexier on the ride over to the hotel?
“Hi,” I breathe, and it takes quite the effort just to push that one syllable through my lips.
I stand there, staring up at him, holding the door, not fully open. Basically, he can’t maneuver around me. There’s not enough space.
“Can I come in?” he asks, flashing me a devastating smirk. It’d likely work as a passkey to any woman’s room, and I think he knows it too.
“Well, there’s a problem …” I pause, and he raises his brow. “It’s my mother.”
“Is she here?” He tries to peek around me into the room, but I pull the door tighter toward me.