His eyes glint. “Oh. So that’s how it is?Wehave to share thisone room?”
He’s enjoying this way too much. Probably still peeved that I declined his request to fake-date.How petty. “Not my choice. The hotel messed up.”
“Uh-huh. I thought you were turning down the fake girlfriend position?”
“I was. Iam.” I inhale deeply—sadly, it’d be illegal to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze. “This suite is called ‘Grand Imperial,’ so there should be plenty of space to crash—” I swallow the rest. Our suitcases are already in the corner, so that’s good, but this space is just…too small. Completely insufficient to justify the grandeur of the name. Tokyo real estate is pricey, but surely they can do better than this!
“Unless you have a titanium neck and spine, I doubt it.” Rhys taps his foot on the dark floor experimentally. “Hardwood. Not comfortable.”
“Well. The couch is—”
“That thing?” He points.
I turn around, then feel my jaw drop at the sight of the couch I’ve been counting on. It’s nothing like anything I’ve ever seen before. A gorgeous, lacquered wood frame is intricately carvedwith beautiful flower and carp details. But it only has two three-inch-thick cushions in celadon blue and cream.
“Those offer bare minimum padding. Your butt’ll get sore if you want to lie there for more than ten minutes,” he says. “And it’s just long enough foryouto curl up on…like an overcooked, rubbery shrimp nobody wants.”
“I don’t think this is really the time for seafood similes—”
He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll get one for the firm. Keeps meetings short and to the point.”
I shake my head. “Sacker would rather die before cutting down one of his presentations.”
“He won’t be getting any extra padding. We’ll see how long his bony ass can last.”
I cross my arms. It’s that or throw them up in the air in surrender, and quitting is never an option at the firm. Still… What’s the best solution now? “I’ll think of something,” I say, missing my airplane seat already. At least it was long enough and had sufficient cushioning for my back.
“Really? Like what? Sleeping in the bathtub?”
Ooooh!“If there’s one big enough, that could work.”
“And if I want to use the facilities in the middle of the night?”
I pull my lips in because saying, “Then what do you suggest?” isn’t going to end well. Rhys hates it when his subordinates bring him issues without solutions, even if he rips them into pieces. Besides, telling him to hold it isn’t going to work. His Majesty doesn’t do patience.
He pushes the sliding door to the bedroom. “You reserved a king, right?”
“Yes.” I stop at the sight of the beautifully made four-poster bed in front of us. “Why is it so small? Or is it just me?”
He purses his lips. “It’s not you. It looks a bit…snug.”
“Are they kidding? A system glitch, and now this? Is the hotel ripping us off?”
“You’re the one who made the reservation.” Rhys gestures at me to handle it.
I pick up the phone on the nightstand and dial 0. “Hello? I’m in the Imperial Grand Suite. Isn’t this room supposed to have a king-size bed?”
“Yes, ma’am,” comes a polite female voice.
“But it looks small.”
A three-beat-long pause. “It’s most definitely a king bed. The suite has never had any other type. We don’t put queen beds in suites.”
“But why does it look so small?”
She makes a thoughtful noise. “If you lie down, maybe it won’t feel so small…?”
Argh!Forget it. It’s obvious she doesn’t understand. Or maybe she’s just following a manual that says,Keep telling the customer the bed is a “king bed” until they give up. Some five-star treatment!
