It’s so pretty I want to carry it around with me. I tuck the box away safely in my tote bag.
I return to the sofa, flicking on the TV. My eyes bounce back and forth between the screen and my phone. I mindlessly open my text thread with Max, rereading our messages.
I freeze, realizing what I’m doing, and toss my phone onto the sofa beside me.
When we parted ways with a professional “Good afternoon” and nothing more, I missed his presence immediately. I longed for it in a way that’s utterly embarrassing.
I instinctively reach for my phone again, contemplating whether to cancel dinner, to pull back so it makes detachingeasier. But my fingers pause over the screen, unwilling to type the words.
It’s pathetic and cliché. It’s exactly what I’ve been avoiding for years—that ridiculous, adolescent yearning. The kind that makes you check your phone every thirty seconds hoping they’ve messaged.
I’ve developed feelings for Max Browne. Actual, proper, grown-up, disgusting feelings that go well beyond appreciating his body.
The worst part isn’t admitting that the feelings are there; it’s the knowledge that in five weeks’ time, Gray Hotel will be open, and he’ll be on a plane back to New York.
My gaze fixes on my giant tentacle dildo, which serves exceptionally well as a doorstop for my kitchen door. The deep purple silicone stares back at me.
“You better get the job done once he’s gone,” I say aloud, then immediately cringe at myself. “Oh, God.” I slap my forehead with a loud smack. “I’m talking to my dildo.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Gemma
“I had a dream last night that I turned up to the hotel launch party topless.”
Henry eyes me over the lip of his coffee mug.
“What?” I ask, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
A crease forms between his thick brows. “You literally turned up to Nate’s fortieth birthday party topless.”
I gawk at him. “In my defense, I wasn’t wearing my glasses when I received the invitation.”
“Even with your abhorrent eyesight, I still don’t understand how you confused ‘Champagne and Canapés’ for ‘Champagne and Cha-Chas’.”
“The email was very pixelated!” I retort, straightening in my chair. “I thought it was one of those trendy new concepts—you know, like those naked restaurants in New York.”
“It was at his aunt’s private member club in SoHo,” Henry deadpans.
I sigh, dipping my shortbread in my coffee. “At least the bartenders appreciated it.”
Henry shakes his head, setting his mug down on my desk. “The marketing team sent out invitations to influencers last night and put some money behind Instagram and TikTok ads.”
Excitement fizzles through me like sherbet. “That’s so exciting! Have we seen any engagement metrics yet?”
Henry nods, a small smile softening his features. “Thousands of saves, reposts, and comments so far. The Reel concept you came up with is performing extremely well.”
“Excellent,” I say, crossing one leg over the other. “I’ve finalized the spa narrative with the manager for the press kit, and I had a call with the copywriters yesterday about the room descriptions for the website.”
“I reviewed the copy deck. Good work. Looked flash without sounding pretentious.” He shifts in his seat, checking his watch. “I’ve organized for us to visit the hotel with Max this afternoon for a final walkthrough. Can you review the signature cocktail menu with the bar manager while we’re there? I want to make sure the presentation and names align with the brand,” he says.
“Of course.” I slip my professional mask firmly back in place, ignoring how my stomach almost bottoms out at the mention of spending another afternoon with Max.
“It’s interesting, actually.”
“What is?” I ask, my eyes snapping up to meet Henry’s, which gleam playfully. He smooths a hand down his tie.
“Just that since last week, Max has developed quite the enthusiasm for our client meetings.” Henry’s eyes gleam. “Especially those with your name on the invite. He was rather insistent on only having you join him for the Harrington Estate visit.” He pauses briefly. “And he confirmed today’s site visit two minutes after I sent the email.”
