Chapter 57
CHAPTER 57
RYLEE
W hile Simon was away for his meeting, I tried to find creative ways to pass the time. I thought about going down to the pool, but that would ruin the whole hiding thing. Normally, I wouldn’t think anyone would notice me, but after the egg-throwing incident, my bubble of anonymity had been burst.
I was supposed to work a shift at the bar tonight, but I had to call in. I hated calling in all the time. I was the flake making it difficult on my coworkers. And I was missing out on tips. Several coworkers had texted me to check in. They knew what was happening and understood why I couldn’t work my shift. Their messages were filled with concern. It made me feel a little better to know they weren’t pissed at me for leaving them hanging.
But how many more days was I going to have to call out sick?
Karen’s warning echoed in my ears. What if this really was what it was like all the time? What if being with Simon meant always being immersed in drama? Was I just never supposed to work? I couldn’t hide in a penthouse for the rest of my days. And what about my friends? What happened to them? Was I just never supposed to see them again?
I groaned.
“Lauren’s wedding.”
I couldn’t imagine what would happen if those people came after her because of her association with me. None of them would ever forgive me if I was responsible for ruining Lauren’s wedding.
I thought about Connor’s birthday, Simon’s cousin Matthew and his wife, Carmen, disliking him. There was just so much drama in the man’s life. The family didn’t like him but they also wanted handouts from him. That situation was messy. The tense dynamic between him and his sister. The oil spill. Would my life always be disrupted like this? It seemed like there was always something. What if we had kids? What if something like this happened again?
My thoughts spiraled as I paced around the suite. I needed to find a way to distract myself, but everything seemed to circle back to the same anxieties. I tried watching TV, but the noise only heightened my sense of unease. I picked up a book but couldn’t focus on the words.
There was no way I could live like this. I was not meant to be a caged woman. I loved my freedom. I loved being able to take walks or go out in general.
Just as I was considering calling one of my friends for a much-needed chat, Simon came through the door in good spirits. He was carrying a bunch of grocery bags and headed straight to the bar in the suite. “What’s all this?” I asked, watching with curiosity as he started unloading bottles of liquor and random ingredients with a cheerful energy that was contagious.
“I knew you were probably going stir crazy, so I thought we could spend the evening mixing cocktails and competing to see who can mix the best drink.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Your idea to combat boredom and the feeling of being locked in a gilded cage is to get plastered?”
“No one said we had to get plastered.” He shrugged. “Maybe a little buzzed.”
I watched him, trying to figure out what exactly was going on. “Either your meeting went really bad and you want to get wasted or it went really good and you want to celebrate.”
He put down the last bottle, turned to me, and grabbed my face to lay a very enthusiastic kiss on me.
“When was the last time we celebrated something together?” he asked, pulling away slowly as his eyes twinkled with a mischievous light. “I think it’s about time we indulged together. We’ve had a rough couple of weeks. I don’t want to dwell on the bullshit. Let’s have fun. Let’s pretend none of that other stuff happened.”
Despite my anxiety and feeling of being trapped, I couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. There was something infectious about it. He was a different man than when he walked out of the hotel room this morning. He seemed lighter—younger. Clearly, the meeting went well. Either that or it was so bad it pushed him over the edge and he was celebrating landing in Crazy Town. I didn’t want to rain on his parade either way. We could have a little fun before we had to return to the real world.
“And what are we celebrating?” I asked, crossing my arms and leaning against the counter, watching him with a teasing smirk.
“Well,” he began, rummaging through one of the bags again. “We’re celebrating us.”
“Us?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “We’re strong people. We stuck together. You’re my rock and I hope I’m yours. So, we’re celebrating us. I’ll order room service. Something bready and greasy so we don’t get too hammered.”
“You’re serious about this.”
He rubbed his hands together playfully. “Show me what you’ve got. I want the super mixologist to mix me some amazing drinks. Experiment on me.”
My spiraling thoughts began to settle. Could I really pass up how great moments like this were that he created for us, just because of outside influences? No. Simon had a way of bringing light and joy into my life, even in the midst of chaos. So his world was chaotic? It wasn’t like he chose that life. Why didn’t he deserve to have someone in his corner? His life was tough. He needed someone he could lean on.
I bumped his hip with mine. “You don’t stand a chance, chump. You better order a loaf of bread because I’m going to create drinks so good you’re going to drink every last drop and beg for more. I’ll be stone cold sober because I already know whatever you create is going to be trash.”
“Hey.” He laughed.
“Gin and tonic is not a drink,” I told him dryly.
“Excuse me, it’s a classic,” Simon protested, feigning offense. He took out a small lime from the bag and held it up for me to see. “And you’re forgetting about this key ingredient.”
“I stand corrected,” I said, laughing as I began to gather ingredients for my first masterpiece, a fruity concoction I created based on a few popular drinks in the Caribbean.
I noticed him watching me. “Hey, no cheating,” I said, waving my hand. “Your workstation is over there.”
Simon held up his hands in surrender and moved to the other side of the bar. He began with an odd concoction that consisted of ginger beer, a splash of spiced rum, and a slice of cucumber. A strange medley, but Simon seemed confident.
We finished our first drinks. “Ready?” I asked. “I think we have to take a drink of our own drinks. It isn’t fair that I have to drink your, uh, creations, and you get to enjoy mine. If you can’t drink your own, I think the round automatically goes to me.”
Simon looked scandalized for a moment then burst out laughing. “You drive a hard bargain,” he conceded, raising his glass. “To us.”
We clinked glasses and downed our drinks simultaneously. The explosion of flavors in my mouth was divine, a fruity sweetness with just enough kick to it. I watched Simon’s face and couldn’t help but laugh at his grimace.
“This is interesting,” he said, trying to keep a straight face. “Best enjoyed in small sips, I believe.”
I laughed harder, the tension from earlier melting away with every sip of my drink. He shook his head and started gathering ingredients for his second attempt. I focused on making delicious cocktails with themes. One was tropical with a coconut and pineapple twist, while another was a spicy margarita with a hint of jalape?o. Each drink I made was carefully crafted and tasted fantastic.
Simon, on the other hand, was a disaster in the best way possible. One of his drinks tasted like toothpaste, and another had a bizarre, mothball-like flavor. We laughed until our sides hurt when we both ran to the sink to spit out his last concoction.
“That should be illegal,” I gasped, wiping my mouth. “How can you make something that bad?”
He reached for a bottle of water, his eyes watering. “I don’t know. I’ve never been so close to tossing my cookies.”
“You’re fired,” I declared, grinning.
He pulled me in close, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What’s my severance package?”
“Hmm.” I pretended to have to think about it. “I should give you some kind of punishment.”
He grinned. “Punish me, baby.”
I laughed and swatted at him. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I was thinking I should make you finish that glass of horror you prepared.”
Simon’s face turned a bit greenish at the suggestion. He held his hands up defensively and shook his head. “Please, anything but that.” He pretended to wobble on unsteady legs. “I won’t survive it.”
Placing a hand over my heart, I gasped in mock horror. “Are you saying that the great Simon isn’t man enough to handle his own concoction?”
“Hey! There’s no ‘man enough’ when it’s your life at stake,” he said with an exaggerated grimace.
“Does this mean I won?” I asked.
“I suppose.”
“Oh no.” I shook my head. “I need to hear you say it.”
His eyes met mine, dark with desire. Over the last hour, he had shed his suit jacket, then his tie, and now his dress shirt was hanging loose and unbuttoned four down. He had kicked off his shoes and removed his belt.
“You won,” he said in a low voice. “You are the master mixologist.”
“I know.” I grinned.
“You are so humble, I see.” He chuckled.
“Now, about that severance package,” I said, slowly pulling my shirt over my head.
He chuckled, understanding my silent invitation, and led me to the bedroom, leaving our mess spread across the counter. As we stripped off our clothes, we kissed passionately, the worries of the day melting away.
“You’re incredible, you know that?” he said softly.
I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
We stayed like that for a while, just enjoying each other’s presence. The chaos outside seemed distant and unimportant in these moments. Here, with Simon, I felt safe and cherished. Who cared what other people thought? I knew Simon.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, as he gently guided me onto the bed. His hands were warm, tender as they explored my body, eliciting soft sighs from me. I responded in kind, earning a ragged groan from him. I knew his body so well, just like he knew mine. Never in a million years would I have imagined I would fall in love with a man like Simon. It wasn’t just because he was rich but kind of abrasive. He was not the kind of man that I would have ever been drawn to.
“What are you thinking?” he asked as he kissed my earlobe and down my neck.
“You. Me. Being here together.”
“Are you okay with that?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Good.”