I head into the lobby, praying there’s a room open for me.
“Hi! Do you have a reservation?” the concierge asks as she smiles at me.
“No. I was hoping you might have a room available.”
I look down at my hands because I’m doing everything I can to keep from bursting out in tears. The adrenaline I had when I found Julian is starting to disappear.
“Of course, we can find you a room. Give her the penthouse suite,” I hear a voice say.
“Wait, I can’t afford that,” I blurt out.
CHAPTER TWO
Michel
“Don’t worry about it,” I say to her.
I’m not sure why I’m doing this. But as I watched this gorgeous creature walk off the bus, something inside of me said that I need to know her. The tone in her voice when she was talking to Sasha, our head concierge, pulled at my heart. She sounded so fucking sad, and the look on her face…I don’t know what happened to her, but I’m going to find out.
Sasha gets the key cards ready and hands them to me. I write my number on the key holder.
“My name is Michel, if there’s anything you need, you call me. I’ll help you get up to the penthouse.”
I walk around the counter and take her suitcases from her. I start walking, but I realize she’s not following me.
“Are you coming?” I smile at her. She’s still not moving.
“I can’t afford the penthouse,” she says again.
I sigh and walk back over to her.
“Please don’t worry about that. Come on, you’ll love the room.”
“Why would you do this? You don’t even know me. And I’m not going to sleep with you for the room.”
I laugh. “I’m doing this because you look like you need help. And it never crossed my mind that you would sleep with me as payment.”
She frowns at me more, but starts to follow me to the elevator.
“You need to use your key card to get the elevator to go to the penthouse. There are seven of them in the hotel. You’re in penthouse number seven.”
“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this for me,” she says as we wait for the doors to open.
I lead her to the door of her room and open it. I put her two suitcases in the bedroom and come back out to find her looking out the window, sobbing. I go over to her and take her in my arms. I wish I knew who did this to her.
After a few minutes, she backs away and looks up at me.
“I’m so sorry,” she says as she looks at the damp spot on my shirt.
“There’s nothing you need to be sorry for. I’d also like to offer you dinner. You can either order room service or come down to the restaurant.”
“You’ve done so much for me already. I’ll never be able to repay you.”
“You can start by telling me your name.”
“Oh my god.” She smiles and shakes her head. “My name is Genevieve Bardot.”
I smile and shake her hand. “I’m Michel Rousseau.”
