“Perfect,” I say.
We hang up, and I pump a fist quietly.
This is fantastic. Dean is going to lose his mind. We set up shop a year or so ago after working for others for years and have been eager to land some marquee clients. But I’ll tell him later. For now, I’ve got five minutes to grab a condom and get to Ripley’s room. Then I’ve got all night to take care of her before my early morning flight.
As I slide out of the booth, snagging my tablet and the butterfly, my email pings. Love a quick-moving client. As I’m walking through the bar to the front desk, I click open the email.
I read the name of the client. Ruby Horizons Film Productions. The work is on an upcoming movie.
Sweet.
We’ve been making inroads in the entertainment business, but this will help us make further strides for sure. A perfect area for Dean and me.
I scan the email as I stride across the plush carpet but set it aside before I can finish reading. I’m at the front desk now and a cheery man with red hair and redder freckles smiles my way frombehind the gleaming marble counter. “Good evening. What can I do for you?”
I scan his name tag. “Evening, Spencer. Any chance you have condoms behind the desk, or anywhere nearby?”
He gives a crisp nod. “Yes, we do. One minute.”
Guess this isn’t his first time at the didn’t-bring-protection rodeo. As he steps away from the desk and disappears behind an open door into a small office, I return to the email, reading the rest of the details. The film shoots in Darling Springs. Production starts in a month. The lead actress is Haven Addison.
There’s a picture attached. I download it right as Spencer returns from the office with a condom. Actually, three. Well, someone has a lot of faith in me. He hands me the trio. “Just in case.”
I flash him the smile that a perfect wingman deserves. “Thank you, brother.”
I pocket the condoms as the photo opens and the floor falls out from under me.
In a heartbeat, all the evidence of tonight adds up as the name Ripley reverberates in my skull.
Ripley’s Believe It or Not!Ripley from Alien. The Talented Mr. Ripley.
Ripley’s gotta be the fake name that Haven uses. Because I’m staring at the image of the woman upstairs. The one expecting me to throw her onto the bed in less than thirty seconds.
And she’s my new client.
5
CRUMPLE-WORTHY
RIPLEY
There.
Not only have I cleaned up the pile of clothes, the laptop, and the farm merch from the bed, but I’ve spritzed on some lavender and vanilla body mist.
In the en suite, I fluff out my hair, then take a breath. It’s been a long while. As in, a little over a year since my ex sliced my heart and broke my romance confidence when he moved across the country to open a new restaurant, giving me a quick goodbye, and saying,thanks for the small-town memories and fun times.
Um, hello, it was a fucking relationship.
But I do not want to think about Eric Patrick, of the two first names, blindsiding me. Since he took off, I’ve been all work, work, work, and I can’t help but wonder: Does sex still go the same? Has there been a new position, a new style, new kinks since I last had it oh, say, several eons ago?
Well, let’s hope there are new kinks.
That’d be nice.
I take one last look at my reflection. I ditched the hoodie because what’s the point? It’s all coming off anyway. My ink is on full display now, birds soaring down my upper arm.
I leave the bathroom, my gaze catching briefly on the origami bird Banks made for me. I’d set it on the nightstand when I swung open the door nine minutes and thirty seconds ago.
