Sometimes I felt only one piece of bad luck away from falling back into the dark pit I’d clawed my way out of with bloodied fingernails and a head full of regrets.
I told my driver to wait, dropped my sunglasses into place, made sure the peak of the baseball hat was tugged low, and entered the lobby.
Bollocks. I didn’t even know what room Aspen was staying in, and if I went to reception to ask, I risked being recognized.
After taking shelter behind a large palm tree in the corner of the lobby, I called her mobile. It went to voicemail. I called again and again. She could have been asleep, and I didn’t know her nearly as well as I’d like to, but she struck me as the kind of woman who’d have her phone nearby. Especially considering her position in the company. She was ignoring me, and I couldn’t blame her.
Tapping the messages app, I dropped a text.
Me: Hey, I’m sorry about before. Can we talk?
Nothing.
Me: I’m an arsehole, and I’d like to explain if you’ll let me.
Nothing.
Sighing, I pivoted, but as I reached the sliding doors leading to the car park, she replied.
Aspen: Yes, you’re an asshole.
I fucking loved how she said asshole. If I was ever lucky enough to bed this woman—and that was looking more doubtful by the minute—I’d have her scream that as she orgasmed.
Great. Now I had a semi.
Aspen: I’m on the top floor. Owner’s suite. Code for the elevator is 1135. Bring a shovel.
I grinned.
Me: So you can bury me?”
Aspen: I’ll keep that as backup option. It’s for you to dig yourself out of the hole you put yourself in.
She. Was. Magnificent.
I set off for the elevators, but halfway there, an idea came to me. I spun on my heel and jogged outside. An apology was one thing. An apology with flowers would go down better. Earlier, I’d seen a flower seller across the street from the hotel—one of those with a portable cart. Sure enough, it was still there, probably waiting to catch closing time at the pub next door.
Armed with a massive bouquet of summer blooms, of which I couldn’t name a single one, I returned to the hotel and rode the elevator to the top floor. The owner’s suite was at the far end. I knocked and waited.
The look she gave me when the door opened—half exasperated, half impressed—made my dick jerk again. This woman had me in some kind of a chokehold.
“For you.” I thrust out the flowers.
She wrapped her fingers around the stems, brushing mine in the process. A shiver of delight traveled up my arm.
“Such a cliché.” But she smiled when she said it.
“I was pressed for time. Next time, I’ll do better.”
“Ah, I see. You think being an asshole is okay as long as your apology comes with gifts? Bad move, my friend.”
I think I’m in love.
“You’re unlikely to believe this, but I’m usually pretty chill. What happened tonight wasn’t normal.”
Chewing the inside of her cheek, she studied my face for a few seconds, then stepped back to let me in. That was a start, at least.
I closed the door and followed her through an entrance hall, into a large living room with a great view of Kensington Gardens and the city skyline.
