He appears to be in his late thirties. His dark hair is shorn close to his head. He’s fit and broad-shouldered, with a piercing stare that could give Cole a run for his money.
On the left side of his neck, a tattoo of something I can’t identify peeks out from under the starched collar of his white dress shirt.
Through the door, I say, “Yes?”
“Hullo, miss. This is for you.”
His voice is deep and has a British accent. He holds out the bag. I look at it suspiciously.
“What is it?”
“A blouse, miss.”
My breath catches.
“Don’t worry. I’ll buy you a new one.”
Remembering Cole’s words from last night after he savagely ripped my shirt off my body, my face grows hot and my heart starts pounding. Meanwhile, the man in the black suit stands there smiling patiently as if he’s got all the time in the world.
“Cole sent you?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Are you with the hotel?”
“No, miss.”
“Are you…with a delivery service?”
“No, miss.”
He extends his arm, giving the bag a little shake. Deciding he’s not dangerous—though there’s something about him that suggests he would be under the right circumstances—I open the door. “Hi there.”
“Good morning, miss.”
I take the bag, then stand in the doorway frowning and confused. “So you work for Cole, is that it?”
His smile grows wider, as if he’s enjoying some private thought. Whatever it is, he doesn’t share it. He simply says, “Have a lovely day, miss,” then turns around and walks away.
Leaning out the door, I watch him go until he disappears into the elevators. Then I step back inside and unzip the garment bag. Within is an exquisite black silk blouse.
It’s simple, the lines classic and clean, but it’s obviously expensive. When I check the label, I almost drop the bag from shock.
The blouse is a Balmain.
It’s a historic luxury French brand, renowned for the quality of its couture. Not to mention its prices. Their spring collection included a scarlet cashmere jacket that I desperately coveted but could never afford because it was thirty thousand dollars. An off-the-rack T-shirt goes for almost a grand.
I suspect this simple blouse I’m holding is priced in the thousands.
Heart palpitating, I walk back into the bedroom and carefully lay the garment bag on the bed. I stand looking at it for several moments, trying to decide what to do.
I don’t know who the man was who delivered it, so I can’t call him to come and pick it up. And I don’t have a phone number for Cole, so I can’t let him know this is much too expensive a gift for me to accept. Not that I’m seriously considering doing either of those things, because I already know I’m keeping this beautiful piece of clothing, but it makes me feel better to at least pretend to have a crisis of conscience for a moment before accepting Cole’s generosity.
I should’ve started having one-night stands years ago.
Years! Like in my teens!
Except with my luck, those encounters would’ve all turned out to be with married men or escaped felons, so my lack of experience in the area is probably a good thing.
Without anyone to call to thank for this lovely item, I call Chelsea instead.
“Shay!” she shouts the instant she picks up. “I was just about to call you. Tell me everything. Was it fantastic? Did he have a big dick? Are you walking bowlegged?”
Feeling as weightless as an overfilled balloon, I smile. “Yes to all three.”
I bend over to stroke the silky sheen of the blouse, lighting tracing my fingertips around the black pearlescent buttons. Then more knocking on the hotel room door distracts me.
“Chelsea, hang on. I have to get this.”
I hurry to the door again. When I open it, I find a young woman in a uniform standing beside a rolling cart draped in white linens. A variety of covered dishes sit on top.
“Good morning, I’m Bettina with room service. May I come in?”
“What’s all this?”
“Your breakfast, miss.”
“You must have the wrong room. I didn’t order food.”
Bettina smiles. “The gentleman who placed the order said you’d say that. But I assure you, this is the right room.”
My breath catches. Cole.
Into my ear, Chelsea demands, “What’s happening?”
“It’s room service with my food.”
“Why do you sound so dazed if it’s just room service?”
“Because I didn’t order it. Cole did.”
A pause follows. “I take it Cole’s the guy you spent the night with?”
“Yeah.”
“The hottie you banged ordered you breakfast? That’s pretty thoughtful of him.”
Remembering how he said I wasn’t very good at adulting, I smile. “Yeah. He bought me a blouse too.”
Her tone turns incredulous. “He took you shopping?”
“No. He ripped my blouse off me and promised he’d buy me a new one. It showed up this morning—a Balmain, no less—delivered by a guy who looked like maybe he knows how to kill someone with his pinkie.”
Bettina is starting to look impatient, so I step aside and wave her in as Chelsea has a breakdown.
“Hold on a second! He had couture delivered to your room?”
“Technically, it’s ready-to-wear, but yes. And it’s beautiful.”
“Oh my God. You lucky bitch. You should’ve started having one-night stands years ago!”
My laugh is breathless with delight.
“Was that a laugh? Wow. This Cole of yours must’ve really been something else.”
Closing my eyes, I think of him and smile. “Girl, you have no idea.”
I eat breakfast, shower, and dress. The Balmain blouse fits me perfectly. My mood somewhere up in the stratosphere, I float out of the hotel and take a taxi back to my apartment.
Because it’s Sunday and I don’t have to go to work, I decide to indulge myself and visit my favorite bookstore. I’ve been going there for years, and I love the owner, but I haven’t had a chance to swing by in months.
I change into shorts and a T-shirt and drive out to Venice Beach with the top down, enjoying the sun on my face and the wind in my hair, thinking of beautiful dark blue eyes that could see straight through me. By the time I walk through the doors of Lit Happens, I’m grinning from ear to ear.
Cole and I might have spent only one night together, but the man has been magic for my self-esteem.
The shop is adorable. It’s got a bohemian, artistic vibe, with lots of overstuffed chairs to lounge in, a little espresso bar on one side, and an assortment of stray cats that wander in and out.
And the owner is a doll. I’ve always thought Emery looks like a fifties movie star, all voluptuous curves, scarlet lips, and attitude. She’s standing behind the counter when I walk in.
She looks up and smiles. “Hi, Shay! Long time no see.”
“I know, I’ve been so busy! It’s good to see you. Holy shit…that ring.” Stopping at the counter, I gape at the giant diamond sparkling on her finger.
She laughs. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? I hardly ever wear it out because I don’t want to get mugged, but I’m having dinner with the in-law’s tonight after work. My father-in-law is so old-fashioned, he’d probably think me going without my ring was a sign I wanted to divorce his son.”
“You’re married? Congratulations!”
Glancing down at her hand, she blushes. “Thank you. I have to admit, married life is pretty incredible.”
I don’t say it, but by the looks of that ring, her husband is extremely wealthy. And by the looks of that blush she’s wearing, he’s a stud to boot.
“I’m so happy for you. You deserve it.”
“Thank you. How about you? Still with Chet?”
It’s a testament to my good mood that the mention of his name doesn’t upset me. I wait for the pang of heartache to come, but when it doesn’t, I say a silent prayer of thanks to the gods of one-night stands and smile.
“No, Chet and I broke up.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“You’re sweet to ask, but I’m fine.”
“Judging by that secretive smile, you’re better than fine. Are you seeing someone new?”
I know she’s not the kind of woman who’d look down on me for having a one-night stand, but I shake my head. For some reason, I want to keep Cole all to myself. I didn’t tell Chelsea the details of my evening with him, either, an omission she most likely will never forgive me for.