Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
In which the presidential suite is presidential indeed and Ocean has an opinion on my underwear.
The presidential suite looked fit to receive a king. The opulence was staggering, even to someone accustomed to luxury like myself. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the richly appointed living room. My eyes were immediately drawn to the intricate art nouveau details adorning the walls and ceiling. The plush carpets that seemed to swallow our footsteps, the gleaming antique furniture that spoke of a bygone era, the subtle scent of fresh flowers permeating the air—it was all designed to impress, and I had to admit, it was working.
The main bedroom had a four-poster king-size bed, and for some reason, Ocean seemed impressed with how sturdy it was. Maybe he was gauging how well it would hold up against the sex he planned on having with me? A man could hope, right?
The adjoining bathroom held a gigantic tub that would easily fit us both, plus a separate shower with a ledge at the right height to plant a foot on. Excellent. It was all marble, of course, with golden fleur-de-lis accents that screamed of wealth and class.
The second bedroom was much smaller with a queen-sized bed, though no less opulent, and had its own marble bathroom, minus the massive tub. The third room was a small office, and we also had a living room with all the expected entertainment options.
“Is everything to your liking, Mr. Sullivan?” Mike asked, and I spun around. I’d almost forgotten he was still there.
“Yes, thank you.”
Mike slid a business card from his breast pocket and handed it to me. It was a nice thick cardstock with a classic design and superb printing. “If there’s anything I can be of service with, don’t hesitate to call. I’m here for whatever you need, Mr. Sullivan.”
“Thank you, Mike.”
Mike made his exit, leaving Ocean and me alone.
“Do you ever get used to this?” Ocean asked, waving his hand around him. “To this level of luxury, I mean.”
“I’ve asked myself that question too, but it’s not quite so easy to answer. You do get used to certain small luxuries, like having a driver and rarely having to wait in line for something…or not having to do certain boring tasks. I haven’t cleaned, done laundry, or gotten groceries for myself in ages. And yes, I am used to being able to buy whatever I want whenever I want.” I chuckled at a memory. “Oliver once pointed out that if I wanted a Wagyu filet mignon, rare, in the middle of the night, he could make that happen…if I were willing to pay enough.”
Ocean chuckled. “You like steak?”
“I love Wagyu. Totally worth the hype. But not to the degree where I’d be willing to pay, say, five thousand dollars to get it at four a.m. That’s a waste of money if you ask me.”
“But hotels like this? Is this something you grow so used to that you don’t appreciate it anymore?”
“No. Standard chain hotels, sure. Oliver always gets me the best rooms, but they’re pretty generic, even if they’re luxurious by any standard. But this…” I gestured at the room. “This is a whole different level. This is history, and that’s why I value it. I love the historical details, and I hope I’ll never stop appreciating that…or the life I have.”
“You grew up poor?”
I hesitated. “Not poor, but definitely not rich. I grew up in Queens, where my dad was a salesman for commercial refrigerators and my mom worked in the post office. We had what we needed but not much more, so going to college would be my ticket to riches, so to speak. When I started becoming successful, I bought my parents a home outside of Albany. They wanted to get out of the City, and they love it there.”
Ocean let his hand slide along the fabric of the velvet couch. “I grew up with wealth.”
“Preston came from money.”
He nodded. “I know. I also know his parents were not happy he married my mother.”
I sighed. “No, they weren’t. They did show up at the wedding, but it was under protest. They accused Marcia of getting pregnant on purpose.”
“Did she?”
I’d asked myself that question too, and while I wasn’t one hundred percent certain, I could offer him my conclusion. “It seems unlikely. She really was religious, and having premarital sex was already against her beliefs.”
Ocean paled. “He didn’t…force her, did he?”
He sure knew how to ask the hard questions. “Physically, no, but he could be very persuasive. He was a smooth talker. For a long time, he fooled me into believing he truly was my friend.”
Ocean took my hand and laced our fingers together. “I wish I could say he fooled me into believing he was my dad. I discovered early on that I was nothing to him but a trophy, a pawn he wanted to use to his advantage.”
“You deserved better. I wish I…” I wasn’t even sure what I was wishing. That I had been there? That I would’ve stepped in? But I hadn’t noticed anything odd about Preston’s behavior toward Ocean—or Palmer, as he’d been known then.
He leaned into me for a moment. “I know. My mom loved me with all her heart, broken and imperfect as it was.”
“She did. I hope you have good memories of her.”
“I do. The best.” He swallowed. “You know what I miss? Her apple cinnamon bread. It was amazing, and every time I taste that combination, I think of her.”
“Oh, I remember that. Hers was the best.”
We stood like that for a moment, and then Ocean stepped back. “Enough with the sad stuff,” he said, a little forced, but I understood. He wandered over to the windows, whistling low. “Check out that view. Wow.”
I joined him, our shoulders nearly touching. The cityscape of Melbourne stretched out before us, a tapestry of old and new, bustling with life. For a moment, I forgot about everything else, lost in the beauty of it all.
“Pretty amazing, right?” Ocean’s voice was soft, almost reverent.
I turned to look at him, struck by the way the sunlight played across his features, highlighting the ocean-blue of his eyes. “Yeah,” I said, not entirely sure if I was talking about the view or him.
I watched him, a warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. It wasn’t just his physical beauty—though that was enough to make anyone weak at the knees. No, it was the way he moved through the world, utterly comfortable in his own skin. The way he seemed to find joy in the smallest things.
We stood there for a while, and something inside me unclenched, like I was releasing a breath I’d been holding for god knew how long.
“Let’s unpack,” Ocean said. “Where do you want me?”
It took me a moment to realize the meaning behind his question. “The choice is yours, but if we are going to end up in bed together anyway, I would prefer to do it in the king-size bed. This is one area where size really matters.”
“Excellent,” Ocean said, and was it my imagination, or did he seem relieved?
He grabbed his backpack and unceremoniously dumped the contents on the bed, then proceeded to neatly place it all in one of the closets.
“I hadn’t pegged you as the organized type,” I said as I took my suit jacket off and hung it on a hanger. That would need to be dry-cleaned, as would my pants after ending up on a restroom stall floor.
“I’m not, but I’ve learned to be. When you move around as much as I do and always share your living space with others, you quickly learn to keep things tidy.”
He finished unpacking and stowed his backpack under the bed, then grabbed one of my suitcases. “Let’s get you settled as well.”
“I can do that myself.”
“I know, but I like doing this for you. Why don’t you shower and get changed into something more comfortable?” He put my first suitcase on a luggage rack. “What’s the code?”
“Nine-five-seven.”
He dialed the lock into the right position, then opened the suitcase. He hummed as he riffled through my things. “You could change into something more comfortable…if you actually brought something other than suits and dress shirts. Jesus, is there even a single pair of sweatpants in there? Shorts? You do realize it’s summer here, right?”
I laughed sheepishly. “I’m not sure, actually. I was in a bit of a mood when I packed.”
He tut-tutted me, then waved his hand. “Go take that shower. I’ll inventory what you have, and if needed, we’ll go clothes shopping.”
Arguing seemed useless, so I dropped my pants, unbuttoned my dress shirt, took it off, and then whipped my undershirt over my head. Ocean was right. I did want to freshen up, and a shower seemed like an excellent idea. But when I headed to the bathroom, dressed in my boxer briefs, Ocean clicked his tongue.
I looked over my shoulder. “What?”
“Ditch the underwear.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I like looking at your ass.”
I didn’t even know what to say to that. I’d had plenty of men appreciate my body, but none had been quite as open and blatant about it—or as bossy. It had to be the lack of sleep catching up to me that had me obeying him so easily, treating him to a good peek as I bent over to take them off.
“Mmm, nice.” Ocean’s voice sounded hoarse, and when I peeked over my shoulder, his eyes were glued to my ass. What do you know, I still had it at forty-four.
I took my time in the shower, letting the hot water massage my tired body. Taking a nap wasn't smart if I wanted to beat the jet lag, but I wasn’t sure if I could make it without it. What time was it anyway?
I’d landed in Sydney around nine in the morning, and my flight to Melbourne had been about two hours later if I remembered correctly. The flight from Sydney to Melbourne had been an hour and a half, plus the drive to the hotel, so it was probably around one-thirty? Fuck no, I’d never make it till the evening without a nap. Jetlag be damned.
I toweled off, wrapped the towel around my waist, and walked back into the bedroom. Ocean stood staring at the closet with his arms crossed. Both my suitcases were gone, so had he unpacked them?
“Everything okay?” I asked.
He spun around. “You brought fourteen dress shirts.”
“Okay…and the problem with that is, what, exactly?”
“You mean other than the fact that they’re all white or blue?”
Were they? “Most of my suits are black or dark blue, so they combine easily.”
“You also packed ten white undershirts, six different suits, twenty pairs of identical black socks, and a dozen of the most hideous boxer shorts on the planet. They’re silk, for fuck’s sake. Baby-blue silk. I thought you had taste.”
Oh god, I’d forgotten about those. “They were a gift, okay? When I was packing, I didn’t want to wait for my dry cleaning, so I brought those instead.”
“There are so many things wrong with that sentence that I don’t even know where to start. But let’s tackle the obvious first. A gift from whom?”
“A guy I slept with a few times. He had a…classic taste.”
“Classic? That’s one way of putting it. What was he, eighty years old? Because that’s about the only valid excuse for wearing baby-blue silk underwear. They’re for old people.”
“I am old, compared to you, at least.”
Ocean waved his hand dismissively. “Forty-four is not old. You’re in your prime. And you’re not wearing those.”
I stood a little straighter. Flattery rarely worked on me, but this factual statement totally did. “I’m going to have to until I buy something else.”
Ocean firmly shook his head. “Nope, not gonna happen. You can either go commando or wear a pair of mine, but those are going straight into the trash. Also, you have your underwear dry-cleaned? What the fuck?”
I threw up my hands. “I don’t know, okay? Angie, my housekeeper, takes care of all of that. I put my dirty things in the hamper, and they appear clean in my closets again. That’s all I know. When I was packing, I was low on underwear, so I brought those.”
“You know what you didn’t bring?”
“Sweatpants?”
“Sweatpants. Or, for that matter, anything other than formal clothes. Not a T-shirt or pair of shorts in sight. Or pajamas.”
“I sleep naked,” I offered. “And I packed for a business trip, not to play tourist or go sightseeing.”
Ocean let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t work for me, so we’ll have to get you some new stuff. But first, you’re going to take a nap.”
I wanted to protest, if only because I should. If I let him keep bossing me around, I’d never get the upper hand back. Why that was important was a little hazy at the moment, but that had to be the tiredness talking. When I opened my mouth, all that came out was a huge yawn.
Ocean’s expression softened, and then he pulled back the covers. “Come on, loverboy. You look like death warmed over.”
All my obligatory objections died on my lips when I saw the tender look in his eyes, and so I surrendered. It seemed stupid to keep fighting it when a nap was exactly what I wanted and needed. I unhooked the towel and sent it to the floor, then padded over to his side of the bed and slid between the cool sheets that were probably three thousand thread count Egyptian cotton or something. Ridiculous, but they were buttery soft and cool against my skin.
“Before I tuck you in, I need two things from you. Which credit card can I use to shop for you? And I need the number for your assistant.”
My eyes were already drifting shut. “Any credit card in my wallet is fine, Oliver is in my phone, and the access code for that is one-zero-one-nine-two-nine.”
Ocean tucked the covers around me, and I was too exhausted to even open my eyes. He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Sleep well.”
“Will you still be here when I wake up? It feels like a dream, meeting you and having you here.”
My speech was slurred as if I were drunk, but I couldn’t let myself sink into sleep yet, not when I had this weird sense it had all been a dream.
“I’m not going anywhere, Cash. I promise. Go to sleep.”
And so I did.