I know what it says. I know the pain it contains. I don’t have to read it again to remind myself; the mere sight of it is enough. Getting back into that bed—taking Oliver into my arms—is out of the question.
So instead, I sit back at the piano, settle the headphones over my ears, and I work long into the night. But every hour, on the hour, I check on Oliver again.
He sleeps on until the sun becomes a promise on the horizon, and I have a decision to make.
CHAPTER11
Oliver
Iwas only at Nik and Zee’s for two days and two nights, but by Friday morning, I still haven’t slipped back neatly into myreallife since I left their household.
Part of my dissociation is because I left under a cloud. Sleeping all night in Haughty Hottie’s bed, rousing only when Daniel came in with breakfast, waking me with a surprised, “Where’s Lord Arden?”
My cheeks flame again as I remember that. I’ve never been so embarrassed to wake up in an unfamiliar bed, dragged from dreams of an endless maze, where I was searching for the source of the most beautiful music I’d ever heard.
ObviouslyI hadn’t meant to fall asleep, anddefinitelynot spend the whole night there in his bed. I must have offended Lord Arden unforgivably, because he didn’t even come to say goodbye to me later that morning when I was due to leave.
The whole household came to say goodbye. Even Zee and Nik, who arehorrificallybusy professionals, managed to arrange their time so they could see me off.
Not Lord Arden.
“I’m sure he has a perfectly reasonable excuse,” I said with a brave smile, as Zee hugged me goodbye. She’s a hugger as well as a notorious sadist. Who knew?
Nik was mad, though. “He’d fucking well better,” I heard him mutter after shaking my hand goodbye and thanking me profusely for being there this weekend, “and for putting up with so much.”
And now that I’m back at the Bellamy Grand, the fact that Brandon keeps probing for details is getting on my nerves. I wish I’d nevermentionedthe “rich, playboy Dom” to him. Unfortunately this week he’s been scheduled on every timeIseem to have shifts as well. So when the reception desk is quiet—like now—he leaves poor Sarita alone to handle the phones, and skips into the office I’m allowed to use when I’m not on the floor, to try and dig out more salacious stories of the weekend. His conjecture has been getting weirder and weirder as the week’s gone on.
“I’m your best friend,” he whined to me just before. “NDAs don’t count for best friends!”
This time, as he bursts through the doorway and takes a breath, I’ve had enough. “Brandon,” I snarl before he gets a syllable out. “I have told youthirty-three damn times. I signed a nondisclosure agreement, and besides that,we are at work. Stop asking me about kink stuff at work!”
He pauses with an injured air. “Idobeg your pardon, Ollie,” he snarks. “Only there’s someone here asking for the concierge on duty,ifit’s not too much trouble for you.” He slams the door shut as hard as it will go—which is, admittedly, not all that hard—and I put my head in my hands at my desk.
Great. Now I’ve yelled at my best friend.
This is all Lord A-hole’s fault. Seriously, what kind ofjerkpretends that his service-sub-for-the-weekend just doesn’t fucking exist anymore?
And I thought LA Doms were bad. They havenothingon Haughty Hottie.
If he was so mad at me for falling asleep, why not send one of the other staff members to kick me out of his bed if it wasbeneathhim to do it himself? I get angry again just thinking about it.
And of course, I can’t talk about it with anyone, because of that stupid NDA, so I can’t even vent about it to my bestie.
I’ve beensotempted to Google the fucker, but I’ve resisted as a matter of principle. I willnotlet Haughty Hottie take up space in my head. Not without paying rent, and I’mexpensive.
Besides, I have work to keep my mind occupied. I’ve been working all week on the arrangements for this top-secret Hollywood production meeting being held at the Bellamy. Magda has said that if I pull off this meeting without a hitch, she’ll fast-track me into management training.
IfI pull it off. There are a lot of demands to consider, from which conference room will be most private and secure, to which brand of sparkling water to stock on the tables, through to access to various technologies for meeting presentations. Then there’s the buffet catering, which isn’t my problem except for the fact that I don’t have a list of attendees, so I can’t give the catering company exact numbersordietary restrictions. I have to ballpark it, and I’m so nervous that I keep going back and revising my estimates up, then down, up, down…
And now I’ve dropped the concierge ball I’ve been juggling along with this project. With a sigh, I click my computer to the screensaver and make my way back out to the floor, assuming my work persona as I do: competent, friendly but nottoofriendly, eager and willing to help solve all possible problems.
That same work persona that Lord Arden disliked so much…
I grit my teeth and push that asshole out of my mind again. But halfway to the desk, I stop dead and my jaw drops open. “Nik?”
He hears me, my voice carrying across the marble floor, and turns with a smile from the conversation he’s been having with Brandon.
“Ollie,” he says warmly, when I get my feet moving again and make it to the desk. “I’m sorry to surprise you at work—”
