“Tell me already!” I snapped.
Marlowe fixed her hair before finally blurting out, “Your assistant is sleeping with the enemy.”
I looked at Marlowe and narrowed my eyes, not quite registering her words. “My what is what?”
“Eva, for somebody so smart, you can be really out of it sometimes. Let me spell it out for you. G-I-N-A is fucking B-L-A-K-E.”
“WTF.” My eyes widened in horror. “Disgusting! Blake is married and… well, he’s, he’s a giant douche. I can’t believe that little tramp would do such a thing.”
“Believe it. She’s a Ho with a capital H.”
“So, you think they worked together to sabotage my trip?” I asked.
“You betcha!” Marlowe emphatically shook her head up and down. “This has Blake written all over it. Gina is a sheep. She either went along willingly or Blake changed the arrangements behind her back. Either way, she should have her ass canned. I mean, who knows what kind of personal information she’s told Blake about you.”
I grimaced at the idea of Blake knowing about my past, especially the breakup. Marlowe brought up a good point. Even if Gina hadn’t explicitly helped Blake, she should have checked the travel arrangements. At the very least, she was grossly incompetent.
I whipped out my phone and added, fire Gina, to my to-do list. Although, I had a feeling that she already quit.
Just thinking about Blake changing my travel arrangements made my blood boil. Booking me a room at a sex resort? How sixth grade of him. I should have let loose on him at the airport. Blake deserved to get his ass handed to him. “I bet he’s having a good laugh over this,” I said.
Marlowe stood up and smoothed her dress. “Come on, let’s go get the little prick.” She led the way to the hotel entrance. As she grabbed the door handle, she turned and surveyed the debauchery around us. “It could have been epic!”
The wistful look on Marlowe’s face almost made me feel guilty. I draped my arm around her shoulder in a half hug. “If I didn’t have the interview, I would stay here for you.”
Marlowe batted her eyelashes. “Really? You would do that for me?”
“Yeah, if circumstances were different.” I needed to tread a fine line. Be consolatory, but not foster any false hope. I continued, “We could have gone to the real estate conference in the mornings and then came back here at night. I would have stayed in my room of course, and you could have had the run of this place.”
Marlowe let go of the door handle and turned slowly toward me. Her eyes widened as chewed on the corner of her lower lip. “So, why can’t we do that now?”
“Because of the interview,” I choked out. “I need to be at the conference hotel in case they call me back for a second interview at a moment’s notice. And, what if someone found out we were staying here, at Hotel Erotica? My career would be ruined.”
Marlowe rolled her eyes and her hands flew to her hips in a defensive posture. “It’s Club Voyeur.”
“What?” My brain raced to form another cohesive argument for leaving. I completely missed her point.
“The hotel.” Marlowe arched an eyebrow. “It’s called Club Voyeur.”
“Whatever,” I snapped. I didn’t care what the hotel was called. I wanted out. Now! I swung the door open and ushered us back inside. Without saying a word, I led Marlowe down the glass corridor and back to the lobby.
Before I could get our luggage, Marlowe stopped walking and turned to face me. “You’re being a tad bit dramatic. Don’t you think?” She said coolly.
“No —”
She cut me off. “I’m not finished yet. First of all, no one is going to find out we’re here, or care for that matter. Second, you are the one who didn’t want to take the ferry because you didn’t want to run into anyone you knew. If we stayed here, you wouldn’t have to see any realtors outside of the seminars. And another thing, this place is just like any other hotel. The only differences are that the guests are hotter and there aren’t any children running around screaming their heads off.”
“Just like any other hotel? Yeah right. Do other hotels have How to Give the Perfect Blow Job classes or promote public fucking on the cabanas?”
“Public fucking?” Marlowe grinned.
“Yeah. Like I saw two people having sex on my way to the pool. This is not the type of place I would ever choose to stay in!” I flailed my arms about pointing at everything around me.
“You’re making a scene,” Marlowe scolded, pulling me over to the side of the room.
“So what. I can’t believe you think we should stay here! This is not a personal vacation.” I crossed my arms and glared at my best friend, who wasn’t even high up enough in the company to get the invite to the conference. Part of me regretted pulling strings so I could bring her along. I thought the conference would be good for her, further her career.
Marlowe stared at me in silence.
Her sudden calm demeanor had me on edge. Even though I tried to avoid conflict, I could handle arguing. The silent treatment was my kryptonite.
Going to the other hotel without Marlowe was not an option. She was my best friend, voice of reason, and security blanket. When I fell apart, Marlowe picked up the pieces. I couldn’t imagine getting ready for the interview without her. And if by some miracle I got the Paris job, Marlowe will be my first hire.
“Marlowe, I am sorry we’re arguing. I know you like it here, it’s just, well…” I stopped myself and tried to find the right words.
Marlowe’s stone cold demeanor showed no signs of budging.
“Why don’t we compromise?” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“What do you have in mind?” Her scowl softened into her natural resting bitch face.
“Let’s go get our real itineraries and check into the conference hotel for tonight. After my interview, we can come back here for the rest of the week.” I totally caved, letting all of my education and job experience fly out the window.
“I knew you would come to your senses.” Marlowe grinned and looked around the lobby. “You know I think this is going to be really good for you. This is your chance to loosen up for once. Take that stick out of your ass.”
“I doubt it,” I murmured. As much as I wanted to be more carefree, I couldn’t let go and enjoy myself for long. All of my doubts and deep-rooted trust issues had a way of finding me whenever I approached happiness.
Marlowe looked at me through narrowed eyes and shook her head. “If you don’t start changing things up a little, you’re going to end up old and alone.”
“So I’ve been told.” If I kept avoiding intimacy with men, I probably wouldn’t end up a weird old cat lady, but I would end up a well-dressed woman who worked nights and weekends and had nowhere to go for the holidays.
Marlowe put her hands up in a defensive posture. “I know it sounds harsh, but it’s the truth. This week I want you to do something for me.”
“What is it?” Marlowe had me in a corner. Between my extreme exhaustion and overwhelming desire to get to the right hotel, I would probably agree to just about anything.
“Each time you make a decision this week, I want you to think about what you would do and what I would do. Like those Jesus bracelets, I want you to ask yourself, What Would Marlowe Do (WWMD)?”
“You’re like Jesus now?” I laughed.
“Just bare with me. After you ask yourself WWMD, I want you to do what you think I would do. I guarantee you will have way more fun that way and who knows, maybe you’ll even drop your guard enough to let someone in.”
“I don’t know if I can do that,” I admitted. When I looked in the mirror, I saw damaged goods. A girl with a broken heart who trusted a boy too freely and only got hurt in the end. I didn’t know if I could change my ways overnight.
“Try. For me,” Marlowe pleaded. “Just this once.”
I would try. Not for Marlowe, although I loved her dearly, but for myself. “Maybe I could have a little fun,” I conceded w
ith a smile. “I will try to be more like you, if you try to be a little more like me. I want you to actually apply yourself a little tomorrow at the conference.”
“Okay,” Marlowe rolled her eyes. “But first, you need to do something about that hair. What if you meet your future husband when we’re outside waiting for the cab? We can’t have you looking like a ragamuffin.”
After a few seconds sorting through her purse, Marlowe pulled out some anti-frizz serum and squeezed it into her hands. She rubbed it into my hair and tousled it like she worked at a salon. I knew this was her way of making up for the argument. I also knew this was going to be one hell of a week.
Chapter 4
The crisp autumn wind sent a flurry of brittle leaves pirouetting into the air. Bathed in the delicious scent of croissants and freshly made coffee, I skipped along the cobblestone streets of Rue de Montpensier doing my best to avoid the dog shit. Paris was an enlightened city, forward in almost every way, except pet hygiene. I missed New York, and occasionally fell into the grass is greener trap elevating experiences of the past to mythical status, just like any other ex-pat. But, I wouldn’t give up my new life for anything.
Smiling to myself, I opened the door to the Kohler-Phillips’ Paris office. My office. As I walked past the receptionist’s desk, her frantic voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Excusez-moi Mademoiselle, only employees can go past this point.”
She must have been new. Her French accent, if you could call it that, needed considerable work. I whipped my head around and snapped, “I’m the Executive Vice President of this office.” I looked at her name tag closely, squinting to read it. “Miss Williams.” The name rang a bell, but I couldn’t place it.
She stood up and placed her hand on the telephone. “Mademoiselle, you must be confused. Please take a seat and I will call someone to help you.”
I laughed and looked around the office. It looked just as I left it yesterday. This prank had Marlowe written all over it. “Miss Williams, you are very good. Very good indeed.” I chuckled and breezed past her. The clicking of her heels echoed in the small space as she rounded her desk. Rolling my eyes, I continued walking to my office. I didn’t have time for any more shenanigans.
I threw open the door and busied myself hanging up my purse and coat.
“What are you doing in my office?” An unwelcome voice interrupted me.
I spun around to see Blake sitting in my chair. He had his feet up on the desk. A concoction of what looked like shit and toilet paper clung to the bottom of his shoe. His suspenders and beret were terribly unfashionable, even by American standards.
“Your office? I don’t see your name on the door. Now, get your ass out of my chair before I have you thrown out of here.” My patience flew out the window, replaced with nothing but hard feelings for the man who tried to ruin me not once, but twice.
A giant grin burst across Blake’s face. Hoisting his legs off the table, he sat up in the chair. His new position put his gut on full display, which he cupped with both hands as he laughed. “Honey, my name is on the door.”
Something about the way he said it rang true. I walked out into the hall, prepared to yank my nameplate off the wall and brandish it in his face. I grabbed hold of the nameplate and gasped as I read, Blake Williams, Executive Vice President, in gold letters.
Had I lost my mind? This seemed too elaborate to be one of Marlowe’s pranks. I twirled around and headed back to my office when a security guard grabbed my arm just above the elbow.
“Miss, you’ll have to come with me.” He squeezed my bicep as he pulled me in the direction of the reception area.
I didn’t recognize him, but he looked real enough, too old and frumpy to be a paid stripper. I looked down at my arm and then back at the rent-a-cop. “You’re hurting me.”
He lightened his grip one iota and then tugged me down the hall.
“What’s happening?” I asked as I frantically looked around. Everything suddenly seemed foreign. “I run this office.” I might as well have been talking to the wind. The guard did nothing to acknowledge me. Blake and the receptionist looked on with pity as the guard escorted me to the door, my feet dragging the entire way, trying to give my brain time to process the situation. My heart beat in my chest like a caged bird. Tears brimmed my eyes, threatening to spill over onto my perfect makeup. Then without warning, everything grew dark. “I can’t see,” I screamed in terror. “What’s happening to me? What did you do to me?” I wailed.
My eyes snapped open. Marlowe loomed over me with a worried look on her face. “I can see!” I laughed in delight and looked around the room.
“Yes you can honey.” Marlowe sat down next to me and smoothed my hair. “Why wouldn’t you be able to see?”
Memories from my dream kicked me in the gut. Bad dream or omen? The question popped into my head, dampening my mood. I told Marlowe every sordid detail. When I finished, I asked, “We’re at the Ashwood in St. John right? The conference hotel?”
“Yes. Remember, we’re only staying here for the night.” Marlowe smiled and stretched her legs before grabbing two bottles of cold water from the mini fridge.
I moaned remembering our little deal to stay at Club Voyeur after my interview and threw myself back into a large mound of fluffy pillows. Marlowe tossed me a bottled water. I caught the bottle with one hand and rubbed its cold surface on my forehead and neck. Still feeling the lingering dread inspired by my dream, I asked, “Do you think the dream was an omen?”
“Of course not.” Marlowe gave me a reassuring smile. “I think it was the manifestation of your nerves getting the best of you. Blake has nothing on you. You are going to kill the interview tomorrow.”
If only the interview was tomorrow. I looked at the nightstand clock, flashing the time in garish neon green: 4:00 a.m. Only six hours left until I had to impress some European honcho who probably kept a collection of bottled farts in his closet. “I better go back to sleep. I only have two hours before my alarm is set to go off.”
“Okay. Good night.” Marlowe placed her sleeping mask back on and plopped down onto her fluffy bed.
I stared at the alarm clock watching the minutes tick by.
“Eva,” Marlowe whispered.
“I’m still awake,” I moaned.
“When I was little and had bad dreams, my Mother used to give me something good to dream about. Do you want me to give you a dream topic?”
It couldn’t hurt. The last thing I wanted was to have a series of recurring dreams where Blake got my job. “That sounds like an excellent idea. Thank you.”
“Okay. I will give you two choices. You can either dream about Reed or Max.”
This suddenly felt like a teenage slumber party. Reed or Max? Both men were smoking hot, but in different ways. I had fun talking to Max, but he didn’t elicit a visceral response like Reed did. However, given his status as the sexiest man alive, Reed seemed way less attainable than Max.
“So, which one did you choose?” Marlowe asked impatiently.
“It’s my dream. I’ll take them both!”
“You go girl!”
I chuckled and buried my head in the pillows. Reed’s intensely dark eyes followed me into my slumber, before being eclipsed by uncertainty, fear of failure, and then finally a dreamless sleep.
***
I spent the morning preparing for the interview. I tried on a handful of my best outfits for Marlowe. She voted for the black Prada suit. After way too much consideration, I ended up choosing an ivory Ferragamo pencil skirt with a white silk blouse. Something about the fit of the skirt felt empowering. In an act of concession, I let Marlowe pick out my heels.
At 9:30 a.m., I stood fully dressed in front of the floor length mirror near the entrance of our room. With my hair coiffed in a high sleek ponytail and my wrist adorned with the gold Rolex my Father bought me for Christmas, I looked sophisticated and professional. I had several talking points outlined in my head and couldn’t be anymore ready.
>
Here goes nothing.
Marlowe beamed at me like a proud mother. “You’re going to dazzle the interviewer with your knowledge and beauty.”
“I hope so,” I grimaced as my nerves started to fray around the edges. Shifting the focus off from me, I asked, “What are you going to do when I’m gone?”
Marlowe tapped her fingers on the desk and looked around the room. “Oh, I don’t know. There are no seminars that interest me today. I was thinking we could check out of here when your interview is finished and head back over to Club Voyeur.”
I knew what I told Marlowe the night before, but I didn’t want to commit to anything at the moment. “Can we talk about that later?”
“Sure thing boss.” Marlowe gave me an over exaggerated salute.
I didn’t want Marlowe to feel like she had to stay in the room all day waiting for me. I had no idea how long the interview process would take. “You should at least attend one seminar while you’re here. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone nice. You know, someone who is marriage material.”
“I doubt it.” Marlowe rolled her eyes at me. “I’ll tell you what. For you and only you, today I will attend one seminar. No promises when it comes to the rest of the week. Remember, I’m happy being your sidekick. I don’t need to sell a trillion dollars in real estate too.”
I looked at myself again in the floor length mirror and straightened my skirt for the tenth time since I put it on. If I didn’t get this interview over with, I was going to turn into one giant wrinkle. Crossing my fingers, I hugged Marlowe and gave her my best nervous smile. “Okay, I’m ready to go. Wish me luck.”
“I’m sure you’ll knock them out with your knowledge and awesome resume. If all else fails, undo the top button of your blouse and drop your pen. It works for me every time.”
“Okay, I’ll try to remember that.” I grabbed my bag and headed out to meet my fate.
***
Coming Undone (Club Voyeur Book 1) Page 5