Page 79 of Mr. Perfect

We talked all about me, but most of it he knows. I’m not a rolling stone. I’ve been gathering moss at Stonewall Entertainment since college. So that wasn’t all that interesting. But he did mention he’s been traveling a lot.

I sit up and ponder this.

Come to think about it, he never mentioned where he did all that traveling either. I lie back and try to get some more sleep, but Mac’s lack of disclosure is troubling. Did I let him lead me all weekend? Was he doing it on purpose? Or were we just caught up in each other and we found ourselves off on tangents? That’s likely. That’s how it is when you meet someone new. Someone you like. Someone you’re really interested in. When you start thinking this might lead to something more, you want to hear everything and you get sidetracked. Going down roads you never knew you wanted to travel because it’s all so shiny and new.

I sigh and accept that line of thinking.

But I can’t seem to get it out of my mind. I toss and turn, and before I know it, it’s almost six, so there’s no hope of sleep if I want to take a shower before work.

Mac and I took a lot of showers this weekend. The shower sex called to us multiple times. So I don’t really need one. He fucked me against the wet, tiled wall less than eight hours ago.

I’m still snickering at that thought when my phone buzzes on the side table.

I reach over and check the caller ID. It’s work, but not anyone who has called me before because it just comes up as Stonewall Entertainment. “Hello?”

“Ellie? This is Stephanie, Mac’s assistant. I’m so sorry.” She giggles. “He made me call you because he’s in a meeting with Stonewall Senior. Mac said he left his phone in his home office and could you please bring it to him when you come in?”

“Jesus, way to be discreet, Mac.”

“I know,” Stephanie says, still amused. “But if it’s any consolation, I think it’s great. You two are very cute together.”

“Thanks,” I say, pleased that my rationale for not letting that video get to me is panning out. “Tell him I’ll get ready and be right over.”

“Sure thing,” Stephanie says. “See you then.”

I end the call and throw the covers off. Where the hell is the home office? I decide to get dressed first, then go searching for that little hidden corner of this rooftop mansion. I have no idea how big this place is, but there are six bedrooms, ten bathrooms, and obviously an office I never did see.

I only have jeans with me, so that’s going to have to do for work. I really didn’t expect to stay here last night, but I so didn’t want to leave. I didn’t bring work clothes over on Friday. The thought that this weekend would be so great never entered my mind.

I wash up in the bathroom and put on a little bit of makeup. Just enough to make me look fresh-faced. And then I pull my jeans on, go into Mac’s closet and find a work shirt I can throw on over my tank top. I choose the only clean one hanging in the closet and tie it in a little knot at my waist as I find my way back out to the main living room where I left my shoes when I came in on Friday.

That rug, Jesus. I will have to hint around to Mac that we should really have sex on it. I blush at the thought. What has he done to me?

I don’t know, but I like it. I think Ellie Hatcher, one half of Eloise and McAllister, is way more interesting than plain old delusional Ellie Hatcher, celebrity coordinator.

“OK,” I say as I stuff my phone in my purse and hike it up on my shoulder. “Now to find the office.” I wander down the hallway where the waterfall wall is and when I get to the end I turn left instead of right. I haven’t been down this hallway so there’s a good chance there’s an office here somewhere.

I’m right, after being wrong four times. I find a sitting room, a man cave complete with air hockey table, a bathroom I didn’t know about—so maybe that makes eleven—and a little reading nook.

The office is the last room I come to, naturally, and it’s decorated in a light modern style, just like the rest of this place. There’s some paperwork, some pens in a crystal holder, and Mac’s phone on the desk. I grab it and turn back to leave, but it buzzes in my hand.

I look down at the screen, thinking it’s Mac, but the caller comes up as Mr. Romantic.

Mr. Romantic? What the hell is that about?

I ignore it and toss it into my purse, but there’s a voice calling out.

“Mac?” it says. “Mac? What the fuck, dude?”

I fish the phone out and realize I must’ve tabbed the call accept button, and place it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Uh,” the guy says on the other line. “You’re not Mac.”

“No, I’m Ellie. Sorry, I didn’t mean to answer the phone. But I must’ve bumped the call button by mistake. He left his phone at home and I’m bringing it to him.”

“Ellie?” he says, half question, half not. “So he found you, huh?”

“Found me?”