Chapter 7
7
Sunday
Roanoke, Virginia
The foyer of the hotel is like something out of a French chateau but with over-the-top American details that scream no expense has been spared so be prepared to spend shitloads of money! I dread to think how much a night in the “presidential suite” costs. At least it’s not a honeymoon suite.
Colton checks us in, a uniformed man immediately appearing to take our bags.
I notice again that Colton Maddox is tall. And muscular. We’ve been in the RV all day and it strikes me how… beautiful he is. How perfectly made and masculine his silhouette happens to be. Like a king who belongs in a castle like this.
I’m not sure why, but my heart is beating fast .
This is the most beautiful hotel I’ve ever seen. A wall of windows along the back of the building offers insane views of purple mountains and the molten orange slice of the setting sun, made even more spectacular by its frame of plush velvet curtains, the rows of glowing crystal chandeliers, and the Old World grandeur of the decorating choices, which are clearly made by a team of people who know what they’re doing and also have unlimited budgets.
It’s a glittering, perfect oasis that doesn’t feel real. As much as Colton becomes one with the luxury, I can’t quite suppress the feeling that I don’t belong here. Maybe that’s what happens when you grow up worrying about every penny you spend and you suddenly find yourself in a place where a single vase costs more than three mortgage payments.
Colton has them falling at his feet without even trying. He’s both charming and aloof—a lethal combination that has all the women at reception swooning. His killer smile slays them…just like it’s been slaying me for the past twenty-four hours.
It’s the reminder I need.
Colton Maddox is a notorious heart-breaker, which Sloane never tires of gushing to me about.
A cute receptionist flirts with him as she hands him back his black credit card.
I can’t even blame him. Colton’s not doing anything other than being himself. I already know he has this effect on every woman he meets .
Like me, for example. I agreed to this ridiculous escapade after a few drinks and a brief—okay, not that brief—conversation. And now look at me. Stuck with him for five whole days. Caught in a trap of trying to resist what feels like a real connection when he clearly tricks every woman into a similar haze of blind attraction, only to leave them “crying into their Bloody Marys by breakfast”—one of Sloane’s direct quotes that for some reason resurfaces now.
It makes me wonder if we’ll even get as far as L.A. together. There’s no guarantee he won’t bolt somewhere between Nashville and Vegas.
Chill out, girl. Enjoy the moment. It’s better than the freaking Super 8. Have dinner with him, then politely offer to sleep in the RV, at which point he’ll probably insist on being the one to slum it in the parking lot. You can toss and turn for a few hours on king-sized memory foam, wrapped in zillion-count Egyptian cotton. Then it’s only four more days to go.
Colton walks over to me and I make a point of not marveling at how that white shirt shows off his tan and sort of tightens across his chest, showcasing his sculpted arms and the flatness of his abs. “Ready?”
No, I want to say, but I follow him into the elevator anyway. He pushes the button for the top floor.
“You okay, Sunshine?” Reading my mood, maybe.
But the elevator swooshes us up and dings before I can think of an appropriate reply. No, because what if I can’t resist you? Yes, because this place is beyond amazing? Sort of, because I’m resolved to resist you but I’m still enjoying your hotness and your blazingly-manly company more than I want to admit to myself?
We get to the room, and Colton opens the door into the huge suite, with floor-to-ceiling glass looking out onto a large balcony. Steam rises from the corner of the balcony, where the promised hot tub sits, taking full advantage of the view.
It’s an unseasonably warm night but there are several of those outdoor heaters on the balcony glowing their warmth, and Colton goes over to open the folding steel-and-glass doors, doubling the size of the suite.
He walks out to admire the now-muted colors of the sunset, stretching his arms, which causes his shirt to ride up and expose the skin of his muscular back, his leather belt and his low-slung jeans.
Damn it. Yep, he’s a literal demi-god.
“So you weren’t lying about the hot tub.” I’m doing my best not to stare.
He turns and I quickly peel my gaze away. “I never lie about things as serious as a jet massage.”
This was a bad idea.
I notice our bags have already been set just inside the—only—bedroom. The champagne has been popped, poured and returned to its ice bucket.
Colton goes over and takes the flutes, handing me one. His eyes are lit by the darkness, somehow, like their blueness has taken on layers of inky, mysterious hues. “Relax, Bailey. Drink it. It’s French. You already slept off your hangover. What do you think of the room?”
“It’s beautiful. Very classy.”
“Of course. Would you expect anything less?”
“Um…mirrors on the ceiling? A locked red room full of handcuffs and leatherwear?” Why, Lila, why? Do NOT make jokes like that just because you’re nervous.
“Maybe wait until you get into the bedroom before you make your final judgement,” comes his darkly amused reply.
I try to downplay my internal panic that he might not be joking. “If there's so much as a silk sheet, I’m out of here before you can say Professor Maddox.” Lila! What the hell?
“I wouldn’t do that to you, baby girl.” Winking. "Not until lesson three, anyway.”
Here we go.
I groan, taking my champagne out onto the edge of the balcony to fully appreciate the view—and so he can’t see how much I’m blushing.
“What do you want to order?” He comes up behind me and my body feels his approach, warming intimately. Oh god. I can feel my own pulse. Right there.
“I-I don’t mind.” Hold it together, Lila.
“The filet mignon they do here is one of the best I’ve ever had.” He leans a hip against the railing, close to me, reading the menu he’s holding. He’s a good seven or eight inches taller than me and probably outweighs me by two to one. The man is built .
It’s not fair that he’s put me in this situation, where he knows how hot he is and the effect he has. Can he tell that my panties are now saturated, clinging softly? “You’ve been here before?” I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, and I make a point of not sounding breathless.
“One of our companies owns several chains of luxury hotels, including this place,” he says, like it’s no big deal.
“Oh.”
“How about I order us a couple of steaks with all the fixings, some chocolate cake and maybe a fully-loaded platter in case we get hungry again later.”
“Sure.” My stomach growls loudly and I blush even more.
Colton’s slow, lazy smile catches me off-guard. “I’ve neglected you. My girl is hungry.”
My girl. “You definitely haven’t neglected me. Anything would be fantastic.” I don’t tell him I’ve been living off ramen noodles for months on end. Or that I suddenly feel more ravenous than I ever have. Or that I often choose to buy fabric instead of food beyond the absolute basics because it’s the only way I’ll ever be able to create the line I’m working on.
While Colton calls the front desk to place our order, I check out the rest of the suite. The bedroom has a massive bed with mountains of plush white coverings and the bathroom is literally twice the size of my apartment.
Holy hell. Imagine living like this.
I splash some cool water on my face, staring at myself in the mirror for a moment. The lighting in this room is so much better than my apartment’s bathroom.
I look…good. My cheeks are flushed and my eyes are bright. My hair looks shiny. The lack-of-sleep shadows under my eyes don’t look quite as bruised as they have lately. I look almost… happy.
Not because of him, I insist to myself. Because I’m on the road and it feels good. Because I’m going to Nashville and then Aspen and then Vegas.
He’s just a perk.
A hot perk.
A fun, hot perk.
A gorgeous, fun, hot perk who’s really easy to talk to and who says things like “I’ve got you.”
And who’s off-limits because he’s a walking heartbreak-waiting-to-happen. End of story.
I go into the bedroom, plugging my phone in next to the bed, noticing there are a bunch of missed calls from Sloane and Jessie. I send them both the same text.
I’m in Roanoke, Virginia! Just heading out to get some food. Don’t worry about me! All is well!! I’ll try to call soon
Sloane’s reply comes through almost immediately.
How’ s the driving going?
It’s good! No problems. How are you?
I don’t want to lie, and the omission almost feels like I am, but it would be too hard to explain everything in a few texts and I’m definitely not up for a long phone conversation tonight. I’m fully aware of everything Sloane would warn me about—again—and I have no intention of going there.
I miss you already! Everything’s fine except my boss has gone AWOL and taken a spur of the moment vacation, which his brothers can’t figure out. They’re taking bets. Did he mention anything about taking time off to you last night?
How to answer?
That’s crazy
It’s not a lie. It is crazy. And I’m still not sure why he’s doing it.
Oh and guess what, I wore one of your tops to a charity lunch I went to today and everyone was asking where I got it
So I told them about you and they were all raving about your Insta. Have you checked your orders today?
Really? Wow. No, I’ll check now
I’ve always taken care of my own orders but one thing I did manage to organize before I left New York was to get a small agency to handle my orders for me until I get set up in L.A.
I’ve got around fifty garments I’ve made that are available for sale, mostly unique pieces but also some that are copies of the designs I post on Instagram. One of those is the top Sloane bought from me after I wore it to meet her for a drink one night when she was out in the Hamptons for work.
Holy hell.
I’ve had ten new orders this morning, all of the same top, which is now sold out.
I made two thousand dollars today.
That’s more than I’ve made in the past two months from my business.
Sloane! I can’t believe it! They ALL sold!!!
Yay! Told you, you wild talent!! Some of them are influencers too so you should get a lot more orders within the next week or so. I told them to tag you and promote the hell out of you because you’re the sweetest
Omg. Thank you soooooo much, honey. Really I’ll have to hit the ground running as soon as I get to LA
For a VACATION. You still might come back to NY
We’ll see. Thank you, Sloane!!!!!! I have to go but I’ll try to call in the next day or two. TYSM
Of course, bestie. Be safe! And have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do
It’s the first time I’ve ever had more than one order at a time.
I check my Instagram and do a double-take.
I have a thousand new followers. One of Sloane’s friends—who has over 100K followers—has tagged me in a new post. She’s wearing my top. How cute is this! Follow @lilabaileydesigns #lilabailey #lilabaileydesigns #ilovethistop
Holy shit.
I realize there are tears in my eyes because this—right here—is what I’ve been busting my ass for, for a whole year and for many years before that, with no breaks and not even a single day off.
It’s working. Finally.
I hear Colton’s phone ring from the other room. “Hey,” he says, and I’m guessing it’s one of his brothers from the deeply familiar tone he falls into when he talks to one of them. “I’m fine, thanks for asking…I already explained this to Cash…No, I’m not giving you details…I’m not telling you that, bro, so you can chill the fuck out.” He laughs lightly. “It might…As I mentioned to your CEO early this morning, that’s none of his business— or yours…Yeah, a week.” Colton sighs dramatically. “Jesus. I promise you, I’m fine. Why is everyone freaking out because I decided to take a week off after two fucking years of not taking a single vacation? It’s called spontaneity, Noah, you should try it sometime.” Another pause. “Bets? Well, you can all fuck off.” More low laughter. “I’m hanging up now…yes…okay, bro, you enjoy your night too. Later…I’m hanging up on you now…goodnight, shithead.”
There’s a knock at the hotel room door and Colton goes to answer it. The scent of delicious food hits me and my mouth waters.
I can hear the sounds of carts being wheeled in and Colton thanking the waiters, then the door closing.
“Lila,” Colton calls from the other room. “Food’s here.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
I wipe my eyes and go into the main room .
The large dining room table is covered with plates and plates of food.
Steaks, a bowl full of crispy smashed potatoes, a gigantic salad, roasted vegetables, pitchers of sauces and dressings, a fruit plate, a fully-loaded antipasto platter, a chocolate cake, bottled water, a bottle of red wine and another chilling bottle of champagne.
“Wow,” I gasp.
“Hope you’re hungry, Sunshine.” Colton contemplates me for a second. “Hey.”
He closes the space between us and tilts my chin up to him with two fingers. His face is stunningly handsome, and being forced to stare directly at it shocks me a little. Even tired after a late night and a full day of intense driving—or maybe because of it—he’s mind-numbingly beautiful. His blue-on-blue eyes are rimmed with dark lashes, blinking at me. I hadn’t noticed it before, but he has a scar, a thin line across one cheekbone.
Colton uses a rough thumb to wipe an errant tear I hadn’t noticed. The concern in his eyes…shouldn’t be there. It’s too caring. Too invested for what this is.
“You’re crying,” he tells me, his perfect eyebrows furrowed, like it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened in the history of the world.
I take a step back, wiping any other tears that might have given me away. “It’s nothing. I’m happy. I just sold a bunch of my garments— ten in one day—thanks to Sloane wearing one of them to an influencers’ lunch. I really can’t believe it. And dinner’s on me.”
“Dinner is not on you, gorgeous. Dinner is most definitely on me, but that’s great news, Lila. Congratulations. It’s a big deal.”
“Thanks.” It is a big deal and it’s nice of him to say that.
A channel of something passes between us I’m not sure I want there. A feeling that we’re on the same wavelength, when we shouldn’t be. We’ve known each other for exactly one day. This is a very temporary…friendship? Roadtrip buddy camaraderie? Four-night-stand I need to maybe enlighten me before I get on with my life?
No, because you’d totally fall for him along the way and we all know he doesn’t commit.
So what? It could be purely for educational purposes.
But what about Troy?
Troy is not an issue here! Why are we even talking about him? He’s nothing and he never was. Even if your tequila-soaked subconscious pined for him last night to anyone who would listen like he was The One Who Got Away.
Ugh. This is way too complicated to think about when I’m this hungry.
“Come on,” he says, “we’re both starving. Let’s eat.”
Colton serves me up a heaping plate of food and pours us both a glass of red wine. We eat at the table outside on the balcony. The moon is full and the stars are out. Live music drifts up from the restaurant patio. “This is without a doubt the best food I’ve ever had in my life,” I say, when we finally come up for air after eating most of the food and half the chocolate cake.
“The chef is French and very highly rated. It was one of the reasons we bought this hotel. We offered him a total refurbishment of the hotel, the wine list of his dreams and a ten-year contract. He’s been awarded two Michelin stars since then. People come from all over the world to stay at this hotel just for the food and the wine.”
“Wow.” What a world he inhabits.
I feel myself relaxing into the moment, in a way I haven’t in a long time. I don’t feel so exhausted, after my extended power nap in the RV. I’m excited about my business. If it keeps growing, I might be okay. I might be able to work on it full-time, and the future seems unusually bright tonight. The good food and obviously-incredibly-expensive wine has a calming, luxurious effect. And Colton is so easy to be with, I almost forget about all the potential minefields of the next few days and weeks. Everything, in this moment, feels sort of perfect.
But then Colton pushes back his chair and grabs the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket. “And now I’m getting changed and meeting you in the hot tub, baby girl. I have no intention of breaking my word. I made you some promises last night and it’s time to deliver. Get ready for your first lesson.”