The mental diversion was short lived. My mind jumped back to Jaime Zander. A shudder rippled through me. I’d made a total fool of myself and now, I was fucked—in maybe more ways than one. How could I ever face him again?
I picked up the phone once more and dialed room service. I ordered a large pot of coffee—something I desperately needed if I was going to make it through the day. At least, I had some time to figure out how I was going to handle Jaime. His pitch meeting wasn’t until late afternoon tomorrow. Getting out of the city might give me some clarity.
My visit to Madame Paulette was something I looked forward to as much as I dreaded. It would probably be the last time I saw her. She was, along with Kevin, the most important person in my life. With a heavy heart and hangover from hell, I dragged myself out of bed and staggered to the bathroom.
I glimpsed myself in the bathroom mirror. My reflection startled me. I looked as bad as I felt. My skin was greenish and my eyes red. Waves of nausea were still rolling through me. I brushed my teeth to freshen my stale breath and popped a couple of much needed Advils into my mouth. I desperately needed a shower. As I lifted my baby doll top over my head, the alluring scent of Gloria’s Secret men’s cologne invaded my nostrils. I instantly buried my nose in the silky fabric. The intoxicating scent of him was all over it. My stomach knotted. Oh God, had he? Panicky, I yanked off the matching bottoms. Scrunching them in my hand, I checked my body for more evidence. There were no signs of bruising, and neither my breasts nor my privates were sore or engorged. I took a whiff of the bikinis—oh no, the distinct scent of him again! Yet, there was no trace of any residue on the crotch. I impulsively rubbed my cleft and put my wet fingers to my nose. The distinct sweet smell was definitely all mine, but I still couldn’t be sure. Maybe he washed off all the evidence. Damn him! Damn me for losing control!
The hot, pulsing shower was revitalizing. I arched my head back with eyes squeezed shut and let the jets of water spray my face while I lathered up my body with the fragrant soap. Nothing felt out of the ordinary except the lingering nauseous feeling. Turning off the faucet, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a giant bath towel around me. I studied myself in the bathroom mirror. I looked better than I’d thought I would. The hot shower had done its magic. My porcelain skin was glowing, and there was only a trace of broken capillaries in my duo-colored eyes. I re-braided my long blond wet hair and applied a dollop of lip-gloss. I wanted to look groomed for Madame Paulette. Appearance was important to her.
Returning to the bedroom, I noticed for the first time that my little black dress and lingerie from last night were missing. And where the hell were my shoes? Again the question: Who the hell took them off me? I searched the drawers, looked under the bed, and scanned the closet. Gone. Gone. Gone. I glanced at the alarm clock on the night table. It was already nine forty-five. Nigel would be here soon to take me to Connecticut. Hastily, I donned a lacy gray bra and bikini set, matching garter and sheer gray silk hose. A lady-like A-line gray dress and pewter pumps followed. I always matched the color of my underwear to what I was wearing. It was something Madame Paulette had taught me to do. My life lessons from this incredible woman were many and meaningful. Sadly, she would soon be gone.
The coffee still hadn’t arrived. As much as I craved a major dose of caffeine, I couldn’t wait for it. Grabbing my coat, purse, and a canvas bag full of goodies that I knew Madame Paulette would adore, I skirted out of the room and headed to the elevators.
“Hey, wait up!”
That deep, sexy voice. Fuck! It was him! Jaime Zander. What the hell was he doing here?
Bristling, I kept marching without a single turn of my head. I could hear him jogging down the corridor. He caught up to me, and we stood side by side waiting for the lift. Staring straight ahead, I refused to look at him. Not even a little glimpse.
Unlike yesterday, the elevator took its time arriving. In fact, it felt like an eternity. Maybe it was stuck somewhere—explaining why my coffee had never arrived. My stomach tightened and I was losing patience. He started whistling—“Gloria” of all songs. Bastard! He was trying to distract me and get my attention.
“Stop that!”
“You don’t like my whistling?”
“I don’t like you.” And then it just came flying out. “Did you fuck me last night?”
“Gloria, I would never take advantage of you in that state. In case you don’t remember, I carried you up to your room and then you threw up all over yourself.”
Holy crap! Mortification raced through me. I kept facing the elevator, too embarrassed to look him in the face.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re just not used to losing control.”