The drive took five hours. He exited the interstate at around eleven in the evening and whizzed us up in front of a grand, sparkling hotel. I looked at it wide-eyed, with a bit of bliss. It was possibly the largest hotel I’d ever seen, and cornfields surrounded it on every side. “Who comes here?” I whispered to Drew.
“Only those who know it’s here,” he murmured back.
A valet driver, similar in dress to the one from the previous week, emerged from the hotel and came jogging toward the car. He saluted Drew, who he seemed to know. “Sir,” he said as he escorted me from the vehicle. “I see you’ve brought a very beautiful woman with you this time.”
I blushed. I’d never been referred to as more than just a “pretty girl.” “Beautiful woman” brought me to the next level; a level of stark grandeur and richness.
Drew took my arm and led me into the foyer of the remarkable hotel. The lights were dimmed as we entered. The man at the desk stood tall in a subtle bit of light over his papers. “Sir Thompson,” he announced through the cold of the foyer. “So lovely to see you this evening.”
Drew nodded his head toward the man, not bothering to check in. I wondered about this—if he forgot. I remembered my mother continually heading to the desk, having to enter in her credit card information, her address, possibly her soul—I never knew. But here, everyone seemed to know Drew, to respect him. He seemed almost a part of the hotel, although I thought that was impossible. After all; he lived in Chicago, and we were five hours away.
Drew led me to the double-doors of the shining glass elevator. He pressed the button and the doors opened automatically. He led me onto the glass floor and I peered down, nervous already about seeing all the way to the bottom of the shaft. My eyes were large, alarmed.
He laughed at me as the door closed. “Don’t be nervous.”
The elevator glided upwards through the enormous foyer. I could see everything; every person working, every person drinking, every person talking. Fires lined the remarkable study, further away, toward the bar. I squeezed Drew’s hand. “What is this place?” I asked him. He didn’t answer.
We reached the eighteenth floor. The elevator opened and we marched directly into the grandest hotel room I’d ever seen. We walked down a few stone steps to where the floor was open. It led us to the bedroom, which was next to a great window that stretched from floor to ceiling. A kitchen, to the right of the bedroom, featured two glasses of already poured champagne, glistening in the soft light of a pre-lit candle.
I gasped, looking at it. I stepped forward. “Drew. What?” I was half-laughing, half-crying.
Drew reached forward and picked up both glasses. He brought one of them toward me and held the other in his own hand. I accepted it by its skinny stem and clinked the glass into his. The bubbles skirted up my nose, down my throat, nearly tickling me. I felt the beautiful color of it, the life of the drink in my stomach. I sighed, looking at him—this remarkable man. I couldn’t fall in love with him. I couldn’t fuck him. But this champagne—this room. It was so much more than anything I had ever known.
I noticed, then, that there was only one bed behind me. I turned, looking at it, shaking my head. I felt my eyelids begin to close after the long drive, the long week of work. I couldn’t sleep next to Drew. I wouldn’t be able to keep myself off him. If he leaned toward me; if he kissed me, I would simply dive into his arms and never get out. As a result, I was certain he would hurt me. I knew I would hate myself. It couldn’t happen.
I turned back toward him, noting that his eyes were on me. “Only one bed?” I asked him.
He shrugged his shoulders, looking at me stoically. “We’ve slept next to each other before.”
“Sure. But we were always naked.”
“I like sleeping naked. It’s good for the skin,” he answered cheekily, allowing his dimples to show.
I hummed, unsure of what to do. “Are you—are you tired?”
“I was thinking we wouldn’t go out tonight, if that’s what you mean,” Drew began. “I want to go out tomorrow night. To this most remarkable place. You’ll love it.” He grinned at me once more. He couldn’t keep his dark pupils off me. He looked toward the bed once more. “Do you mind if I sit on the bed for a moment and take off my shoes?”
Suddenly flustered, I gestured toward the bed, unsure of what to do. “Of course. Of course. Take off your shoes.”
He sat silently, gazing up at me. I thought about placing my body over his, kissing his lips. I backed away toward the champagne, and poured us two more glasses. I would fall asleep soon if I kept drinking, I knew. I nearly choked on the bubbles this time as I drank.
“You know. You’re still the most beautiful woman I think I’ve ever seen,” Drew whispered, his toes now wiggling softly on the ground. He paused, considering. “You can get comfortable. I’ll sleep wherever you want me to sleep tonight. All right?”
I nodded, feeling a pull, a hesitation about myself. Should I just let him do whatever he wanted to do? He was giving me so much; he was taking me all over, from benefit to luxurious hotel. And yet; I couldn’t find it in my heart to forgive him for taking my dance studio. I cleared my throat and spoke. “I think you should sleep on the floor.” A pause emanated throughout the room. We couldn’t make eye contact.
Drew got up from the bed stoically and pulled the blankets down from the top of the bed, giving me a space to lie down. “Good night,” he murmured. He began to remove his clothes on his route to the bathroom, tossing them this way, then that. “Sleep tight.”
I lay down in the bed, feeling the way the mattress gave beneath my back. The blankets were an alarmingly wonderful fabric, one that made me feel at the height of all things comfort, all things fashion. I inhaled and exhaled a few times, feeling a plaque of regret deep in my stomach. But I couldn’t linger on it; I couldn’t think about it. I fell into a deep sleep, allowing myself to dive into a beautiful feeling of freedom.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morning, I woke up alone in the grand hotel room. The Iowa October light was filtering in from the outdoors and I rose, pulling the curtains to the side to see the lines and lines of dead corn from the previous harvest resonate throughout the land. It looked so much like Indiana it nearly made my skin crawl.
I walked around the hotel room, peering at everything. I found the mat on which Drew had slept the evening before. The mat’s bedding was completely made, as if he had left a long time ago.
My stomach grumbled, and I searched for the hotel phone to order up some breakfast. I dialed the number and someone immediately answered. “Monsieur Thompson?” the person answered.
“No—no. I’m his—friend.”
“Ah, Madame,” the man said knowingly.
“Right. Anyway, I was hoping to order up some breakfast.” I thought about Drew, what he would want when he got back. “How about some eggs. Some pastries. Some mimosas.” I paused. “Perhaps some fruit?”
“Yes, Madame. Right away.” He hung up the phone and I felt the whirr of excitement, of activity erupt beneath me. The kitchen was making its grand many-course breakfast feast.
I paced around the room, waiting. I had no idea where Drew was. I wondered if he was upset that I hadn’t slept with him the evening before, if I had ruined everything. I wondered if he was going to simply take me home and never speak to me again. I wondered if this breakfast would be my last bit of finery for the rest of my life. My heart beat loudly in my chest. I felt like a strange alien. I felt so very alone.
About twenty minutes later, the hotel elevator opened, revealing a whole host of hotel workers, all holding grand trays filled with breakfast items. They displayed them on the counter and the large dining room table. They poured two mimosas for us both, and then bowed to me as they exited. When the elevator door closed, it was as if they had never been in the hotel room, as if the food had simply appeared.
I removed the lids from the food, finding the cheese-y eggs, fried potatoes, fruit, and beautiful French pas
tries. My stomach growled and I reached toward one—one that was oozing with crème and frosting.
Suddenly, the elevator door burst open once more. My hand on the pastry, I looked up in alarm to see Drew marching toward me. Sweat was glistening on his body and his face. He was holding a water bottle, and he was wearing exercise clothes. “Morning,” he said cheerfully. “So glad you ordered breakfast. I was just working out and I’m famished.”
My eyes were wide. I took my hand from the pastry and tried to smile naturally. “Oh. Gosh. Hello,” I murmured. “So good to see you.” I felt awkward, formal.
But Drew sat down and began filling a plate with the food. I sat on the other side of the table, my mimosa in hand. “What did you do?”
“Oh, you know. Just a bit of running. A bit of swimming. I can’t go a day without exercise, especially when I eat like this.” He winked at me, taking a large bite of pastry.
I had thought he was gone; I had thought he had disappeared. But here he was before me, eating heartily, gazing at me like a friend would. Like a friend should. I shivered, feeling the unfortunate understanding that this man before me was very nearly perfect.
I shook it off. “So. What are we doing tonight?”
“Now. Didn’t I tell you that was going to be a surprise? Why don’t you eat up? You ordered enough food to feed eight people.” He handed me the pastry I had nearly grabbed in the moments when he was walking through the door. “Come on. Eat up.”
And I did.
That evening I draped the red dress over my body and prepared my hair and make-up. I watched as, on the other side of the room, Drew rustled himself into his tuxedo and his bow tie. He combed at his hair, creating that subtle side-part of the previous week. Something inside me stirred; I wanted him so badly. But I couldn’t allow it to happen; I shouldn’t.
I turned toward him, allowing my breasts to bounce in the dress. I could play with him, couldn’t I? Even if I didn’t allow anything to happen? “You look handsome,” I murmured.
“And you look beautiful.” He walked toward me, bringing his arm out to me. “Shall I escort you to the Porsche?”
“Why, darling. I’d love to go,” I whispered, laughing at the sudden false sophistication. He had a humor about him—something I loved in anyone. If he couldn’t laugh about this grandeur, about his high style of living, then I didn’t want anything to do with him. Perhaps this was part of the reason I was here.
We walked into the elevator. I gazed at the remarkable hotel beneath us as we rushed to the ground floor. Leon, the valet, had brought the car out front for us and stood, dangling the keys for Drew, until we brushed past, excitement brimming in our bones. I hadn’t a clue where we were going, and Drew seemed so adamant on a surprise.
We hopped into the Porsche and fled into the country roads, dust and sand rollicking all around us. Drew played fast and loud music on the speakers, and I nodded my head in time with the music. It wasn’t Tchaikovsky. But it was truly remarkable how the music emanated with the raucous nature of my soul.
I opened the car window, allowing the chilly October air to roll over my arms and through my hair. I yelled into the wind, and Drew yelled as well. We were just two physical beings, propelling ourselves into the nighttime sky.
Finally we pulled into a large parking lot. At the helm of the parking lot stood a remarkable building that was reminiscent of an old castle or a Greek temple. My heart beat quickly, gazing at its incredible wonder. We pulled up—fast—in the front, waiting for the valet driver. At this point, the realization struck me like a rock.
We were at a casino.
My eyes were wide, and I spun toward Drew. My heart was beating too fast now. It was out of control, mashing itself with the beat of the rock music. I reminded myself that he couldn’t have known; he wouldn’t have known. I couldn’t go in casinos; I couldn’t gamble because of my past. It was too rocky. It was too fresh in my mind. “I’m so sorry, Drew,” I whispered. The valet driver opened the door and helped me from the car. All the while, Drew’s eyes were on me, confused, perturbed. What was wrong now? I was sure he was wondering. Could he please this peasant girl in any way? He had brought her to the ball; he had taken her into the world. Did she just want to go back to the kitchen to scrub the floors?
Drew rounded the car and took my hand, looking at me deeply. “What’s wrong, Mol?” he asked. “Please. We don’t have to go in here if you don’t like gambling—” His voice was hushed. He wanted to respect me. I somehow recognized this in him. I reminded myself that he had grown up with Mel—that he and Mel had been a sort of team. I could trust him. (Or could I? I was always on the fence about this.)
“It’s not that,” I said. I felt the cold October wind glide through my jacket, through my slim red dress. “I just. I’ll find something else to do while you gamble. Okay?”
Drew pulled in front of me, blocking me from entering the casino. He shook his head, disallowing me to take another step forward. I could hear loud music and the sound of slots from the inside. I felt like my heart was going to explode. I thought only of my father; never at home, always at the casino. Always spending our money away, leaving my mother and I with nothing after he died of that goddamned heart attack. My mother, her face teary-eyed, blotched. She hadn’t allowed me to drink or gamble. Once, a friend and I had played a scratch off game at the kitchen table, and my mother had cried in the other room. The memories were too deep. The innocence bled into terror too quickly.
“Please. Tell me what’s going on,” he whispered.
I cleared my throat. I could hardly look at him. “I just. My father died when I was really, really young. Nine. But before that, I remember the alcohol. The gambling. The drugs. He did it all at a casino outside of Indianapolis. It disgusted me, the way he used our money. He just completely obliterated my family, and then he left us.” I felt my body shaking.
Drew placed his fingers on my shoulders, kneading into my skin with his strong thumb. He sighed. We continued to listen to the music rollicking from the casino. “Molly. I’m so sorry to hear this.” His eyes were so firm, so stoic. “You know I lost my father when I was quite young, as well.”
I shook my head, feeling my heart break all over again. “What happened?” But he just shook his head; he didn’t want to go into it. I didn’t want anyone else to go through that sheer pain I had gone through; I didn’t want anyone to have to endure the loss of a parent. This was still so strong in me—this pain—all these years later. “I’m so sorry.” My voice broke.
The silence between us drove us to listen to the humming conversation of the people, the roll of the great machines. He kneaded more and more against my skin, helping me to relax. “Tell you what,” he murmured. “We’re already here, yeah? We’ve driven all this way?”
I nodded. I was adamant about not playing, but this didn’t mean we couldn’t enter. He had come all the way to Iowa for this place; it had to be special to him. I wanted to know what was important to him. Could I be important to him? Or was I a floozy, just another woman? Perhaps he did this with all the girls.
“We’re already here. And I won’t spend very much, okay? I’ll just spend five thousand at a time.”
My eyes widened, shocked at his throwing away five thousand dollars, just at a time. To me, this was more money than I had ever seen in one place. This money would save my life. And to him—it was like betting five dollars. Maybe ten.
“Just five thousand,” he assured me again, looking for a nod, a yes, anything.
And so I gave it. “Of course,” I murmured. “Five is good.”
He traced my face with his finger and leaned down, giving my nose a small tap with his lips. Something trembled inside of me. “It’s going to be all right.”
We waltzed into the immaculate casino. I stood on his arm like a queen. A few of the most beautiful people I had ever seen—again and again—looked toward us, eyeing us as the competition. Their eyes flashed. I poised my face in such a way that seemed high and mig
hty. I arched my eyebrow toward the women who glared at me and they turned away, frightened, suddenly, at my appearance of wealth.
If they only knew, I thought, about my smelly apartment and my cat Boomer. The thought made me giddy with happiness. How we can pretend to be people we’re absolutely not, even when we’re so starkly ourselves on the inside.
Drew rounded the corner and traded his five thousand for chips. I looked at the chips in his hand as he slipped them into his pocket. He pulled one out and looked at me, kissing it precisely. He handed it to me. “For good luck,” he murmured. I felt its frigidness in my fingers as I folded it back and forth in my hands. How much was each one worth? Did I want to know?
We walked toward the blackjack table. In my head, I knew Drew would be a blackjack player, so much like my losing father. My father always told my mother and me that he started out winning, every evening. That he got hot. And then—and then—the tables changed. They altered. I arched my eyebrow toward Drew, uncertain. Was he a winner? He sat down at the table and patted the soft green. The man dealt him and the others in. I stood behind him, watching his cards, watching how so many of the other players lost and lost, while Drew continued to win. Did these people all have millions of dollars to blow? Were they all maintaining the five thousand dollar rule?
“And another one for Thompson,” the dealer declared to the world, hitting Drew with more and more coins. Drew looked at the coins dispassionately, as if un-amused by them. He aligned them in a little colony on his right. I watched as the stacks grew higher and higher.
I was holding onto his arm, my eyes bright in my head. I had given up on sad thoughts of my father, especially on my third martini. I remembered how my mother had turned so hateful, so riotous in the days after his death. She had disallowed everything, and thusly, I had fled. I didn’t belong there.
But this man—this handsome man before me—was such a winner. He understood the intricacies of money; he understood how it lived, how it breathed. He could manipulate it however he wanted. “You are so talented,” I murmured, kissing him on the forehead. I didn’t know why I did it; it just felt right.
Hooked #3 (The Hooked Romance Series - Book 3) Page 4