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Relief flashes in his eyes before his smug smile returns. “Next time I call, you’re going to answer.”
I nod before I remember that Eric isn’t supposed to be giving me orders.
He moves my underwear into place and smooths my skirt over my thighs before rising. From my chair, I’m level with the erection pressing against his trousers. My gaze drops before I can stop it.
Eric catches me looking, but he doesn’t ask for anything in return. He buttons his jacket, straightens his cuffs, and walks out. The door closes before I can find a single thing to say.
The weekend reports are still open on my laptop. I stare at the numbers, unable to remember what any of them mean.
By the time my phone rings just before noon, I’ve answered my emails, approved next week’s schedule, and almost stopped feeling Eric’s mouth on me.
Grandma’s name appears on the screen.
“Hi, darling,” she says. Voices and music fill the background. “I’m just checking in. How’s the Hartwell?”
“Everything’s fine.”
I give her a quick update on the usual problems.
“And what are you doing about the new Voss plans?” she asks.
I think about the television interview and decide not to mention it. It did nothing to stop Voss, and Grandma doesn’t need another reason to worry.
“Nothing right now.” I glance at my laptop. “I went through the plans again, but they meet the city’s rules. Their service lane is on their own land now. There’s nothing left for me to challenge.”
“That makes things harder.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Your grandfather was always good at finding another way. You are too.”
My gaze drops to the floor beside my chair, where Eric was on his knees a few hours ago.
“I’m working on it.”
“I know you are. I trust you.”
Mavis calls her name in the background. Grandma tells me there’s a dessert involving flames, then says she has to go.
After we hang up, I sit back and look around my office. Grandma trusts me to put the Hartwell first. This morning, for the second time in three days, I let the man building its biggest rival next door between my legs.
Wanting Eric doesn’t mean I like him. It certainly doesn’t mean this matters. He’s attractive, he knows exactly what he’s doing, and after nine months without sex, I got carried away.
Twice.
Normally, I’d call Chloe for advice, but I can’t tell her any of this. The moment she heard I’d slept with Eric, she’d call it chemistry and start listing all the reasons we’re a perfect match. The Voss name would only make her more certain. I need someone to talk me out of this, and Chloe would encourage it.
So this stops now. Saturday was one mistake, and this morning was another. I may have nodded when Eric told me to answer his next call, but I was hardly in a condition to make promises.
19
RACHEL
Wednesday starts quietly, at least by Hartwell standards. Breakfast ends on time, and housekeeping begins turning over thirty-one rooms. Then a guest in 407 reports a leaking shower. While I’m sending maintenance upstairs, the linen delivery arrives two boxes short, and the front desk calls about a honeymoon couple hoping to keep their suite until four.
By ten, maintenance has fixed the leak, the missing linen is on its way, and I’ve approved the late checkout. With the morning’s problems handled, I return to my office and open the proof for our annual charity bingo poster.
THE HARTWELL CHARITY BINGO
Sunday at 7:00 p.m.
Hosted by Rachel Hartwell
