by John, Ashley
“Nope,” he screwed up his eyes, causing the well-tanned skin around them to crinkle, “I think you have the wrong room.”
She huffed and crossed her arms tighter.
“Delilah White?” she snapped.
“Who's that?”
“Me!”
“And you are?”
She rolled her eyes.
“'Love is Enough'?” she said.
“It is?”
She rolled her eyes again.
“You must have heard that song,” she laughed.
“I don't really have time to listen to music.”
A dry smirk flickered across his lips, which only made him seem less attractive and more arrogant.
“Or watch TV?” she raised her pencilled eyebrows suspiciously.
The man had an American accent, and she'd been plastered across every morning television show, talk show, music show and reality show you could think of. Her label had done a good job of getting the name 'Delilah White' out there whilst she recorded her debut album.
“I prefer reading,” he said softly, “what is it you want Mrs White?”
“It's Miss White, thank you,” she snapped brushing the stray strands of hair from her face, “there's been a mix up with the rooms. You're in my assistant's room.”
She smiled and waited for the man to apologize before running in to swiftly pack his bags, but he smirked even further and matched her by folding his arms.
“I am, am I?” he whispered.
The way his voice rasped deeply made the hairs on the back of Delilah's arm stand to attention. She was already sweating from the lack of air-conditioning, but the infuriating stranger wasn't helping the situation. She shook her hair out and tried to ignore the voice in her head that was telling her he was gorgeous.
“Yes, you are,” she continued, “so it would be a great help if you moved downstairs, thank you.”
“I've been here for a week,” he whispered even deeper, widening his eyes as he leaned down to her, “I'm not moving.”
“But you have to,” she laughed.
She glanced back to Marcus and the woman, but the woman looked more amused than anything. She diverted her attention to the towel clad man, but found her eyes locking on his well-defined, tanned chest, rather than his face.
Even in her 6 inch heels, he was still a lot taller than her.
“It was nice chatting,” he said softly, “Delilah? That was your name wasn't it?”
Delilah angrily huffed as the man smirked down at her. Their eyes lingered on each other's for a second, before he flicked a stray strand of damp hair out of his eyes and turned on his heels back into his room.
Before she had time to think about it, her hands were banging down on the wood. She always got what she wanted, so she wasn't going to let a pretty man walk all over her. In LA, she was used to people waiting on her and carrying out her every demand. She had respect and admiration. She could tell people to drive for an hour to find her food that she wanted, or to find a pair of shoes she might have seen in a dream.
“Let's go!” the wrinkled woman cried, dragging Marcus further down the hall, “Enough talk!”
He shot Delilah a look that read 'sorry!' before wriggling free of the woman's tight grasp to follow her willingly with his suitcase trailing behind.
She wasn't bothered about having Marcus close for company. She tolerated him because he was good at assisting her whenever she required assistance. The thing that bothered her was that she didn't think he could assist her from two floors down. In any other resort, it wouldn't be a problem, but she couldn't imagine the hotel had room service or a mini bar.
Angrily, she gave the door a bitter look before storming into her own room and slamming the old and heavy door loudly in its frame.
***
A loud bang on the door made Delilah's eyes spring open. Dreams of a man in a towel quickly exited her mind as she peered into the dark. She could hear the sound of rushing water and chattering as she rubbed her matted and messy hair out of her face. She instantly reached into the back of her head to unclip the painful and heavy extensions.
Looking out into the dark as she pulled each long piece out, the heat from the open balcony doors made her gasp for fresh air. She was so used to waking up in strange hotels around the world, it took her a second to remember where she was. Scanning the ceiling, she looked for an air conditioning unit but she couldn't see one, which only re-ignited the anger she felt for the place. If they couldn't afford new bulbs for the neon sign outside, they couldn't afford to air condition each room.
Another loud thud at the door made her spring up from the firm and tiny bed, making her stumble in the Louboutins that were still attached to her swollen feet.
“Who is it?” she called groggily through the door, pulling the last extension from the side of her head.
“It's me.”
She unlocked the door and opened it clutching a handful of blonde hair in her fist. She was relieved to see that it was only Marcus. He was clutching two bottles of wine in his hands in front of a mischievous smile. She might not have particularly liked Marcus, but he shared her passion for partying, which was handy when she couldn't get any of her celebrity friends to hit the town.
“Where did you get them?” she said as he followed her into her dark room.
“There's a shop around the corner!” he laughed, “Wine is so cheap in Spain!”
He set the bottles down on the dresser next to where Delilah dumped her fake hair. Crawling across the bed, she pulled on the chain of the tiny light, which flickered dimly into life, casting a soft glow on the room. It looked as bad as Delilah remembered in the daylight before she fell asleep from the jet-lag.
“You're lucky,” he said, heading over to the balcony which overlooked the pool, “I don't even have a window!”
“Assistant's don't get windows,” she said.
He laughed and seemed to think it was a joke, but she wasn't in the mood to make jokes. She hadn't even been out onto the balcony, but she knew she deserved it over Marcus. Since being discovered at the age of 18 and touring the world to work with various producers, her life had become one long sequence of hotel rooms. One day she was in Germany to record, LA to film a video and then back to the UK to do a radio tour. She rarely got to explore the places she was in, so it had been a long time since she'd taken a moment to admire the view.
She did know, however, that the Paraíso was the worst of all the hotels she'd been to. Even when she was newly signed, they sent her to nicer places.
“Did you get hold of Tony?”
Marcus wandered back into the room, and he had a look on his face that Delilah knew and hated. It was the look he usually had when he told her that Cara Delevingne had been given the last Birkin Bag or Rihanna had been chosen to wear the Gucci dress she really wanted for an awards show.
“I had to borrow the hotel phone, which Julia wasn't happy about.”
“Who the hell is Julia?” she interrupted.
“The woman who owns this place. Anyway, that's not important. I tried to ring Tony but he's not taking any calls because of his hip operation.”
“I don't care about his stupid hip!” she cried, “He's sent me to the asshole of Madrid!”
“I managed to get hold of someone from the label,” he continued, “and you aren't going to like what they said.”
Delilah's blood was already boiling, just from the apologetic and fearful look on Marcus' face.
“There's nothing they can do,” he said, taking a step back from her, and running his hands through his short, curly, brown hair.
“What do you mean?” she didn't want to believe her ears, “There's always something!”
“I spoke to Jerry. He said they booked this place based on a recommendation and never actually looked at it. He said there's no money left in the budget, for this trip, to move us somewhere else.”
“Recommendation? Budget?” she screamed, slamming her body back into the firm
bed.
Each spring dug in her spine as she grabbed fists of her natural hair.
“He said we're going to have to stay here for the two weeks,” Marcus whispered, taking another step back.
Delilah let a loud whine and smashed her head back into the hard bed when she remembered André, her French model boyfriend who was meant to be joining her on the second week of her trip. At the end of the first week, she was performing on the television show, and the rest was meant to be a relaxing break for her and her lover, before she headed back to America to start the press tour for her album.
She'd expected room service, a mini-bar and a spa, not a pool the size of a bath, a light with a chain and a dirty looking phone. Romance was what she'd promised André, but Paraíso was far from romantic.
“This isn't happening,” she screamed as she shook her head furiously.
Marcus ducked out of her way as she kicked off her expensive shoes.
“It's not too bad,” Marcus tried to smile through the fear, “there's a pool, and you're going to spend most of this week over at the studio rehearsing for the show. It's a big deal for you! It's going to help you crack the rest of Europe.”
“I don't give a shit about Europe! If this is what Europe looks like, I don't want to tour here. I don't want them to hear my album. I don't want to stay in this cesspit!”
A little voice in the back of her head told her she was overreacting, but she remembered the last hotel she'd stayed in, in New York. It had a hot tub and a fully stocked bar and kitchen. The memory of luxury made her blood boil even more.
“I got us wine!”
Delilah sat up on the edge of the bed and pierced her cold blue eyes right through Marcus. His attempts at bribing her with alcohol were as transparent as the white tank top he was wearing. He thought it showed off his arm muscles, but he looked like all of the other gays in LA who didn't have a scrap of muscle on their bodies because they refused to carry bags over 5lbs.
“Glasses?”
“What?”
“Did you get glasses?” she snapped, “to drink the wine?”
Marcus fidgeted on the spot before stuffing his hands sheepishly into his pockets.
“If TMZ could see me now. I can already see the headlines. 'Pop Star Delilah White Drinks Wine From Bottle'.”
“It looks like good wine though!” Marcus smiled, “And it's your favorite!”
She glanced at the bottles and noticed the pinkish hue to the liquid through the bottle in the dark. For all of his flaws, Marcus knew her inside out, which made him the perfect assistant. Before she could lose the last shred of her dignity by drinking from the bottle of wine, another loud knock on the door echoed throughout the tiny room.
“That better be Julia to tell me there's a secret penthouse and she's moving me immediately,” Delilah shot Marcus a look to let him know that he needed to answer the door.
Delilah watched as Marcus jumped to attention, but where she'd expected to see the little woman, she saw a tall man with dark hair standing in her doorway. It took Delilah a second to realize that he was the same man she'd had a showdown with only hours early. He'd chosen to ditch his towel, and instead he was wearing a white shirt with a pair of faded jeans. Thick black glasses covered most of his face and his hair had been dried back. The only thing that remained from the sexy and arrogant semi-naked man she'd argued with was the hint of his muscles through the front of his open shirt.
He reminded Delilah of the geeks from high school, but he'd somehow discovered the joys of working out.
“What do you want?” she said coldly, ditching the wine and pushing Marcus out of the way of the door.
The man's strong and spicy aftershave greeted her, which caused a stirring in her stomach, but she concentrated really hard on trying not to show it on her face. She didn't seem to find him as attractive with all of his clothes on, but it didn't stop her remembering his dripping and tanned body.
“I heard screaming and wondered if you needed help,” he whispered through a smirk, leaning in towards her.
“Help with what?”
“Oh, I don't know? From the sound of it, help tying the noose around the balcony?”
Delilah furrowed her brow and leaned against the door, pushing her matted, extension-free hair from her face.
“Sorry, I forgot to laugh,” her voice flat.
Behind the glasses, his chocolaty eyes flickered with a hint of amusement at her attitude. She tried not to notice how they pierced through the dark.
“It's okay. I'll remind you next time,” he winked playfully
The wink made the fluttering in her stomach return, coupled with a faint smile, which she quickly forced back. Delilah wasn't the type of woman who was going to give anybody the satisfaction of getting one over on her. She still hadn't forgiven him for not instantly moving out of his room.
“Well I don't need your help. So you can go away,” she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes before taking a step back into her room.
“One more thing,” he called after her.
“What?”
His tongue ran quickly across his teeth as he smirked wildly. She screwed up her face to stop it reacting.
“How do you spell Delilah?” he asked coyly.
“Why?” she said, “Are you going to Google me?”
“No, I just want to make sure I get it right. Y'know, in my article.”
“What article?” she demanded.
Instantly, she assumed he was paparazzi. She quickly thought back to her label before she left. They told her to behave herself because bad press across seas didn't always work out so well. She scanned the man stood in front of her, looking for a secret recording device or camera. She tucked her messy hair behind her ears and crossed her arms around her chest.
“I'm here to write an article about Madrid for European Travels Monthly, but I think a bit of drama will add an extra flavor that my editor might appreciate. I'm sure writing about a diva like you, would really help sell our magazine.”
Delilah's mouth dropped at being called a diva. She knew she could be demanding, but that's what the industry was like.
“You dare!” her eyes squinted and her voice lowered to a threatening whisper.
“Oh Delilah White,” he winked again, leaning through the dark, “I dare.”
“Marcus, we're leaving!” she cried, rushing back to stuff her feet back into her shoes.
The last thing she needed was another negative article written about her. Whoever said 'all press is good press' was lying, because Tony nearly killed her when the press learned about her recent DUI charge in LA.
“There's nowhere to go,” Marcus moaned, pulling the cork from the bottle, “just calm down, yeah?”
Delilah's mouth dropped again.
“You're my assistant!” she screamed hysterically as she tried to re-clip her hair back in, “Assist!”
“He's right though,” the journalist called.
She spun around to see that he'd taken a step into the room, with his smirk even wider and more amused. The stubble from earlier had grown out slightly, covering the lower half of his face in a shadow. Delilah was quickly starting to think that everything attractive about him was coming across as smug.
“Get out!” she cried, marching over and pushing against his firm chest.
She felt a tingle in her fingers as they brushed against his exposed skin through the open shirt. He let her push him out of the room, even though she was tiny compared to his bulked out frame.
“Just keep it down, okay?” he winked, “No more screaming. Some of us have busy work to be getting on with.”
His hazel eyes lingered on her for, before he bobbed his head down and headed back towards his room.
“You dare write about me and you'll be hearing from my lawyer!” she screamed after him as his door slammed shut, “You hear me?”
She waited for a response, but she was met with silence. She couldn't believe how much the man infuriated her. There was
something about his cheeky smirk and amused 'know-it-all' eyes that made her want to crush him.
Just as she was about to bang his door down, Julia appeared through the dark of the stairway and marched angrily down the hall towards her.
“You!” she growled, pointing a boney and wrinkled finger at Delilah, “You too loud! People complain!”
Delilah didn't respond, instead she curled her lips into a snarl before tossing the one matted extension she'd managed to cram back in, over her shoulder. With one last glare at Julia, she marched back into her room, slamming the door as loud as she could, for the second time in a day.
Chapter 3
From behind her expensive sunglasses, she squinted painfully into the bright sunlight, rubbing the white lotion on her tanned and slender legs. She could feel the effects of the wine from the night before, weighing heavily on her blurry mind.
She remembered quickly gulping down the first bottle of wine in no time after her meeting with her arrogant neighbor. She made as much noise as possible and talked about him very loudly, right next to the wall. After her wine disappeared, she snatched Marcus's wine out of his hands and finished his bottle for him, before collapsing face first onto her bed.
A tiny blue pool sat in the middle of the courtyard, but Delilah wasn't going to risk taking a dip. It looked murky and there were a lot of strange objects floating around in it, mainly sandals, leaves and pieces of half-eaten fruit. High stone walls kept them inside the complex, with the ugly hotel looming over them, blocking most of the morning sunlight. It had taken her most of the morning to find a spot where she could feel the sun on her skin.
“Is there a bar?” Marcus mumbled under his own glasses.
“Don't talk about alcohol,” Delilah groaned through the hangover.
Her head was spinning out of control, even though she wasn't moving. As the sun covered her skin, she felt the heat attempt to wash away her headache, but it only made her sweat underneath her makeup.