“Do you need privacy? To get dressed?” she asks, not glancing in my direction.
“No.” I move closer, picking up the steaming mug, blowing across the top.
“Have it your way.” She turns her back to me, then goes to the bed to strip it.
“Is there something more you wanted to say?” I ask, reading her like a book.
“No thanks.” She strips the pillowcases.
“You’re lying.”
Wendy looks over at me. “If I speak freely, you’ll be offended, and I can’t have that.”
She yanks the fitted sheet off the mattress and tosses everything on the floor before grabbing the new one. At one point, she tucks it so hard that the fabric snaps. She’s annoyed.
I take a bite of toast. “You believe I’m easily offended.”
“I’ve met your type.” She smooths the fabric down with a speed that tells me she’s done this a thousand times.
My type.She said it like she already sorted me into a box, filed it away, and sealed it shut.
I want to ask questions, but I don’t. Can’t stand this awkward phase of getting to know someone.
She reaches for the flat sheet and spreads it across the far side. As she bends over to tuck the far corner, her polo rides up her back. A strip of tan skin is on full display. When I realize I’m staring, I force myself to stop.
I’ve sat across from models at charity galas and heiresses at fundraisers, and each of them had me running for the hills. NotWendy. She doesn’t give a shit about me, which only intrigues me further.
“I’d like a fresh comforter as well,” I say, not quite wanting her to go yet.
She pauses, brushing loose strands of dark hair from her face. “Daily?”
“Yes. And since you’re taking requests, I’d like a rug for the bathroom.”
Wendy blinks at me a few times, her eyes zeroed in on mine. Her jaw clenches tight, and I think she might lose her shit. “Anything else?”
“A bottle of tequila and chocolate.”
She tilts her head. “I’m not your personal shopper, Mr. Banks.”
“No problem. I’ll contact Gale, and I’m sure she’ll take care of it for me. She did say if I neededanythingat all to ring her.”
Wendy grits her teeth harder. “Fine.”
I move to the dresser, grabbing my wallet and pulling out five hundred dollars.
She blinks down, taking a hundred and handing the other four bills back. “You’re so out of touch.”
I narrow my eyes, not taking the money. “Excuse me? I want the best of everything. Grab the most expensive bottle of tequila they have.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive,” I say.
“Okay. I’ll be right back with a new comforter.” She’s direct and straight to the point.
When she’s gone, I drag my hand over my face.Get it together.
I pull on shorts and a T-shirt and open the balcony doors with my coffee in hand. This is a game of cat and mouse that I shouldn’t play. I can’t. But I want to, just to see how it plays out.
