Page 50 of Don't Tell

She turns the corner.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

That was close.

I cross the lobby to pick up fresh linens at the front desk. Carmen is on a phone call with a guest, and Frank is at the concierge stand with his hands flat on the wood and a small pile of room-service slips in front of him. He looks up when I pass.

He nods.

I nod back.

Roger is at the service desk with the clipboard.

He's not on the radio. He's not yelling. He's visibly working very hard at containing himself. His mouth is a thin line. His eyes track me from the supply closet to the linens shelf and back again, and he doesn't call me over. He doesn't say a word.

He's timing me.

I know it.

I don't speed up. I push the cart past him without hurry. I pretend I can't feel his eyes on me.

I pass him close enough that the cart wheel almost catches the leg of his desk. I don't apologize. I don't acknowledge him.

In the linen closet, I count to ten under my breath. The shaking in my hands is mostly in my left, which is the one I can hide.

I leave with the cart full.

I clock the cart into the service bay. I peel my gloves off and drop them in the bin. I take the back stairs to the penthouse floor, not the staff elevator, which Roger has eyes on, and not the guest elevator.

Eleven flights, and my calves complain. My hands are on the railing, and the stairwell smells like the mildew of a back-of-house space nobody has cleaned in two years, but I climb it anyway.

I count the floors out loud under my breath. Five. Six. Seven.He is up there. He is waiting for me. Eight. Nine.

I'm breathing hard at the door. I push it open.

The penthouse hallway is empty.

I cross it and swipe my card. The light goes green.

I open the door.

He's at the kitchen counter, in boxers and no shirt, holding a glass of water. The lamp by the desk is on. The curtains are open at the windows behind him, the valley is soft and dark, with small lights of the vineyards strung out along the hillside. He has a towel hung over one shoulder. His hair is wet at the ends, which means he's just come out of the shower.

Oh.

He looks up when the door clicks. The glass goes down on the counter without him looking at it. The towel slides off his shoulder, and he doesn't catch it. The next thing I'm aware of is being against the wall just inside the suite with his mouth on mine and the door closing itself behind me.

Neither of us says hello.

He kisses me like he's been thinking about it the whole day, and I kiss him back. His hands are at my hips, then at the buttons of my uniform, then at the soft hollow of my throat.

"Suzanne."

"Mmm…"

"Get this off."

"Bossy."