Innocent in New York

by Sterling, Victoria

  Sophia sighed and turned toward him with a smile. "Here. The only place you can go think during work." White marbled floor stretched all around. A large fountain stood in the middle, spewing water from angels accompanied with rich plants. Scattered around were benches that reminded Sophia of those found at a French bakery.

  James lips peeled into a grin, walking further into the dome. "Not bad." He nodded, eyes sweeping over the place before moving to the glittery evening sky. "This is fantastic." The large city suited him. He had New York at his feet; the whole world at his feet.

  "Well," Sophia walked closer to him, "it's not as nice as the view from your apartment, but it's something."

  "This feels better."

  She took his hand and led him to a bench and sat down. "These are five star sandwiches." She rummaged through the paper bag. "The bread is made out of Italian flour, baked with Greek virgin olive oil, and freshly squeezed lemon from the coast of Sicily. Here." She passed him one.

  "Mm, I love five star sandwiches from Greece and Italy." He accepted the one she held out for him. "What is it really?"

  "No clue," she laughed and picked up hers. He did the same and they both chomped down on their food. "I'm sorry it's not more dinnery," Sophia said after taking a sip from her water bottle. "This is usually my dinner when I work late."

  James smiled, glancing at his half-finished sandwich. "I don't mind. I'm not much of a dinner person anyway."

  Sophia frowned, "I thought you'd be a regular at Arielle."

  "Nah," he shook his head, "I just thought you'd like it."

  "Thanks for thinking of me."

  "Perhaps some other time, huh?"

  "Definitely. When I won't get stared at." She grimaced when she glanced down at her clothes. Beneath her coat she wore black — 100% polyester — pants combined with a white shirt with a dash of a hotel logo for finishing touches. The last place she'd go was to a fancy restaurant.

  "I'm not sure if that's possible."

  Sophia's head jerked up. "Excuse — oh," her mind started working again, unable to find any form of distaste on his face, "oh. You meant that as a compliment." She touched her palm to her forehead with a wince.

  "Yeah." He grinned, reaching his hand to her to push away a fallen curl. "But that was great."

  "I'm such an idiot."

  He seemed to contemplate that statement, and then he nodded. "Only once in a while."

  Unable to keep her smile from forming, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Thank you — not for agreeing I'm an idiot, but the other thing."

  "Calling you beautiful?"

  Sophia's heart leapt and she immediately searched his face for a sign that there was a joke in there somewhere.

  He sighed, moving his hand to cup her chin. "I call you beautiful but you don't believe me." His gaze raked over her face. "There's one thing you have to understand about me," he said, and held her attention completely, "I never lie."

  Sophia swallowed. "You never lie." His irises held swirls of deep brown, luring her in. She wondered if they kept secrets as deep as they appeared to hold.

  "Stop overthinking," he said, eyebrows resting low, his gaze pinning her, and she recognized that look; that demand. Spread your legs. Come for me.

  He leaned nearer, and she breathed in the barely-there scent of his cologne and felt her pulse drum a hint faster. He claimed her lips, and her eyes fell closed. Slowly, their lips parted, and their tongues met. Her pocket vibrated, making her groan. Not now. Please not now. Just when it started getting good, he left her lips despite her efforts. He slipped his hand into her pocket and pulled out her now singing phone.

  "You have an alarm." He handed it to her, humor evident in his eyes. "Complete with The Imperial March."

  She shut it off. "Yeah. I suspected I'd forget the time."

  "Good call," he laughed.

  If it wasn't for the fact that she awaited guests, she'd stay right there on the bench with him. Frowning, she stood up and collected her things.

  "I wish I could keep you here longer," she said, glancing at him.

  "Likewise," he said with a sigh, snaked his arm around her waist, and led her back to the elevator. "How long did you say you have to work?"

  "Eleven, I think."

  "And you started at nine this morning?" he frowned.

  Just the thought of the added hours made her tired, especially after a similar rush yesterday. "There are a lot of extra guests coming in. It'll be fine."

  "You have longer workdays than I have. He does things like this without question?"

  "It's how he is." Sophia shrugged. "I don't plan to work here forever, but right now I just have to go along with him."

  James nodded, his stare snapping from her to the doors when the elevator reached the main floor with a ding.

  "Thank you for joining me for lunch," Sophia murmured.

  "My pleasure, though you should be sitting in a pleasant restaurant, twisting your brains to figure out what you want next for dessert. I'd take a wild guess that you'd want to try Arielle's strawberries dipped in chocolate," he said and kissed her cheek.

  Her mouth watered. "I've heard that Arielle's food kills people but that it's totally worth it."

  James chuckled, and finally gave her lips some attention, pressing those god-sent lips against hers. She missed the feel of him the second he parted. "I promise you'll have the chance to die soon."

  With hectic travelers buzzing about her, she watched him leave the hotel.

  ---

  "Go home, Sophia!" Agnes said by her side, making her jump.

  "What? I — no!" She looked to the computer where she tried making a reservation add up. "I promised Serge to fix this. And you have customers." Sophia's gaze flickered to the people by her station.

  "Screw Serge's useless computer skills, and screw the Gallaghers! Let me do this. You have everything planned for them and I can meet them and send them on their way. You worked thirteen hours yesterday and almost passed out. Did you forget about that?"

  "I just forgot to eat," Sophia reminded her. "I'm perfectly fine."

  "That's what people say before they drop dead!" Agnes countered, her eyes wild. "My aunt Gretchen said that, and the next day she fell from her apple tree and broke her neck, dying instantly."

  "I'm quite sure those two things weren't related."

  Agnes sighed heavily. "For once I wish you'd say no. If Chris isn't satisfied with you working eleven hours, he can go fuck himself."

  "Agnes, please." Sophia looked her way when her friend jerked around and walked. She didn't need this now, and after a moment's pause she looked back at the screen and did what she did best; she fixed things.

  Another guest accommodated and served a delicious dinner, Sophia walked to her workstation to sort some things out before the Gallaghers arrival in half an hour or so. About to log in on her computer, Agnes came over. Luckily, she seemed calmer and had let Sophia work in peace for a while.

  "From Gallagher," she said, handing her a note.

  "They've arrived?" She frowned.

  "Yes. I sent them up to their room. They're in room 5233," she said, and nodded toward the note with the number written. "They need help with wine selection. They just said to enter." She shrugged.

  "Oh," Sophia nodded. "I can do that. I thought they wanted to go to a restaurant. Perhaps they're tired after their flight."

  "Looked that way," Agnes agreed. "I think they just want to chill. Hey, maybe you can leave earlier! You know, so you can work thirteen hours like normal people instead of fourteen?" She rolled her eyes. "Get your ass up there! You never know!"

  "You're right." Sophia folded the paper note. "Thanks, Agnes! You're awesome."

  "I know I am."

  ---

  "5233," she mumbled, not sure why she recalled the number from somewhere. She went to the 52nd floor and read on plaques for the right direction.

  The sparkling gold plaque on the door read Marilyn Monroe in lovely hand lettering, the num
bers 5233 resting above it. She gasped. That's why the number seemed familiar! She'd been inside the Monroe room once, on one of her first days working at Herrera, and the room — one of the most expensive and exquisite suites in New York City — were off-limits to most. Chris had told her to keep her hands to herself and to not touch anything when he showed her the place. It was a swift tour — two minutes tops — but Sophia had fallen in love with it during that short span of time. She probably had a hundred dreams about that room afterward. Was she really about to step back into it? Perhaps Agnes misheard them and she was supposed to wait for the couple outside. But then again, they wanted help choosing wine so they wouldn't want to step out of the room, would they? Sophia's mind boggled. Her breath was heavier, her hands shaky.

  "Oh, Monroe," she whispered, then closed her eyes and knocked on the door. Nothing. She cleared her throat and knocked again, followed with a careful "Hello?" Her gaze moved to the door handle. Let yourself in, Agnes instructed. She was expected to be present. She grasped the handle and pushed down, followed by a click. Oh, what sweet click it was. Eyes wide, she opened the door. She met with comfortable temperature replacing the cooler one from the endless halls in the hotel, drawing her into the room before she could blink. The scent of fresh roses and lilacs — delicate but noticeable — reached her. Her eyes closed for a brief moment and she let herself take a deep breath, sinking into the warm atmosphere that lured her further inside.

  "Oh my God. I'd die here," she whispered to no one, her hand grazing the back of a deep purple divan in the main room. She could envision herself on it, wearing a beautiful cocktail dress, gloved hands, and holding a flute of champagne — and perhaps a cigarette. She didn't smoke, but goddamn did she want to hold a cigarette. If she could marry a room, this would be it.

  Where was the couple? They couldn't have left the room open for random people! That was against protocol — and against common sense! "Hello?" Sophia tried again, louder. "Mr. and Mrs. Gallagher? I'm here to help you with your wine selection."

  "I think I'm good."

  Her breath caught. That voice did not belong to Mr. Gallagher.

  7.

  CRAVE

  "James?"

  "What took you so long?" he spoke against her neck and kissed her. Her legs nearly fell out from beneath her, only strengthened by his firm hand slanting around her midriff, holding her against him. He reached his other hand around her and offered her a glass of white wine. Accepting the glass, she turned around in his arms, finding him smiling. His tie hung loose on both sides, the top of his shirt unbuttoned. He'd lost his jacket and his sleeves were tugged up. He looked completely relaxed, not to mention rugged and handsome.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Took you long enough to get here." He watched her with an indulgent smile. "It almost seems as if you've never taken a step into these rooms," he noted.

  "No, I've seen the rooms, of course. I've just never, well, stayed in one past the two-minute mark. These aren't the type of rooms I can stay in," she gave a half smile, "none of them. This one least of all. Oh, God, Chris will kill me after this."

  "Really?" he asked. "You can't stay? Too bad I have it until Sunday with no one to keep the room occupied."

  Breathe in. Breathe out. "Are you insane?" She closed her eyes. "That would cost…twenty thousand dollars a night!" She overheard the price once and nearly had a blackout and it immediately crushed her dreams of staying in it. She felt dizzy, suddenly overcome by fear she'd ruin something in the room. Marble floors were durable, right? It looked to be in pristine condition, but what if she scratched it? She tensed, scared to even move.

  "If you don't want it it'll stand here empty for the rest of the week. It's such a shame for the Marilyn Monroe suite." He trailed a finger innocently over a grand piano, but his gaze was anything but; all darkened with awakening mischief. He reached for the drink standing atop it, took a swig, and set it down onto the shiny surface. Sophia gulped, almost tempted to say 'careful'. His smile broadened, drawing her focus to him again.

  "You can't leave this room empty."

  He lifted an eyebrow, in, what, a challenge?

  "This is ridiculous," Sophia begged, hurrying over to him. "It'll lose its value if I stay here!"

  He laughed. "Do you ever listen to yourself? You're as much a guest here as I am."

  "I'm not like you," she countered, reaching behind him to check that his glass didn't leave a circle on the piano. She didn't miss his eye roll. "I am an employee."

  "Not tonight, you aren't." He glanced at his watch. "You have thirty minutes to get ready. We're going to dinner. Come." He drew her away from the piano and up the black stairs. "You deserve better than that lunch from earlier," he said, reaching the second level of the room. "I thought we'd try Arielle."

  "I—" Sophia paused, barely having time to glance around the immense place unfolding before her. There was a wide bar at the end, filled with bottles for any drink one could imagine. Tall chairs lined the bar. The wide windows gave them a perfect view over the city, and the huge soft chairs in front of it made Sophia imagine her and James in one. "I — I don't know what to say."

  "Say yes."

  "Yes." It was always yes with him.

  He smiled, pausing by a door with his hand on the doorknob. "I had Agnes collect some of your things. Take your time, enjoy, and meet me downstairs when you're ready." He leaned in and kissed her.

  "Thank you," Sophia said and grasped his arm when he moved to leave. James smiled, cupped her face, and gave her one more, slow, soft kiss that made her legs forget how to function. She grasped the doorframe when he let go, and she sighed while watching him leave. The superiority of Monroe continued inside the bathroom as well, and Sophia marveled at its grace. The polished silver sparkled beneath the spotlights. A large oval pool took up a great portion of the right side with marble stairs leading into it. How much time did he say she had again?

  She couldn't keep him waiting like that, and headed for a quick shower to get the workday off her skin, blow-dried her hair, and put on makeup. She could sink down into the tub some other time, especially since he had the room until Sunday. Rummaging the bag Agnes had readied, she silently thanked her friend for finding her favorite dress somewhere in her wardrobe. She slipped on the black attire, and smoothed the glittery fabric down her hips and thighs. It was set with sparkly rhinestones placed tight across her chest and fanned out down the skirt. She finished with a red tint to her lips, and then headed outside, not wanting to keep separated from him more than necessary.

  He met her on the last step, placed his hands on her waist and lifted her. He kissed her, making her mind soar. Her feet touched ground, but she wasn't sure her head would follow anytime soon, enjoying its time in the clouds. She closed her eyes for a second, the masquerade party brushing through her mind along with the memory of his hold of her and how he already then had turned her world upside down. She smiled and blinked her eyes open to gaze at him. He looked damn handsome in that tailored suit.

  "We should really get to dinner." He glanced at his watch. "Are you ready?"

  Arielle. Sophia's nerves reached the surface. It was a place one visited in order to be seen. Only the wealthiest got inside, and she'd stick out like a sore thumb despite her favorite dress and shoes. James seemed eager on it though, and she really didn't want to ruin it. She smiled and nodded. "I'm ready if you are."

  He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and then moved to take her hand in his before bringing her with him to the elevated part of the room and up the stairs. A rectangular table accompanied with chairs fit for kings and queens met them. Behind the table, large expanses of windows showed them a clear New York night, riddled with stars rivaling Sophia's dress.

  "I thought we were going—" Sophia's words died on her tongue when the door burst open, and in came women carrying trays upon trays of food. Sophia's jaw touched the floor. James brought her backward, giving them space to move. Dressed in black, fitted pants
and shirts, women with upswept, glossy hair set the table. Written in an elegant handwriting in silk thread on their backs was Arielle. They lit candles, popped a champagne bottle, and filled two glasses. One of them turned on some music, sending a low hum of comforting sounds through the speakers — calm and dreamy. Like a group of ninjas, they exited Monroe, as if they were never there. Sophia blinked, gazing at the flickering candles, the lush setting, and delicious food.

  "Do you need a moment?" he asked, squeezing her waist gently and she recalled how breathing worked.

  She nodded, completely overwhelmed by the sudden change of plans. Her shoulders lowered. "You brought Arielle here." She turned to him. "You're out of your mind."

  He seemed to think about her statement for a moment, and then his eyes alit. "They owed me a favor. They were more than happy to oblige."

  "You have that effect, Mr. Archer."

  He showed her to the table and pulled a chair out for her. She sunk into the seat, and watched in amusement as he grasped a white table cloth and put it over his arm to appear like a waiter.

  "God, it smells delectable." She leaned forward to take another whiff of the deliciousness surrounding them. "If it tastes half as good then I can understand Arielle's position in the market."

  "It tastes better." The devil smiled. "Let me." He picked up her plate and started walking along the table, scooping food onto it.

  "This might seem simple and ordinary," he said, returning, "but they're world-famous for their grilled chicken, and it's a must in the world of Arielle. Though simple, it's very much full of surprises."

  She stared down at the plate he served her, finding it brimming with delicious salad, marinated chicken, baked potato wedges, and sauce.

  "This couldn't be more perfect. It looks lovely." She beamed up at him. It smelled fantastic as well, making her mouth water. This was exactly what she needed. Sophia had heard of Arielle's mouthwatering ingredients that had left people in utter bafflement. She recalled a review in a magazine once, where the author almost straight out asked if anyone had a tip to their ingredients along with his email subtly — or not so subtly — placed beneath. Sophia thought Arielle came off as mysterious, and Agnes straight-out believed they meddled with witchcraft. Sophia was about to find out.