He cuts a side glance at me. “Told you.”
I nod solemnly. “It’s a disease.”
“Your coat looks good by the way; did dry cleaning get all the stains out?”
“Yeah, thanks for sorting that. How did the front desk know it was for me?”
He leans into my side. “I told them it belonged to the pretty brunette who got decimated by several cups of coffee in the lobby yesterday.”
“Oh god.” I cup my face in my hands, partially to hide the embarrassment of the scene but also to cover my blushing cheeks at being referred to as pretty. It’s not that I think it’s a lie. I like the way I look. I just don’t usually like the way I’m being perceived. But something about the casualness of his compliment, like to him it’s just a scientific fact, makes my skin tingle.
Sneaking through the hotel, I glance at my phone. Still no messages or calls from Spencer; that little wuss is too scared to come face me after what he did.
We pile into the fancy elevator, a thrill tingling around my body as I’m briefly packed against him at the front of the crowd. “You’re, like, King of the Assistants,” I assess as we exit on the pool and spa floor.
He leans down toward my ear, his voice lowering as he deadpans, “A responsibility I takeveryseriously.”
When we exit on the spa floor, he unlocks a door with a key card that looks a lot more like Spencer’s than my third-floor one.
As the final person goes through, I raise an eyebrow, “King of Thieves too?”
He shrugs, hazel eyes twinkling. “Whichever the Queen of Beer Pong wants me to be.” His lips curl as he uses his broad shoulder to hold open the door.
My stomach does a flip, but I roll my eyes, sliding through the door and brushing past his large frame. This close to him, his peppery scent mixes with a wash of chlorine air emanating from the pool.
This pool isn’t just a pool; it’s a full-on spa. One you couldimagine diplomats and First Ladies frequenting. The steps down to the water open like agrande maisonstaircase. Greek columns line the edges, circling around a Jacuzzi at the very end of the pool. The walk down can only be described as a promenade. I glance into the water to see a Medusa-esque face in the mosaic floor shimmering under the surface.
The two Italians pull out their backpacks, handing out miniature bottles of liquor, presumably from their boss’s minibar, as well as beer and wine from the local co-op. Everyone throws off their clothes, removing silk shirts and trousers until they’re laid bare in matching underwear sets and Calvin Klein boxer shorts. I flinch, my body rapidly coating in sweat.
“Come on!” a man shouts to the crowd as they slide into the water.
My arms slink around my body, pinching the fabric on my forearms to check it’s still there as my chest begins to heave.
What if someone takes a photo of me?
“Coming in, Oliver?” A pretty redhead blinks, perky breasts in a white lace bralette bobbing just above the water like two little ice caps. My eyes fix on her. Does she know everyone has their phones out? Strangers? She notices me watching her and gives me a suspicious look. My chest collapses inward.
Oliver glances to me, then at the striped forest-green and cream pool loungers. “I’m good. Think I’ll chill here for a while.” Bringing his eyes back to mine, he gestures to the loungers while clasping two small bottles of red wine in his hand. “Wanna join me for some luxury living?”
I scan him suspiciously. Does he sense my hesitancy? His face doesn’t give it away, but my stress begins to thaw regardless.
I force a word out of my mouth—“Sure”—urging my tense body to move.
We sink into the loungers, flicking back and forth between chatting and flirting as we watch everyone else frolic in the pool. A man ducks under the water, launching a woman into the air on his shoulders.
“Thanks,” I breathe out, as he unscrews one of the bottles before passing it to me.
“You know, I think TechRumble is going to be the end of your bad year,” Oliver surmises as he takes a long swig.
I take it, our fingers lightly grazing as I grasp the bottle. “What makes you think that?”
“You’ve gotit.”
I glug the wine before mimicking him. “It?” The booze goes immediately to my legs.
“Ya know, you’ve got, like, fire in your eyes. Not everyone has that in places like this; they just want to make as much money as possible and then sell at the highest price before moving on to the next thing.”
I make a “hmmm” sound, not meeting his eye. My shoes clatter to the ground as I kick them off.
