Chapter 12 Presley


    Presley


    So far, my experience of London hasn’t made it past the view from the hotel room window. Although


    you really can’t call this a hotel room at all. First, it’s muchrger than Bianca’s entire apartment.


    There’s a formal entryway with crystal vases containing fresh-cut flowers, gleaming marble floors, then


    a formal sitting area with teal-colored velvet chairs and elegant paintings on the wall. The living room


    boasts a gray sectional sofa and arge t-screen TV. A bar area is beyond that, with a wall of


    windows that overlook the city, and then a private bedroom with a massive adjoining bathroom. The


    bed is positively oversize, and the te-colored carpeting is the plushest I’ve ever felt. This ce is a


    dream. Bored, I’ve already filled my cell phone’s camera roll with pictures of its opulence.


    I don’t know why Dominic’s wealth still surprises me; he is a billionaire, after all. But I guess I haven’t


    wrapped my head around that just yet.


    Sighing, I sit perched on a tufted stool in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the bedroom, gazing out


    at the bustling city below. I’m notining. It’s a spectacr view. Our hotel stands tall, towering


    over the dense fog of the city. The skyline here is so different than that of Seattle. But even though the


    buildings are different sizes and shapes, the blue-gray hue of the city reminds me of home.


    So far today, I’ve napped and eaten room service, twice, and surfed the channels on the TV—amused


    by the posh ents of the newscasters—and have been content, for the most part, to sit taking in the


    view. But it’s been hours since Dominic took off to do his business in the city, and I’m getting


    increasingly antsy as the minutes tick by.


    I’m not used to napping during the middle of the day, nor am I used to having so much downtime to


    myself. Even before college, I’ve always operated at 110 percent, bncing my studies with work and a


    social life.


    I never knew it would be so hard to actually rx. My only excuse is that there is quite literally nothing


    for me to do here butze around.


    If I’m going to be confined to the hotel, I may as well make the most of it. The freestanding bathtub is


    massive with all sorts of bubble bath concoctions to choose from. I select the one called Peachy Clean,


    listening to the satisfying glug-glug-glug as I pour it into the steaming water. One foot at a time, I


    submerge myself in the bath.


    Holy shit. This is heaven.


    I let my back slide against the warm ceramic, an involuntary sigh escaping my lips. As a twenty-


    something always on the brink of breaking the bank, I never have the luxury of taking a bath. My


    morning routine is simple—get up, take as fast a shower as I can, and get out. My showers aren’t even


    enjoyable, since I’m usually saving the hot water for Bianca, cognizant of my couch-surfing status. To


    make it worse, the pipes in her building are old and finicky. I’m lucky if there’s decent water pressure.


    I sink deeper into the bubbles, willing this moment tost forever. I can barely remember thest time I


    took a bubble bath . . . God, I must have been only five or six years old. Our mother always bathed


    Michael and me together, probably because we were so inseparable at that age.


    Michael.


    I should buy him a present while I’m here. He’ll totally flip out when he learns I’ve been to London.


    What should I get him? More importantly, how will I exin this trip? I can’t exactly tell him that I’m


    apanying my megalomaniac boss on a business trip as his fake plus-one.


    No, I’ll just tell Michael what he wants to hear. It was a work trip. I was chosen to apany my boss.


    (I’m his intern, after all.) We stayed in a fancy hotel with huge windows andplimentary room


    service—in separate rooms. I had a lovely time.


    At least thatst part is true so far.


    Once I’m clean and shaved and my fingers look like pale little raisins, I wrap myself in a towel and re-


    enter the bedroom to get dressed. It’s already past six o’clock. Is tonight the night to wear lingerie?


    Should I put it on now? Is it something women usually change intoter in the evening? So many


    questions about one tiny article of clothing.


    N?velDrama.Org owns all ? content.


    “Worry about itter,” I grumble to myself.


    I take the time to dry my hair but don’t bother with any makeup. Then I slip on a pair of leggings and a


    loose T-shirt. There’s exploring to be done first. I’m not supposed to leave the building, but surely


    there’s some wiggle room in that restriction.


    On the first level of the hotel, I find a tiny gift boutique that sells pleasant and affordable little trinkets,


    ranging from functional to simply ornamental. I find a ma for the Royal Ballet. Perfect. It’s just


    within my budget too.


    Should I get anything for Bianca? What about for Dom’s girls?


    I’m certain that Dom would be extremely ufortable with that. I snort at the imaginary scene ying


    out in my mind—me, giving tiny snow globes of London to those wide-eyed, beaming angels while


    Dominic sweats from a distance.


    My phone buzzes in the pocket of my leggings. I pull it out to find a message from the devil himself.


    Meet me in the hotel bar in one hour. Don’t wear panties.


    Heat floods my cheeks and belly all at once. He can’t be serious. But that’s the thing about Dominic—


    he’s always serious.


    Oh my God.


    I pay for the ma with trembling hands, instantly forgetting my ns to shop for anyone else. I head


    straight for the elevator, ride it up to our floor, and fumble with the door key.


    Once inside, I toss the ma on the table and dump the contents of my suitcase on our shared bed.


    The little ck dress I brought has miraculously survived the trip without any wrinkles. Thank


    goodness. I tug off the leggings and T-shirt and put them and the rest of the clothes I’ve scattered


    away.


    Taking the dress over to the full-length mirror, I pull it over my body, smoothing the material over my


    breasts and hips. I’ll have to run a brush through my hair and put a little color on my lips—


    But first . . . I slide the dress up my thighs, slipping my hands underneath. My skin is silky soft, freshly


    shaved and moisturized from my bath. Imagining Dominic’s hands on my skinter makes my entire


    body break out in goose bumps.


    I hook my thumbs around thecy underwear, pulling them down inch by inch until I can step out of


    them. Looking at myself in the mirror, I take in my long hair hanging over one shoulder, my breasts


    round and firm within the bodice of my dress, and the feeling of nothing between my legs . . .


    Shit, I’m already turned on. From a text. Jesus.


    I check the clock. I have forty more minutes to get ready. With how excited I am, I could probably get


    ready in ten.


    Instead, I take my time in the bathroom, applying my eyeliner in a perfected ck stroke, and add a


    little highlight here and there to my skin. The final touch is a swipe of pink lipstick. The gloss slides


    across my lips with purpose, painting my mouth a striking pigment a few shades darker than my natural


    coloring.


    With my hair brushed and lips plump, I’m ready to handle whatever Dominic has nned. I can’t help


    but rub my thighs together, noticing the lick of cool air that meets my bare flesh whenever my dress


    swishes.


    Onest nce in the mirror, and I’m ready—ready for whatever this evening throws my way. Although


    if Dominic has ns for us to entertain investors with me in this state, I’m fairly certain all my


    composure will vanish.


    By the time I make it down to the hotel bar, my heart is hammering against my ribs, and I’m eager to


    see Dominic.


    Composure, Presley.


    My heels click on the dark tile of the bar floor. The lighting is dim and sultry, the result of low-hanging


    lanterns and tea-light candles strewn randomly across the small tables. I pause, uncertain if he’s here


    yet.


    “You’re early. Good.”


    I practically jump out of my dress.