When he stands, he offers me his hand. “I hate that you’re so smart, but I’m glad you let me access that brain of yours.”
“What can I say? I have a head for strategy and a body for sin.”
He sneers. “I think my breakfast came back up.”
Laughing, I show him the door. “I need to go say hi to Mum. Let me know how the meeting goes.”
“Let me know how the date goes.”
“I’ll preempt myself and tell you now—it went perfectly.”
“Cocky bastard.” He leaves.
A few minutes later, I shower, dress, and head to my mum’s flat by the harbor. We watch an episode of our favorite American TV show—the one about regular government employees who happen to possess extraordinary superpowers—then she asks me if I’ve been behaving at the docks.
“Never.”
“You’re going to get arrested for public indecency at some point, young man.”
“Please. That only happens in America. Who’d arrest me in Europe?”
Laughing, she practically shoves me out the door. “I’m not posting your bail.”
“Of course you are. You’re the only one who has access to all my accounts.”
When I leave, I head to the hip new lounge, Jane, more eager than I expected to be. Funny, how I spent all of thirty seconds with that woman this afternoon. Thirty seconds, fifty feet across the water, with a boatful of others watching on. But even so, I want to see her.
Talk to her.
Entertain her.
From her voice, she sounded American, but not entirely. I think she might be French too.
I don’t really care where she’s from though.
I care where she’s going.
Hopefully, home tonight with me.
3ELISE
Dark jeans, pewter-gray ankle boots that boost me up a critical three inches to a whopping five and a half feet, and a black blouse, the top button undone to show a hint of flesh. Well, I’m not a nun.
I screw up the corner of my lips, peering at myself in the hotel mirror. I’m so . . . dark. “I look like a widow,” I mutter.
“No. You look like a trendy, modern woman who likes black,” Veronica corrects as she slides chandelier earrings into her ears. She wrenches her gaze back, studying one earlobe. “Why am I wearing these? They might get stuck on a pillow.”
“Or a chair cushion. Don’t rule out the possibility of rambunctious furniture sex.” I wink.
“You’re right. Best to wear studs.”
She bustles out of the bathroom, grabs her jewelry case from her suitcase, and finds, I presume, the studs she’s looking for. Meanwhile, I root around in my bag for another option. Locating a silky purple top, I tug it on. It slides off one shoulder. Just the right amount of sex appeal without being inappropriate.
I hold out my arms wide, giving a half twirl. “How do I look now?”
“Like an eggplant.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a witch.”
“A very sexy eggplant. Please. It was a compliment.”
I eye her getup, which can be described in one word—clingy. “And you look positively like a woman who’s going to enjoy the fuck out of her last night in town.”
She grins widely. “Let’s hope I enjoy the fuck out of it.” She wiggles her hips. “Also, no need to wait up for me.”
“As if I’d wait up for you.”
I smooth a hand over my blouse as my stomach flips with nerves. “Am I really doing this?”
“Yes.” She slides her foot into a red stiletto. “Aren’t you always telling me to enjoy life’s pleasures? To take a lover? To savor each day?”
I tap my chin, smirking. “That does sound vaguely like me. But only in theory.”
“It’s exactly like you,” she says adamantly as she slicks on lip gloss. “Now let’s put it into practice. You’ve been talking ‘seize the day’ ever since you finally came up for air after—”
I wince.
I don’t like hearing his name. I don’t want her to say his name. Once, not so long ago, his was the only name I ever wanted to hear. At night, in bed—all day long.
