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“I’m going to turn in,” Sarai said around a yawn. “I have a lot to prepare for tomorrow’s meeting.”
“I think I’m shopped out,” Jasmine agreed.
“There’s a spa in the hotel,” Sarai said as they started back the way they’d come. “I can book an appointment for you.”
“I’m good. I’ll probably crash when we get back.”
Sarai lowered her voice. “Do you want champagne or…” Her eyes bugged out when Jasmine let out a hissing sound. “What?”
“Leave it be,” she growled.
“For now.” Jasmine would have argued, but her, “Did you read Johanna Ledger’s latest novel?” distracted her.
“It’s out?”
Sarai pranced in excitement. “It’s sogood, oh my God. I’ve been sneaking peeks at my phone when I can. I have to go back to the hotel to work, but I also need to finish this chapter.”
“What is it?”
“A second chance, forced proximity, enemies-to-lovers’ triangle with slow burn and angst.”
“Ooh.”
“There’s some non-con too, but…” Sarai raised a brow and nudged her playfully. “You don’t mind that, do you?”
Mortified color suffused her cheeks, but before she could respond, Roth growled, “What the hell does that mean?”
They jumped, neither realizing how close he was behind them.
“They’re romance tropes,” Sarai explained as she linked arms with Jasmine.
“Tropes.”
Roth repeated the word, but from the way he said it, it was clear he had no idea what that meant. Thank God.
Sarai gave her a mischievous wink. “Have you DNF’d anything lately?”
By the time they reached the hotel, her jaw was aching from the effort it took not to laugh. It was clear Sarai was well-versed in the shorthand, abbreviated language that romance readers used online. Even she got lost at times, but it didn’t matter because she was too busy listening to Roth, Mo, and Johan’s commentary as they tried to figure out what reverse harem meant.
It wasn’t until Sarai stepped off the elevator on her floor that she realized this would be the first time she and Roth had been alone since that night in his London penthouse. Amusement at Sarai’s antics faded as the elevator rose. When the doors opened on their floor, she didn’t move. All of them preceded her. It was Mo who looked back and had to slap his hand on the doors to stop them from closing on her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Roth turned to look at her. She balled her hand into a fist as she walked off the elevator.
“Nothing.”
They shuffled into the penthouse. Mo and Johan placed the last of her bags near a small pile of what he had delivered throughout the day before they inclined their heads and left. She heard Roth slide the deadbolt and felt a surge of dread. She moved into the middle of the stately living room, heart pounding, as she waited for the next battle to begin.
Roth didn’t even look at her. He crossed to the opposite end of the suite, walked through an open door, and flicked on a light. Over the sound of her heartbeat, she heard the light tap of computer keys and then his quiet, “Roth.” Pause. “Yes, I have the figures.”
Her shoulders sagged. She turned on her heel and retreated to the bathroom, where she locked the door and rested her forehead on it as she let out a long breath. She was embarrassed how relieved she was by the reprieve. There was so much unsettled between them, but addressing the past would only dredge up more bitterness and anger, and she had enough of that to last a lifetime.
She stripped and stepped into the shower. She kept looking at the door, waiting for a knock or the sound of his voice in the bedroom, but there was nothing. When she finished, she wrapped herself in the oversized hotel robe and put her ear to the door before she opened it. Empty. Quickly, she selected pajamas and slipped them on. When she finished, she looked around for her notebook before remembering she left it in the living room. She left the bedroom, only to find that Roth was still in his makeshift office. She retrieved her notebook and then eyed the blazing fire the invisible maids started every night before she came back to the suite. She hesitated, eyeing the open doorway to his office before she settled on one end of the couch and combed her fingers through her wet hair before she flipped to a fresh page in her notebook. The blanket of heat loosened tense, achy muscles, and her eyelids began to droop. She valiantly tried to stay awake, but she found herself melting into the cushy armrest. She just needed to rest her eyes for a minute, and then she’d crawl into bed. She sighed contentedly as she listened to the familiar crackle and pop of the fire.
Her mind drifted to another night she spent in front of a fire.
I want one last night to work you out of my system and not feel guilty about it.
