“Fred.” Mom raises her brow at him.
“What?”
“I told you.” Now she turns toward me again. “Are you sure you like that job and house? Because there’s an opening at Clayton’s and—”
“I don’t want to be a lawyer, Mom,” I interject. I really don’t wanna hear this right now.
“Why not? What’s wrong with being a lawyer? You’d be helping people and get paid while doing it,” Mom says, taking a sip of her wine. “I honestly don’t understand why you stick with … that gossipy tabloid.”
“It’s more than gossip. We write articles about actual local news.”
“But you answer the reader’s questions too,” she says.
“Yes, but I’m also working on getting my own column.”
“Okay, but my point is, you can do so much better.” She places a hand on my hand. “I want better for you. A better job. A bigger house.” She shrugs, smiling. “Maybe even a great boyfriend.”
I almost choke on my food. “What?”
“Well, I do know some handsome young men who are still single. They frequently visit the men’s club your dad often goes to on the weekend.”
Wow. I really did not need that information. At all.
She swirls the wine around in the glass. “So does that mean you’re seeing someone?”
I can barely swallow the steak as I think about D and all the things we did. No way would I tell them. No way. Their sweet daughter doing all those raunchy things? They’d probably lose their minds. Or have a heart attack.
Besides, D isn’t exactly boyfriend material. We only had sex once, and we don’t even know each other’s real name. I doubt it’ll ever be more than that.
“I’m not seeing anyone right now,” I answer.
“Well, then why not meet the boys? I know at least one of them has a job as a finance director at a pharmaceutical company. He works hard, and he’s looking to settle. Maybe you’ll end up liking him.”
My eyes widen, and I immediately pull my hand back. “Mom …”
“What? I’m just saying.”
“Meredith,” Dad interjects, gazing at her with intent. “Please …”
She gives him a stern look. “I’m not the enemy here. I’m only trying to help.”
“I know, but she needs to be happy on her own terms,” Dad says.
I’m glad he’s on my side with this one.
“No, that’s just you trying to make up for something,” she says, leaning back in the chair while putting down her fork and knife. “You don’t want to get involved.”
Now they’re staring at each other, and I’m left in the middle, wondering what the hell is going on.
“Mom, I’m not looking for a job … or a man.” I gaze at Dad now. “And thank you, but I’m fine. I don’t need help.”
“See?” Dad says, raising his brow at Mom.
Mom dabs her lips with the napkin and tosses it on her plate. “Fine.”
I continue eating in silence, trying not to look at either of them because they’re seething. I don’t know what it is they’re mad about, but this usually happens. Mom and Dad disagree a lot. Mostly over me.
“Meredith, please, stop,” Dad begs. “Can’t we just enjoy dinner, for once?”
“We could, if you’d allow me to help our daughter get a better job and maybe even finally settle down. Instead, our lives revolve around you trying to make it as easy as you can on yourself.”
“Mom …” I put down my fork. “What is this about?”
“Nothing,” she says, turning her head away. “Obviously, nothing.”
I narrow my eyes and gaze at Dad, trying to let it sink in. Dad has always been … busy. It’s what he does, what he’s best at. During my entire life growing up in their home, I’ve experienced my mom mostly getting frustrated over me not being where I was supposed to be, not getting the grades I should’ve had, and going out with boys who weren’t good enough in her eyes, but Dad? He was never involved enough to care.
Which begs the question … why?
He’s always said he loved me. I believed it, and I still do, but I can’t help but think Mom and Dad are keeping a secret just for the sake of me … and it’s slowly ripping them apart.
“Please …” I say. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing,” Dad reiterates. “Your mom and I just don’t always agree on things that involve you.”
“Why?”
His lips part but nothing comes out except a sigh. “Let’s just all enjoy our meals, okay?”
“No.” I lean back in my chair. “I want to know what this is about. Why Mom always keeps hammering on about me getting a better job while you try your best to avoid the subject.”
Not just that, but he’s avoiding looking at me too.
“I want you to be happy,” he says.
“I am,” I say. “I think.”
“See?” Mom sputters, so I throw her a glance.
“The point is, she doesn’t want you to hook her up,” Dad says while glaring at Mom.
“I wouldn’t need to if you’d just been—”
“Meredith,” Dad interrupts. His face has gone rigid. “Don’t. Not now. Please.”
She gives him the look. That look. The one that speaks volumes, but I never know what it means.
“Never mind,” I say, scooting back my chair. “I see this was a mistake.”
“What? Honey, no.” Mom tries to grab my hand. “Please, come sit with us.”
“We’re just trying to do our best,” Dad says.
“No, can you both just be honest for once?” I ask, grabbing my purse.
Neither of them speak. All they do is silently stare at their plates.
I wish I could say that I knew my parents. That I had a strong bond with them, and that they understood me. That they gave me everything I needed, all the love in the world. But all I know is strict rules, reprimands, and silence.
That’s all they could ever do.
No explanations. No answers. Nothing.
Just as always, I’m left with disappointment.
I shake my head as tears well up in my eyes. “I have to go.”
“Honey? Wait!” Mom says, clenching the table.
But I’ve already marched out the dining room.
Behind me, I can hear them argue about me. I don’t listen anymore. I close my mind like I always did when I was living here with them.
And without saying goodbye to either of them, I leave the house.
Melvin chases after me, though. “Miss Mayer, please …”
I stop in my tracks and wait, letting out a breath. He should go inside. Give up. It’s too late to mend this. Too late to fix what was broken long ago.
“Your parents mean well. They only want the best for you.”
“It’s hard to believe that when they’re never interested in what I do or what I like. All they want to do is to push me in a direction I don’t want to go.”
“They’re trying to protect you,” he says, clearing his throat. “They always have.”
Against what? The world? Each other?
At this point, I don’t think I even wanna know.
“Right,” I scoff. “Because I’m their only child.”
“Because they love you,” he says.
My eyes turn toward the pavement as I say, “Thanks for the food, Mel. It was delicious.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Tell my parents I’m sorry,” I add, before I continue walking.
I can’t face him. Or them.
Not when I feel like this. Like I’m missing something without knowing what it is.
So I continue my stride until the house disappears from my view and out of my mind.
Chapter 8
Kat
Work was a whirlwind of deadlines and meetings. Crystal was sick today, so I had to take over some of her tasks too.
By the time I finally get home, I’m left wondering if I even got anything done at all. After
I throw my keys on the kitchen counter, I fix some nachos and dip to eat along with drinking some hard-earned wine while I settle behind my laptop. I need some downtime. Some fun. Something to take the edge off things.
So I open the browser and go to the familiar website, searching the chat for D. But he’s not online. He wasn’t online the evening I came home from my parents either. In fact, I haven’t seen him online in days.
Is something going on in his life? Or is it something else?
I tap my fingers on the keyboard. What if he’s done playing? What if he’s done with me?
I’d hate for that to happen, but at the same time, I’d understand. After all, there comes a point when you just get too attached to a person. Something we should avoid at all costs when it comes to having sex with strangers we’ve met online.
Still … I can’t help but wonder if he blocked me. Maybe he did. After all, I said it was a one-time meeting only. Sex in a hotel bedroom without ever seeing or hearing from each other again.
I gave him the choice. He made the decision. Yet … when I think about it, I’m not at all happy with the outcome. For some reason, I wanted more. More of what we had. More dirt. More play. More … of him.
He was so in tune with what I needed. What we both needed. It felt … special. Like something that shouldn’t be waved aside and dumped, ready for the next anonymous fuck.
What if this is it? The end?
I take a large sip of my wine.
Fuck no.
I can’t let it end here. Not when we were both just starting to enjoy it. And I could tell he definitely was.
I open the folder where I keep all my naughty pics and find his. When I open one of them, I keep staring at the window behind him, and at Hotel Davies, realizing I could pinpoint his exact location with this.
Whether he works there or stays there often, what’s the chance he might be there again? And if he will be there at some point in time, could I possibly see him? Is it worth the risk?
Maybe not … but what’s the worst that can happen? He might rat me out to the website and get me banned from there. Worst-case scenario, he thinks I’m a stalker, and things get ugly.
Best-case scenario? We fuck again … and again … and again.
A devious grin spreads on my lips. Nothing but my conscience is stopping me from going there, and right now, my conscience is on the losing end. Because the devil in me is winning by a long shot.
I’m right in front of the building. It’s another hotel, one I don’t recognize. Maybe I never really paid attention to this part of town. Or maybe I’m oblivious. And completely out of my mind.
My feet are already walking toward the doors before my mind decides. I can’t stop myself from going inside and marveling at the beautiful marble on the floors and walls, the vibrant colors of the big flower pots scattered across the hall, and the thick palm trees in every corner. The whole thing looks expensive as fuck. A place where I normally wouldn’t even dream of booking a room.
People are walking around; mostly men donning suits with young girls on their arms, but a lot of staff too. It’s very busy, like there’s an event happening soon.
My eyes are instinctively drawn toward the large staircase in the back and the red velvety carpet that lies on top, welcoming guests. I wonder if D is up there. It sure looks magnificent.
Hotel O … I wish I knew it existed. I would’ve come here sooner and tried to haggle off the price of a room.
They must be expensive. Far beyond my budget.
And D … works here?
All kinds of questions run through my mind, but I’m distracted by a man clearing his throat to my right. The bellhop.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
With parted lips, I stare at him, blinking a couple of times before I make my way over to his desk. “Uh … yes.” My face flushes because I feel caught. Like I’m not supposed to be here. “I’m looking for, uh …”
Shit. I forgot, I don’t even know his real name. What am I supposed to tell this man?
What the hell are you doing, Kat?
“Can I speak to the manager, please?” I say, making it up on the spot.
The man frowns, narrows his eyes, and stares at me for a few seconds. Sweat drops form on the back of my neck as I try not to panic. Please, just go and get him so I can run and pretend I never did this.
“We have several, ma’am. Which one are you referring to, or does it not matter?”
“Oh, uh … someone whose name starts with a D?” I say it like it’s a question, but I’m just fishing for information now. I’m hoping D is part of his real name. If not, this may be the end of the line.
“May I ask what the reason is?” the man says.
Well, fuck. I don’t know.
“My … uh …” I mumble. “No, in fact, that’s for his ears to hear only,” I say resolutely. “Now please, just get him. I have to speak with him.” I don’t even know why I’m pretending to be classy when I’m not, but if I can convince him I’m a disgruntled guest, he might step away for a moment so I can finally go.
However, as he turns around to pick up the phone on the desk next to him, a man walks past me wearing a familiar scent. It’s the same cologne I smelled when I was in the hotel room … with D.
My head instinctively turns to take it in.
Thick, dark hair and a tight black suit.
It’s him all right, and he’s walking toward the stairs.
I gotta go after him.
Without thinking, I follow, and the bellhop yells at me, “Ma’am, where are you going?”
“I’ll talk to the manager later,” I say. “It can wait.”
“Ma’am, please, can you wait?” he asks, but I’m long lost to the handsome stranger going up the stairs while I’m fighting my way through what feels like a crowd of people. He’s right there, only a few steps away. If I could reach out, if I could only—
Suddenly, someone jerks my arm.
It’s the bellhop.
Fuck.
“Ma’am … do you have your card?” He sounds a lot stricter now.
I frown, confused. My head is spinning. “My what?”
He sighs. “Are you a guest at this hotel?”
I look up at the stairs, but I’ve lost sight of him. “Um …”
“Come with me, please,” he says, tugging my arm to pull me back down the stairs.
But I don’t want to go. I was almost there. I almost had him. I could almost touch him.
And now he’s gone again. Goddammit.
The bellhop tugs me along with him, forcing me back to the desk, where I know my search will end. I don’t know why it’s so important for them to keep me here, and why I’m not allowed to go up without some kind of card, but whatever.
At this rate, I’ll be thrown out of the hotel if I resist, so I don’t. Instead, I use my puppy dog eyes to persuade him to let me go anyway.
“Please, I need to speak to that man …” I say, trying to see if D’s still there, but he’s already gone.
“Who are you talking about?” the bellhop asks. “Can you show me your card, please?”
“The man in the suit with the dark hair,” I say, totally ignoring his request. “He just went up the stairs.”
The bellhop cocks his head, and says, “Wait … you’re one of the girls!”
I frown, staring. “Wha—”
“We were expecting a replacement. Finally. I was starting to worry,” he interrupts, grabbing a pencil and writing down something on a piece of paper. “You’ll need to go to his office on the second floor.”
He rips the paper off the stack and hands it to me. I stare at it, flabbergasted, unsure of what to do.
“Go on then. He’s waiting for you,” he says, pushing me in the direction of the stairs again.
I can’t even protest. By the time I look up from staring at the paper, the bellhop is already talking to another guest.
The reason I’m so dumbstruck is because of the name wri
tten on the card.
Declan Porter. D. It has to be him.
A smug smile spreads on my lips.
I could turn around and tell the bellhop I’m not the girl he’s looking for. Or I could press on and finally see D again.
My feet have already made the decision as I move up the stairs to the second floor. My heart flutters in my chest as I approach the room number written on the paper. Thirty-five. All the way in the back of the hallway near a bunch of other offices.
I’ve never seen a hotel where the offices are on a lower floor, but maybe they do things differently here. I can’t complain as long as I get to see him again.
I know he probably blocked me, but I want to know why. Because I’m damn sure he was enjoying himself just as much as I was. I need to know if a possibility for something more exists. Something … whatever it is. I have to find out.
But as I knock on the door, sweat begins to roll down my back.
Anticipation is killing me as I await a response.
However, it never comes.
Frowning, I slowly push the door handle until it clicks, and the door opens. It’s only a small peek to see if he’s there.
My head tilts inside the room. “Hello?”
Like a curious butterfly, I wiggle into the room and look around.
Should I leave or wait for him?
A few seconds pass, and my eyes glide over the room. There’s a drawing board filled with notes in the back along with a desk and a chair. To the side is a small bookcase with a bunch of books, and on the wall are several … titillating paintings.
Declan is nowhere to be found. I should definitely not be here right now.
Still, I can’t help look around. Just a simple glance won’t hurt, right?
My eyes immediately connect with the window on the other side of the desk. I step closer and gaze at the view outside. Across the street, the flag of Hotel Davies is blowing in the wind.
If I wasn’t sure before, I am now … This is the place.
And the laptop resting on the desk has to be the one where he typed out all of those filthy messages to me.
I can’t help but let my fingers glide along the desk and the leather chair. I pull it back and sit down, bouncing up and down on the soft cushion. It feels so luxurious. Definitely an office for a senior manager. Or something more.
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