Chapter Five
Throughout the day, all I’ve done is second-guess my decision, almost going back to Brent and telling him I made a mistake in agreeing. My mind keeps going back to Mallory’s jokes from last night after I told her about my horrendous talk with the stranger who came up to me, and it makes me more eager to get to Brent’s room later.
What could he have planned already?
Oh God, what if he starts off with something sexy?
I need to shave.
“Babe, you okay?” Mallory asks next to me as she floats through the pool on one of those huge flamingo inflatables. She’s got her sunglasses pulled down, keeping the sun from blinding her, and the dark strands of her hair are pulled into a short messy bun.
I clear my throat and nod. “Great.”
“Did Brent say something to you? I’ll kick his ass for you if he did,” she says sweetly.
This is why I love her. She’s always down to bat for me, no matter who it is. I shake my head and chuckle. “Easy girl, he didn’t say anything bad. Just thinking about that guy I talked to last night and how I’m already screwing this trip up.”
Mallory sighs. “Look, just keep testing out the waters. It’s not like you’ll ever see any of these people again.”
I’m itching to tell her about Brent, but I know that would be a mistake. She’d only try to talk me out of it because she believes I’m too innocent for the reputation he has and I’m glad I get to prove it’s not like that.
“I’m heading back inside, this sun is getting to me,” I mumble.
“Do you want me to come back?”
She’s already starting to slide off the floatie, but I shake my head and give her a small smile. “No, enjoy yourself.”
“Are you sure?”
I smirk. “You’re going to act like you haven’t been itching to talk to that guy who’s been staring you down since we got out here?”
Mallory immediately lifts up, her gaze brightening, and she pulls her hair from its tie. “And you let me pull my hair up like this? Oh God,” she groans, fluffing her perfect spiral curls until she’s content with them.
“Mal, you know you can make anything look good.”
“True,” she says with a knowing smile. “Well, I guess it’s time to get my flirt on.”
I shake my head, then walk along the bottom of the pool and climb up the ladder. There’s a guy staring at me with heated eyes as I do, which only makes me stumble on the last step, and I fall forward with a loud grunt.
I’m so clumsy, I swear.
Mine and Mallory’s things are sitting next to one of the chairs next to the pool, so I hurry over, pull the cover-up over my head, and breathe a sigh of relief. Mallory insisted that I wear the bikini that showed the most skin, and my stomach has done nothing but churn with anxiety that people are staring at me – and not in a good way. I turn and give Mallory a small wave, then make my way back into the resort and come to a stop inside the lobby.
My skin heats as soon as I step inside and I lock eyes with Brent from across the room. He’s not doing much of anything, just sitting on the arm of a chair with his arms crossed, and I nervously brush hair away from my face as I scurry along the marble flooring toward the elevator. Just as the doors are about to close in front of me, a large hand squeezes through and forces them back open.
Brent steps into the small cart, taking up all the air that’s left inside, and I suck in a sharp breath when he lets the doors shut on us. He takes the few steps that’s left, cutting the distance between us, and leans forward with a smirk. “Breathe, Buttercup, or else you’ll pass out on me.” His eyes dart down to my legs, inspecting them with a concerned frown before asking, “Need a bandaid for that scrape?”
I do as he asks and blow out the breath I’m holding, then suck it right back in. “Were you watching me?”
He shrugs and pushes away from me, allowing more distance between us, and I breathe a little easier from it. “If I was? A teacher needs to assess his students and make sure they understand the material.”
How do I tell him that it makes my skin heat in ways it never has before? “Did you know most stalking victims know their stalker?”
Brent lets out a deep chuckle and shakes his head. “Uh, no, I didn’t know that.”
While the elevator rises higher and higher, silence ensues, and I tap my foot against the hard floor nervously.
“You know,” he says, clearing his throat. “That’s your problem.”
I glance at him from the corner of my eye and frown. “What is?”
“You did the same thing with that guy last night. You mentioned a random fact, and that’s where you go wrong.”
“Is there something else I should’ve said?”
“You could’ve given him a name, like he asked, would’ve been much better than the response you actually gave him.”
“And if he did end up being some kind of killer?”
Brent scoffs. “Unlikely, but you didn’t have to give him your real name. A bit of mystery is fun sometimes, you know?”
“Whatever,” I mumble. “Thank you for accompanying me on the elevator, but I guess I’ve got a date to prepare for tonight.” As soon as the doors open to my floor, I step off the elevator and hurry away without looking back over my shoulder.
“Remember, something nice!”
I only hope I brought something nice enough to wear for whatever he has planned. Asking Mallory to borrow something of hers is out of the question, not after the skirt from last night and the questions she’d have for me if I did.
It’s all up to me, and for the life of me, I can’t remember at all what I packed, only that Mallory groaned at a few of the things I stuffed into my suitcase.
I texted Mallory to let her know I’d be out for a good portion of the night, to which she responded with a set of winky face emojis. That’s her way of letting me know that since I’m not going to be in the room, she’s likely inviting her boy toy up to ours for some fun of her own.
It started in college after I almost walked in on her and an old boyfriend. Once that happened, she told me that if I needed to find somewhere to hang out for a couple hours, she’d text me winky faces. Even though we’ve gotten older, that aspect of our relationship never changed.
With one last look in the mirror, I make my way out of our suite and head to the elevators that will take me to Brent’s floor. Of course, he’s in the section where it costs an arm and leg, which only makes my nerves skyrocket. What is he doing being seen out with someone like me?
It’s for my sake.
That’s the thing, though. Why does he care?
I shake my head and lean against the wall, tucking myself deep into a corner in case someone comes inside, with my eyes fully focused on the increasing floor numbers. When it comes to a stop on Brent’s floor, I try my best to loosen my shoulders and take a deep breath before stepping out. I’m five minutes late, which is a first for me, and I smile brightly as I lift my hand over the large wooden door.
Before I can knock, though, the door is being pulled open, and Brent leans against the doorway with a smile on his face. The sight of him in a light blue button-down that makes his eyes pop, and the short sleeves that show off the ink along his arms makes me clench my thighs together. He looks me up and down, then sighs, “Come inside, Buttercup.”
With a frown, I run my hand down the length of my pencil skirt and wonder what could possibly be wrong already.
“I said to wear something nice,” he says softly.
“Yeah, I know.” I blink at him in confusion.
Brent shakes his head and waves me through the large living space that’s at least double the size of ours. “Follow me.” Even though I’ve got no clue what’s happening, I follow behind him like a lost puppy until we come to a stop in one of the rooms. It doesn’t look as though anything was touched in here, but there’s a large box resting on top of the bed that piques my interest. “Put it on,” he says before walking out.
What?
I’m frozen for a moment, my eyes lasered in on the box that he gestured to, and manage to find the courage to see what’s inside. My breath catches when I lift the lid and find a dark green silk dress folded beautifully inside. I pull the fabric out, but that’s not the only thing tucked in the box. There’s a pair of gold heels that strap around my ankle, so I pull them out next and inspect the two items.
Why would he get me these?
The floor creaks from his weight behind the door and I curse under my breath before pulling the blouse I’m wearing over my head, then quickly discarding the pencil skirt and heels. This time I was able to do something more with my hair, but is it enough? I tug the dress up my legs, thanking the Lord that this one has a side zipper, and smile to myself once I’ve gotten zipped.
Is it bad that I feel more powerful in this?
Don’t get me wrong, I love my go-to outfits for when I’m working, but they’re nothing like this. The silky material clings to my body like a second skin, and my breasts spill out from the neckline, giving someone a nice picture of what could be lurking beneath the fabric. After I get the heels on, I notice the large mirror in front of me and take a deep breath before standing up.
I’m skinny, which has always been something men would make comments on. I’d get told I need to get more meat on my bones and that’s always the one that would make me feel the worst. I’ve still got the curves, though, and this dress shows every single one of them. It’s nothing like the skimpy outfit I wore at the club that shows everything off in the way I hate, and I wonder how Brent managed to buy something so perfect for me.
My eyes sting with tears, emotional over the drastic change a simple dress could make, but the soft knock on the door has me blinking them away.
“Come in,” I say softly. Brent steps through the door and freezes in place, his eyes glued to the back of the dress. My skin pebbles with goosebumps under his stare, and I clear my throat. “Is this okay?”
He shakes his head and smiles, offering me his arm. “Much better.”
“What was wrong with what I had on before?”
“You want to look desirable to men when you go on dates, not like you’re running late to work.” When I don’t respond, he frowns. “Don’t take that the wrong way either,” he says softly. “There’s nothing bad about your clothes, but men expect a little more when it comes to dates. They want to feel as though you took the time and effort for them. Do the men you date seem dressed up?”
I think about my most recent date. He was well groomed in a nice suit, his hair styled carefully with a hint of cologne. Looking back, I feel like I was a thousand times frumpier. No wonder he left so quickly. Being late and dressed to unimpress doesn’t strike the best first impression.
“Fancier clothes on dates got it,” I say while smoothing my hair and slipping my arm through his. “Shall we head out, then?”
“Hope you saved your appetite, Buttercup.”
Why does it make my stomach flutter with butterflies every time he uses the nickname he gave me when we first met? I still remember it like it was yesterday. It was our freshman year of college, during spring break, and I tagged along with Mallory to her parents” place. I knew who her brother was. She made it a point to tell me that as soon as our friendship started becoming more, so I wasn’t surprised to find him waiting inside the small house when we arrived. Brent smiled politely at me as Mallory introduced us, then twirled a single strand of hair between his fingers before the nickname spewed from his lips.
It’s stuck ever since, and I definitely shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do.
There’s a lot of things I shouldn’t enjoy and that includes looking at the veins trailing up his arm, or the way his ass looks in the dark wash jeans he’s sporting. He’s famous. Now would be a good time for my heart to get the memo that this is temporary – two weeks to be exact – and everything will go smoothly.
But when has that ever worked before?