“Yes, he will!” Becca used the furniture and then the wall to brace herself on her way to bed. She yanked the comforter down and climbed in. “I’m jus’ gonna sleep it off. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Okay,” Lauren agreed. “Under one condition. You let me take your key card and come back to check on you in a couple of hours.”
“Deal,” Becca said, facedown in her pillow. “S’on the desk.”
Lauren tucked the key into her tiny purse and said good night. Then she had to ride the elevator back down to the lobby, because the hotel had two towers and she and Becca were staying on opposite sides. As the doors parted, she took a cautious glance into the lobby. Neither of the men she’d been avoiding was present, so she walked quickly around the wacky, hallucinogenic furniture toward the other elevator bank.
Where Nate was standing, wearing a frown. “Have you seen Rebecca?” he barked by way of a greeting.
D’oh!
“Rebecca is fine,” Lauren said carefully. “I just came from her room, and she’s gone to bed.” That was all true, even if it wasn’t all of the truth.
Nate’s eyes narrowed. “I saw her stumble out of the party. She did not look well.”
“Um . . .” Lauren hesitated. “She wasn’t feeling well, but she’s really okay. And I’m going to check on her again in a couple of hours. I’ll set my alarm.”
Nate ran a hand through his hair. “Did she drink? Is that why you look guilty?”
“I’m guilty of nothing,” Lauren reminded him.
He gave her a Nate smirk.
“Look—Becca thinks you’re going to be mad at her.”
“For breaking the doctor’s orders? I am.” He folded his arms and began to pace in front of the fountain.
“Why?” Lauren yelped. “It’s not your body, Nate. She’s your employee. She’s having a bit of a hard time, but you can’t go all medieval on her and bring down the wrath of the kingdom just because a single glass of wine hit her really hard.”
He glowered at her. “I’m supposed to be shaking hands all night for Alex. And instead I’m worrying about Rebecca.”
That’s when Lauren lost it. “You poor overworked man,” she gasped, her scowl matching his. “Everything you do is your choice, Nate. So worry or not. But consider asking yourself why obsessing about Rebecca’s health is your new favorite hobby. And if you say it’s because you need her back at her desk running the Brooklyn office, I may not be responsible for my actions.”
His eyes widened, and the color on his cheeks deepened. Lauren found herself in a stare-down with her boss. Even more startling—she won. Nate winced and looked away.
Lauren didn’t even know why she was pushing him. It was none of her business, and Nate didn’t like to be pushed. Still, she shoved a hand into her clutch purse and pulled out a key card. “Look. This is her key. Am I using this to check on her later? Or are you?”
He took a deep, yoga-worthy breath. Then he snatched the card out of her hand and shoved it into his pocket.
“Just be nice, okay?” Lauren added. “Don’t scold.”
His eyes dipped. “All right.”
Lauren stood there a moment longer, a little shocked that she’d intervened in the Nate/Rebecca melodrama. But then she gathered her wits and left Nate alone, patting the pocket where the key was. She looked over her shoulder as she hit the button for the elevator that would take her to the Princess Suite. “She’s in room 404,” she added quietly.
“I know,” he said, his voice rough. Then he gave her a smile more sheepish than Nate was usually capable of making.
Trippy.
She rode the elevator up to the penthouse level alone. Maybe she should fill up the giant bathtub in the Princess Suite and soak in it. She deserved a decadent reward for flying to Miami and surviving a party where Mike Beacon wore a tux. Even though she was mad at him for intruding on the demilitarized zone she’d tried to enforce between the two of them, it didn’t stop her from wishing she could remove his tuxedo shirt with her teeth and nuzzle his slightly furry chest with her nose . . .
Lauren keyed into the suite and heard the sound of running water. “Hello?” she called out. The room was softly lit and there was music playing in the background—a soft house music beat. Very Miami. The maid who performed the turndown service at this hotel was very thorough. But also tardy. It was way too late for housekeeping to be in her room. And where was her cart?
The water shut off, and Lauren kicked off her shoes, preparing to greet whoever was tidying up the bathroom.
But the person who emerged was Mike Beacon.
Startled, her brain tried to make sense of the picture. He had his tux jacket thrown over one arm, and a wine bucket in his hand. His bow tie was undone, and the top couple of shirt buttons, too. Lauren got a glimpse of the tan skin at his throat, and a dusting of chest hair below that.
When he spotted her standing there by the door, he did a double take. “Hi,” he said, his face breaking into a smile. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“My apologies,” Lauren snapped, since snappishness was her only weapon when they were in the same room. “I didn’t mean to startle you in my hotel room.”
“No problem,” he said, his smile widening. “Come in and take a load off.”
That’s when Lauren’s head almost exploded. “How did you get in here? Wait—I don’t even care how. Just go, okay? It’s been a long day.”
He moved, and she scooted away from the door to give him a wide berth. But instead of heading for the door, he walked into the bedroom. What the hell? Stunned, Lauren just gaped at the open doorway. The sound of a cork popping was the next one she heard.
“Forgot the glasses,” he muttered. Mike reappeared, looking as handsome as he ever had in his life. But this time it only made her fingers itch to punch him. He trotted over to a cabinet against the wall and plucked two champagne flutes off a shelf.
“Mike!” Lauren spat as he turned his back and headed into the bedroom.
“Yes, Lo?”
Her blood would probably boil over any second now. “This is not your room! Take your wine and hightail it back to wherever you’re staying.” She stomped over to the bedroom doorway just to try to make sense of this odd scene.
He sat calmly on the edge of the bed, bottle in hand, pouring a glass of champagne. It was Moet & Chandon. Our brand, her traitorous memory offered up. Lauren licked her lips unconsciously. She’d always loved champagne. “The first glass is for you,” he said quietly, holding it out.
Although she had an urge to grab it and guzzle it down, she resisted. “I don’t know what you’re playing at. But stop, okay? You can’t bluff your way into my room and pretend the last two years didn’t happen.”