Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Her look of excitement deflates. “If you’re working, I’m working.”
I can’t argue with that. She is my right hand. I need her at my side. I can’t do the things I want to do if she’s not around. Still, she deserves to enjoy herself too. She works hard for me without complaint. I could give a little back. I make a mental note to figure out one fun thing for her on this trip. If I have time.
We get to the hotel. It is five-star accommodation from top to bottom. We’re given the VIP treatment and very quickly booked in by smiling super-efficient staff and taken up to the Tower Club suite on the fifty-sixth floor. Technically, my PA and I will be sharing the space, but the suite is big enough for her to have her own bedroom and bathroom. I want her close, not on top of me.
The lounge is a picture of luxury. A bottle of champagne and a platter of fruit and cheese is waiting on a glass table. The bellhop carries our luggage into our respective rooms. Mine has a king-size bed and hers is a single. I walk to the wall to ceiling window and look down at the view of the entire city with the river running through it like a snake. In the late afternoon sun it is quite something, but Asia also look its best at night, when you can’t see the dust and the grime. Then it will be breathtaking. The windows are triple glazed, so no sounds permeate it and it is almost hypnotic to watch the hectic world so far below in complete silence.
“Excellent choice on the hotel,” I say.
“Thank you, Mr. Remington.”
I turn away from the window and clap my hands together. “Right. Dinner is in three hours. Just enough time to clean up, do some work, and get ready. I’ll grab you at quarter to eight?”
She nods. “I’ll be ready. Let me know if you need anything else in the meantime.”
I go into my room and close the door on her.
The first thing I do is call down to housekeeping to pick up my suit and shirt to make sure they are pressed and presentable for tonight. It’s not that I’m worried about my appearance. Of course, I take care of myself, but I’m far from vain. Tonight though, I need to show our potential Japanese clients my best side.
Business culture in Japan is a complicated affair, but one thing I know for sure…they are an incredibly thin-skinned lot. Little things matter to them. Even something like cursorily glancing at someone’s business before putting it away into your pocket will be taken as a lack of respect for that person’s title and rank. No, you’ve got to carefully study it and nod approvingly before putting it away. Showing up in a rumpled suit would be considered offensive.
I peel my shirt away from my sticky skin and wash away the sticky heat of Bangkok in the shower. Feeling refreshed and blissfully cool after a shave, I come back to my bedroom. I have two hours to kill so I lounge on the bed in my boxer briefs, and start going through my pitch to my Japanese clients.
It is then I hear the scream.
In the blissful silence of triple glazed windows, the sound is piercingly loud. My papers slide off my lap as I leap off the bed. Sprinting across the lounge, I throw open my secretary’s bedroom door, and skid to a stop. She’s standing in the middle of the room clutching a small towel to her. She spins around and stutters, “Luke…I mean, Mr. Remington.”
“What is it?” I ask, staring at her in disbelief. She is not wearing her glasses, her hair is cascading down her back, and her legs are long and deliciously smooth. I don’t know why, but I thought she’d have hairy legs. I blink. Damn it.
She points a shaking finger towards the bathroom.
Tearing my eyes away from her dripping body, I stride over to the bathroom and look inside. “What? I don’t see anything,” I say, looking around the empty bathroom.
“Look in the tub. There’s a huge freaking spider in it.”
“Is that all?” I ask, relieved. Hell, the way she screamed, I thought someone was stabbing her to death with a rusty knife.
“Is that all?” she counters, her voice rising hysterically. “Go and see it. That—thing is a monster.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” I reply as I move to the tub and look inside. It’s bright blue, furry, the size of a goddamn softball. “Shit. That is big.”
“I told you,” she cries fearfully. “I can’t believe I was in there with that—thing. It looks like a tarantula had sex with a smurf.”
My back is to her, so I didn’t have to hide my smile, but seriously, the spiders in the tropics are something else. “I’m sure he was just trying to get a peek at you,” I tease. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this little peeping Tom.” I go back out to my room and grab one of my shoes. I return and it is still trying to climb the slippery sides of the bath. Alright, you little pervert. No more ogling my sexy assistant. The arthropod makes a squashing sound. Wadding up some toilet paper in my hand I scoop up the blob that looks like crushed blueberries. I flush its remains down the toilet, chuck my splattered shoe in the trashcan, and turn around.