ACCIDENTAL TRYST
Page 13
"No."
"Hey!"
"Bloody hell. Seriously, Emmy. Take my driver, he'll take you to a hotel I'm part-owner of in the city. You can get a room there, relax, order room service, and give us both a freaking break, yeah?"
I was stunned silent.
"And tomorrow," he went on, "after you're well-rested, he can take you back out to see David. Then you can decide if you're coming home or not."
"You're quite . . . overbearing, did you know that?"
"I'm going to pretend you just said, 'okay, Trystan.' My driver will be back there in ten minutes to pick you up."
"What? No. Don't be ridiculous."
"Emmy, I'm not bloody fucking around."
"I'm not either," I said sternly.
"If you don't take me up on my suggestion I'm going to sleep on your sheets and look through your bedside table drawers."
My breath left me in a sharp exhalation, my stomach bottoming out and my face growing hot and prickly.
"What will I find, Emmy?"
"Okay, I'll do it. I'll go," I squeaked.
"Interesting."
"No. Not interesting. Goodbye, Trystan." I pressed end. Oh my God, I thought I might throw up. He'd find my vibrator and I'd die.
Fully die.
At the very least, I'd never look at another human in the eye again.
Maybe not even my cat.
Never ever.
And after my reaction, there was no way he wouldn't go through my drawers now. I was such an idiot.
"Woohoo!" D'Andre came jogging up the sidewalk and fist pumped the air.
Thankful for the distraction, I stood and dusted my butt off, wobbling slightly with lightheadedness. "I take it that went well?" I greeted him, hoping he didn't notice my flushed state.
"You just paid it forward, girl!" D'Andre was practically giving off sparks of joy.
"I did?"
"You did."
The black, shiny, town car chose that moment to purr silently back up to the curb, reminding me I wasn't done paying anything forward just yet. "You need a ride into the city?" I asked D'Andre, pointing at the car and pursing my lips.
"For real?"
"For real," I confirmed and went back inside to get my suitcase. I just had to send a quick text.
* * *
Seriously. Don't you dare.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Challenge accepted.
* * *
I guess I'll head to the airport hotel then.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Fine. Your secrets are safe. For now.
* * *
"Ugh," I said out loud in exasperation and headed toward the black car.
* * *
The car ride into the city was full of chatter from an excited D'Andre. It was infectious, and it was a good thing because if he hadn't been there I would have been grilling the driver all about Trystan.
Apparently, Xanderr was able to come out and meet D'Andre at the club he was going to.
"Are you sure you can't come?" D'Andre asked, his palms together in entreaty.
I leveled a serious look at him. "I'm exhausted."
"Just for a couple drinks. You don't even have to go to the concert. Let me buy you a couple of drinks to say thank you."
I smiled. "Maybe. Let me get settled first, okay? Then you can text me and let me know where you are."
"Where are you staying anyway?" D'Andre asked me.
Bobby looked in the rearview mirror. "Mr. Montgomery asked me to take Miss Dubois to the Chelsea Grand."
"Oooo, Mr. Montgomery," D'Andre sang, echoing Bobby. "The Chelsea Grand. Hey, that's a pretty swank hotel."
"Stop it."
D'Andre's eyes narrowed. "Is he paying for you to stay there?"
"No!" God. No.
He nodded his chin once. "Good. 'Coz there only be one reason to do all this for a lady, and that's coz you buyin' something. Know what I mean?"
I narrowed my eyes right back at him. "Buying what, exactly?"
His hands came up. "I'm jus' sayin'. And before you get all offended, I ain't saying you sellin'."
"You better not be." I pointed my finger in his face.
As if summoned, my phone buzzed.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Who's your friend?
* * *
I sat upright and glanced around.
"What?" asked D'Andre.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Bobby told me we're giving someone a ride
* * *
Sinking back in relief I typed back. This is creepy behavior, Trystan. Don't make me regret going along with your suggestion.
* * *
"Nothing," I informed D'Andre.
"If I may?" Bobby piped up from the front seat. "Mr. Montgomery's a good man. He looks out for people."
"That's good to know," I answered, giving D'Andre the stink eye.
* * *
We pulled up outside a hotel with a carpeted sidewalk.
"There's a red carpet on the sidewalk," I said stupidly as a doorman opened my door, and Bobby jumped out of the driver's seat.
"That's so them rich people don't dirty up their kicks, yo."
"Welcome to the Chelsea Grand," the doorman said. "Checking in?"
"Um, yes."
Bobby joined us with my bag, and the doorman took it.
"Guest of Mr. Montgomery's," Bobby said to the doorman, whom he clearly knew.
"Thanks, Bobby." I put out my hand to shake his. "What do I owe you?"
"You're welcome, Miss Dubois." He tipped his hat. "I'm on call for Mr. Montgomery. You have my card, and my number is also in his phone. Just text or call, no matter the hour. Especially if you decide to go out for cocktails. Mr. Montgomery asked me to be sure you were safe."
"Thank you," I said, taking my wallet out. "But—"
"Like I said. I'm on call for Mr. M." He smiled, tipped his hat toward D'Andre too, and trotted back around to the driver's side of the car.
"Baby girl done got her a sugar daddy," D'Andre said with a chuckle.
"Shut it," I said with an eye roll. "All right. I'm going in. You say hi to Xanderr. Don't get him in trouble, he's underage."
"Yes, Mom."
I grinned.
D'Andre put out his fist. I tapped it with mine.
"Thank you, Emmy. I mean it."
"You take care of yourself D'Andre. Good luck tonight. Don't forget about us little people when you see your name up in lights."
"Never." He grinned then swung away, loping off down the sidewalk.
I took a deep breath and went inside the hotel and farther and farther into Trystan Montgomery's life.
21
Emmy
The staff at the hotel were solicitous and practically falling over themselves to make me feel comfortable. All it did was make me feel a bit like a specimen. They were clearly curious.
I was shown to a room that was really more of a suite. It had a sitting area and desk as well as a large king-sized bed. The building wasn't as tall as some others in the area, so there was no skyline view. But at least it was overlooking the street below and not the back of another building that so many of them did in New York. The room was modern but sumptuous—clean lines and comfortable furnishings. The bathroom had a large glassed-in shower that was a rare size for this city, and hanging behind the door was a large white fluffy robe.
I sighed with happiness. I'd order room service just as Trystan had suggested, take a long hot shower, wrap myself up in the robe, and maybe watch a chick flick. For one night, I wouldn't let myself worry about anything. What had Trystan said? Give us both a break? It was true I needed a mental break from worrying about money and David.
On that note, I thought I better get the call to my boss over with. I got his voicemail of course.
"Steven, sorry to call the office number so late. I don't have my phone, so I don't have your cell phone number with me. My uncle went missing today. It was awful. He's safe now, thank goodness. But
of course I had to cancel my flight, and I have to make sure I deal with any fallout from that tomorrow. I won't be back for the pitch, but everything is ready for it, the deck is finished and saved on the server. Sorry, again. Thanks, Bye."
Grimacing, I hoped that would do. Steven was a stickler for people sticking to time off organized months in advance. I couldn't prove it, but I was convinced Trina the receptionist lost her job last year because her son had an emergency dental appointment after an accident at school and had to take time off without notice. Steven was an asshole, and for once he would just have to cope without me.
Hunting around the desk area, I found a simple grill-style menu from the hotel, but apparently one could order from any restaurants in the area too. I settled on a piece of fresh fish and vegetables from downstairs because it didn't look like it involved any gluten. Picking up the phone, I was about to dial zero when a voice spoke. "Good evening, Miss Dubois, may I get something for you?"
"Uh, hi." I looked at the phone, then put it back to my ear. "Um, may I order some dinner?"
"What can I get you this evening?"
"I was thinking of the fish."
"This evening we have two choices; an Adirondack Mountain Trout or an Alaskan Halibut. Both outstanding choices."
"The trout please. And is it prepared gluten-free?"
"It can be. I'll let chef know. Any other allergies?"
"Er, no."
"Very good. And Mr. Montgomery instructed that you would be having wine with dinner. Since you've ordered the fish, may I suggest our Sancerre?"
He did, did he?
"Um," I paused, quite taken aback by the whole affair. Trystan was certainly making sure I blew through all the money he'd sent me.
"If you don't like Sancerre, I can sugg—"
"No, no. Sancerre is fine."
"Very good, and what time would you like to eat?"
I looked at my watch, knowing I wanted to shower and wash my hair. But I was also starving. "Maybe in about forty minutes?" I could dry my hair later.
"Very well. Good evening, Miss Dubois."
"Thank you, bye." I set the phone back on its cradle and stared at it for a few minutes. Interesting set up Trystan had here.
* * *
I took my time in the shower, letting the delicious stream of hot water beat down my neck and back, pummeling away the stress of the day. The steam swirled with the scent of lavender and bergamot. At least, that's what the labels on the full-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner said. I was pink with heat by the time I emerged. I dried off, put on a tank and sleep shorts, and slipped into the large fluffy robe. I combed the tangles out of my hair and then wrapped it in an extra towel to squeeze some excess water out and keep it from dripping down my back while I ate my dinner.
Just in time. There was a knock at the door, a waiter brought in and set up my dinner on the desk. "May I get you anything else?" he asked as he backed toward the door.
"I'm fine. Thank you."
"Very well. Good evening." The door clicked closed behind him.
Picking up Trystan's phone as I sat down to eat, I saw he'd texted me.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Why does someone who doesn't eat gluten have a pizza menu on her refrigerator?
* * *
While I contemplated how to respond, I took a bite of trout and moaned. Wow, it was delicious. So was the sautéed spinach with artichoke hearts. Picking up the glass of wine the waiter had poured, I took a small sip.
Within minutes I had cleaned my plate and poured myself another glass of wine. I picked up the tray and plate and set it outside in the hall, then I picked up my glass of wine and fairly crawled into the bed. I felt decadent and relaxed.
* * *
Someone who has friends who aren't gluten-free?
* * *
Suit Monkey: Fair point. It's good pizza.
* * *
Of course. I'm guessing you didn't go out.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Too tired to contemplate going out and eating alone.
* * *
Eating alone. I took a sip of wine, feeling its warmth spread through me. Relaxing me. Trystan's family situation intrigued me. It must have been some few days for him if he hadn't seen his family in fourteen years and then showed up to the funeral and apparently the reading of the will. It was like a novel.
* * *
There must be someone in your family who would put up with you for one dinner? I typed and then deleted and started again. Why alone? Aren't you mending fences after fourteen years? Ugh. No. Not that either.
* * *
Suit Monkey: What are you too nervous to ask me? I keep seeing dots appear then go away.
Suit Monkey: And no I didn't look in your bedside table, in case that's what you were wondering.
* * *
I laughed. No, that wasn't it.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Well?
* * *
You said you were eating alone, and that you haven't seen your family in fourteen years. I have questions. I'm curious. I don't know what or how to ask, and I know you probably don't want to talk about them.
* * *
I stared at the phone wondering if I'd stepped over a line.
* * *
I bet you're sorry you pushed it, huh?
* * *
Still no answer.
* * *
Grrr. Texting sucked because you never knew if you'd said the wrong thing or it'd been taken the wrong way. But calling him now felt weird. We'd already spoken a few times today. For two people who didn't really know each other, that seemed excessive. So was asking him about his family, actually. It felt normal at the time, but if I had to describe what was going on to someone, I wasn't sure I'd be able to.
Just then he texted back.
* * *
Suit Monkey: I'm back. Bathroom break. Been drinking all that local craft beer Armand left in the fridge if you know what I mean. And your damned phone needed charging. Again.
* * *
Suit Monkey: To answer your question: It's complicated. So did you eat dinner?
* * *
I did. And I'm currently drinking your prescribed wine. Didn't I mention earlier how overbearing you could be?
* * *
Suit Monkey: But you like it. The wine, I mean ;)
* * *
If I don't slow down I may drink the whole bottle. The Sancerre. It's good.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Look at us, we're having a drink together. Cheers.
* * *
Cheers! This hotel is lovely.
* * *
Suit Monkey: It is. Glad you're enjoying. By the way, I think you were lying about having a cat.
* * *
I chuckle out loud. Nope. He just doesn't like most people. Especially men.
* * *
Hopping out of bed, I poured another glass of wine and grabbed the TV remote, and then climbed under the comforter. I really should have dried my hair, but it was so cozy, and I was so relaxed. The phone was quiet for a while then, and while I tried to concentrate on a Lifetime movie I came across that looked interesting, I couldn't seem to stop glancing at the phone. Eventually I gave in and texted him again.
* * *
I hope you don't mind that I had to turn off all the notifications for your dating apps. They were getting a bit much.
* * *
And I guess it was the wine that made me do it, but I kept going to see if I could get a response from him.
* * *
Also because I actually started to find myself really liking this one girl. She wanted to get together tonight. It would have been a bit awkward when I showed up instead of you.
* * *
The response came immediately.
* * *
Suit Monkey: I would have paid good money to witness that meet up.
* * *
Ugh. Men, I typed, but I was grinning madly. It felt like I had a bu
bble in my chest that could explode at any moment. Why do men get off on thinking about girls hooking up?
* * *
Suit Monkey: We're simple creatures. Visual creatures. And I'm sure women know how to make other women feel good. Since they have the same parts to practice on :)
* * *
So it's women's pleasure that turns you on? I bite my lip as I hit send.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Never thought of it quite that way, but . . . yes. I guess so. Among other things.
* * *
My own girly parts were buzzing with pleasure. What was I doing? I didn't know but thought maybe I should stop.
* * *
Suit Monkey: Where do you keep your meds, I need an aspirin or something. I have a tension headache brewing.
* * *
My bubble of I-don’t-know-what-this-is deflated somewhat as I was brought to reality.
* * *