Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
But I did put up with it, and I hated myself for it. In some sick, twisted way, I believed that I deserved his abuse, and I probably looked just like my mother had looked when her men were hitting her. She used to cry for me to help her, but I always ran away because I didn’t want to be hurt too.
She asked for this, I would tell myself, but the sounds were awful, and I’d hide under my pillows, pressing them to my ears. In the darkness, her image would be burned in my mind, her cowering, her pained expressions. She always looked resigned and guilty, just waiting for it to end.
The Empire Session
I arrived at the Empire Hotel lobby a few minutes early. No eye mask today, which was great, but I was still a wreck. At some point, W was going to come strolling through those doors, and I was supposed to recognize him and follow him to the elevators. He seemed to think it would be easy. I wasn’t so sure.
I found a place with a good view of the entrance, and sat in my call-girl skirt and blouse with my legs pressed together. Ice blue linen today, with an ivory top and pearls. Designer bag and shoes, and freshly blown out hair. I’d worked so hard to look nice, to reward him for trusting me. If I didn’t recognize him, it would all be for nothing. I’d just sit in the lobby and wait, and eventually have to go home.
For some reason, I imagined him with dark hair, and olive skin. The machismo thing, I guess. I figured he’d be older, old enough to know what he wanted, and old enough to be really good in bed. When I closed my eyes, I saw someone tall, muscular but not too built, with glossy black hair and dark eyes. But at two minutes after seven, someone walked through the door, 40ish, tallish, with blond-burnished hair and a natural tan, and I thought, that’s him. I can’t say how I knew. The way he walked, the way he carried himself, the way he wore that crisp white shirt and dark red tie. The way he didn’t look around the lobby. He headed toward the elevators and I surged to my feet.
But then I paused. Was it him? He didn’t look the way I’d expected him to look, and he didn’t seem like he was waiting for someone. He seemed like he was in a hurry to go upstairs. If he was W, wouldn’t he turn to see if I was following him?
I glanced back at the lobby, frozen. No one else could be him. Maybe he wasn’t here yet. But Jesus, the elevator was there and he was getting on it. I ran in my tight pencil skirt and heels. There were six other people on the elevator. I caught the man’s eyes. Nothing, only the same detached appreciation I was getting from the guy next to me, and the other guy who asked me what floor.
What floor? I didn’t know what floor.
“You already got it,” I said, because six different floor buttons were lit up.
If the blond man was W, he would have said so by now, wouldn’t he? No. He’d make me sweat all the way up. He’d punish me for pausing in the lobby, for not being sure. I straightened my shoulders as the elevator rose. Passengers got out one after the other. By the end, it was just me and the blond man. I didn’t look at him. My cheeks flamed hot with embarrassment and fear. I felt attracted to him, even though I wasn’t sure it was him. He definitely wasn’t dark and Mediterranean. No. Blond, a natural blond, unlike me.
The elevator stopped at the final floor. He looked at me and gestured for me to go before him. I got nothing from that look. No recognition, no approval. Nothing. Shit. I’d fucked up. It wasn’t him. I got out and lingered, feeling stupid as he headed down the hallway. I followed forlornly behind him, hoping he’d turn and laugh, and give me a thumbs up, and say, “You did it, you found me.”
But he didn’t do that. He keyed open a hotel room door, and turned to look at me. “Can I help you with somethin’, darlin’?”
The accent was pure Texas. He looked like a Texan, like a cowboy, with sky blue eyes, and that rugged, solid body, that gold, shining hair and that real, natural tan, the kind you only got from being outside. Damn it. Was it W? Was he fucking with me? I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was him. By this time, I’d been standing and staring way too long.
He tilted his head, studying me. “Would you like to come in? Have a drink?”