I avoid doing the calculations of how much an extended stay here would cost and whether I’m flattered he’d spendthatmuch money just to have another twenty-four hours with me. He glides his hand over myhips, making light circles with his thumb, building the pressure in my knotted stomach.
Stifling a whimper, I push my face into the soft pillow. I don’t want him to stop but I need him to. I need to clear my head. This is Bancroft. Bancroft, my competitor. Bancroft, my colleague. Bancroft is sinking his fingers into my... My brain whirs through potential statements until I think of the only thing I know will defuse the tension building between us: “I have a date in thirty minutes.” His hand pauses instantly.
“You’re still going on the date?” his lips ask against my shoulder.
“Yeah.” I breathe out sharply as his body slowly peels away from mine. Cold air seeps in to settle in the space his warm skin has left.
“Right.”
The mattress dips as he flops onto his back, hand wiping over his mouth in contemplation.
“Yeah,” I repeat, not knowing what else to say. I decide on a word. “Shower.”
A second wind of determination seems to wash over him as the soft look in his eyes regains its cool, sexy confidence.
“We could get clean together?” He smirks and nods his head to the bathroom door. “I think that shower is big enough for two. Want to test my theory?”
I imagine him pushing me up against the steamy,wet tiles but am quickly thrown out of the fantasy. My eye snags on my notebook, my presentation notes clearly visible, on the bedside table. For a split second I wonder,Did last night happen to stop me going on a date he suggested I pursue? So I don’t outperform him?
Shaking my head, I brace myself and announce, “I think this”—flapping my hand from him to me—“shouldn’t happen again.”
My gut twists as a flash of pain runs through his eyes before they quickly harden, becoming unreadable.
Surely he knows this can’t happen again? He’s probably just never had this kind of physical rejection before, and he’s not used to it.Our presentations are only two weeks away; if I continue this now it will be over before it starts. One of us will win the job and the other won’t be able to handle it. Sleeping with your competitor is one thing, but being with the person who beat you to your dream job is a pill too big to swallow. We can’t do this again, no matter how much we might want to—there’s no point. It would be over before either of us knew it.
He schools his face into neutrality. “You’re going to be needing these back then?” He dangles my underwear from a finger. I swipe them out of his hand more aggressively than intended and spin on my bare heel to the bathroom. When I return from the steamy room in a bathrobe he’s fully dressed, packing his bag by the door.He made the bed, all evidence of last night smoothed out as though nothing happened.
Trying to fill the awkward silence, I ask, “You’re not showering?”
“I will, at the gym,” he replies, zipping up the duffel bag.
“Ah.” I nod my head as though that makes perfect sense.
He shrugs as if this is a normal thing for him: having a one-night stand in a luxury penthouse and then jumping straight back into his standard morning routine as though it was nothing. As thoughthiswas nothing.
“Well, enjoy yourdate.” He lifts his eyebrows, jaw taut as he looks me up and down before striding toward the door.
“Bancr—Eric?” I suck in my cheeks remembering what he whispered in my ear before coaxing me into a second orgasm.
“Yeah?” He almost seems nervous as he looks over his shoulder. His knuckles are white around the handle of the bag.
Fingers intertwined in front of me: “Could you...”
Not tell anyone about this?
Do that thing with your tongue again?
Stay so we can figure out what this means for both of us?
“... leave your key card by the door, so I can return it to the front desk?”
His shoulders sag slightly and I hold my breath as he places the card on a side table and leaves without another word. When the door slams shut the bubble of energy in the room finally bursts. I’m standing alone in one of the most expensive rooms in the city, so many thoughts rushing around my brain that they’ve turned into white noise.
Ten minutes later, including the fastest makeup routine I’ve ever done in my life, I’m flying out of the door to meet Jack. If I wasn’t so flustered from last night and stressed out about being late, I would find it endearing that he arrived early.
“Miss Hastings!” A booming voice bounces off the walls as I press the call elevator button.
“Christoph!” I reply breathlessly. He’s wearing a bright red suit printed with white and gray hibiscus flowers. It’s hard not to smile when you see him, even under these irregular circumstances.
