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But you know this.
Miss you,
Zara
"What an asshole," I mumble under my breath as I rush out of the bed and look around for my clothes, almost tripping over myself. "Of course, he has to be an asshole. Why can't there be one decent, regular, good-looking guy in New York City?" I say to myself.
I locate my panties and bra, put them on quickly, and then grab the rest of my clothes. I grab my handbag and search for my phone so that I can call an Uber, and that's when I realize it’s not there.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I say, looking around. "Where is my phone?" And that's when I see it on the side table. I think for a couple of seconds. I don't remember putting it there, but perhaps I did.
I grab it and notice a room phone beside it, and an idea pops into my head. "I'll show you breakfast, asshole," I say as I pick up the phone and press zero.
"Front desk, how may I help you?"
"Hi. I know it's early, but I was wondering if I could put in a room service order for breakfast," I say sweetly.
"Of course, ma'am. I'll put you right through to the kitchen."
"Thank you," I say and wait as she patches me through.
"Room service," a young man says. "How can I help you?"
"Hi. I was wondering if I could place an order for breakfast. I want to surprise my," I lick my lips, "new fiancé with something special."
"Of course, ma'am. What would you like?"
"How's about two orders of eggs Benedict, please."
"And would you like fruit with that? Or potatoes?"
"Oh, fruit and potatoes, please. And mimosas."
"Yes, ma'am. Two mimosas?"
"What about four mimosas? We really like to celebrate. And how's about some pancakes with blueberries and also some waffles with strawberries and whipped cream." I giggle. "We do love the whipped cream."
"Yes, ma'am. Anything else?"
"I don't suppose you have salmon and caviar for breakfast, do you?"
"Uh, I'm not sure. I could check with the chef."
"Yeah, if you could, that would be amazing."
"Sure. And will this be charged to the room?"
"Oh, of course. My new fiancé wouldn't think about it being any other way."
"Okay. And what time would you like this?"
"Let's say six a.m.," I say.
"Sure."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. Have a good evening or morning. Well, you know,” he says, coughing.
