I want to rip this place apart. Strip out the boring beige and gold bullshit and bleed red and black through every inch of it. He wanted it to feel more exclusive and edgy, attracting a younger clientele and making it the place for young, thriving entrepreneurs. The standard wage doesn’t cover these rooms, and if he wants to capture that demographic, everything needs to speak their language.
When the server comes over, I opt for a simple chicken Caesar salad, and when I see the price on the menu, my stomach turns slightly.
Thirty-eight dollars.
For fucking lettuce, chicken, and some Parmesan.
I have money now, and I treat myself to nice things. Beautiful hotel rooms when I need to travel. First-class flights. The most stunning penthouse apartment I could find, with floor-to-ceilingwindows overlooking the city. I’ve earned every luxury I allow myself.
But food should never come at this cost.
I was starved as a child—actuallystarved.
I'd search through empty cabinets, picking mold off bread with tiny shaking hands that were too small to understand why there was never enough to eat. I'd lick expired peanut butter off a spoon because it was the only thing left, while my parents lay passed out in their own vomit just a room away, oblivious to the fact that their daughter was wasting away.
There are people out there who would kill for food. I used to cry for it every night, tears soaking my pillow as my stomach twisted in knots so tight I couldn't sleep.
Now I sit here in designer shoes, at a restaurant that charges more for a salad than some people make in a day, and I can’t decide whether I want to laugh or flip the fucking table.
“I’ll have to bring you back up here,” James says, smoothing a hand down his tie. “Maybe for dinner so you can get a real feel for the place.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve done my research,” I tell him with a smile, just as my phone buzzes in my purse beside me.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that. But there’s a different kind of energy here at night. Have you ever stayed in one of our hotels? Because once you’ve rebranded us,I’m gutting every single one.”
“Wow. No pressure.” I laugh as my phone vibrates again. “Excuse me a moment.” I pull it out—rude as hell—but I already have a feeling I’m not going to want to ignore this.
PHOENIX: Now I know you’re not stupid enough to be sitting across from the guy I warned you about.
I open the second message, and I can practically feel the rage radiating through the screen.
PHOENIX: Unless you’re trying to piss me off? And this isn’t jealousy, Shannen. The guy’s a fucking predator.
“Sorry, it’s just my friend, but I need to reply.”
“Take your time,” James says, lifting his champagne glass with a faint smile and a flash of perfectly straight teeth.
He’s been fine with me. No red flags. Unlike you. Maybe you’re not as good at your job as you think you are.
“Sorry,” I say again, slipping the phone into my lap. “Where were we?”
“I was trying to get you to agree to dinner, but you’re not making it easy.”
My phone vibrates again, and I look down into my lap.
PHOENIX: Don’t. Even. Think about it. And considering I’ve known your every fucking move for the last decade, I’d say I’m pretty damn good at my job. If I say he’s a problem, he’s a problem.
Smug bastard… Where the hell is he?
I look around and find him in three seconds, sitting at the bar with a glass of what I'm guessing is water in front of him. His dark hair falls over his eyes, and his tattooed hands are clenched around the glass like he's fighting not to break it. A crisp white shirt is stretched tight across his shoulders and back, tucked into storm-gray pants that fit him so perfectly I want to sink my teeth into something.
Jesus Christ… Virgin or not, that body was made for sex.
As if sensing my stare, his head turns slightly, and I snap my gaze back to James.
The feral part of me wants to shove this overpriced table aside, storm across the room, and rip that shirt off him. I want to feel his skin beneath my palms, trace every line of ink with my fingers, and hear his breath hitch when my nails drag down his spine. And now I’m pissed because I have to sit here and pretend my body isn’t already betraying me just because he’s in the fucking room.
“Are you okay?” James asks, his brow lifted in concern.
