Chapter 6
SIX
Efa
My hands shake as I unlock the door of the Park Suite. Obviously, I didn’t tell Marcella that Bennett and I knew each other. In the biblical sense. Still, she knows I’m nervous.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Marcella says. She thinks I’m shaking because I’m concerned Bennett will be inside. And I am nervous, but it’s not nerves making me shake. It’s the memories of hours of nakedness with him, and the half-dozen orgasms he wrung out of me. Then there’s the way that even when he’s being a total arsehole and accusing me of things that are completely and utterly not true, my entire body kinda buzzes when he’s close.
I didn’t expect to see him again and now I’m going to be disappointed if I don’t. “He just got a shock, that’s all. But if he’d checked, he would have seen the tag on the door.” She hangs a sign on the door handle that, from a distance, looks like a Do Not Disturb sign, but actually says housekeeping is servicing your room.
I don’t make the point that I’m ninety-nine point nine percent certain there was no such notice on Bennett’s door. I get the impression that Marcella is just as concerned as me about Bennett filing a complaint against us.
“But we’ll keep the carts outside the room this time, just so he’s clear. And we’re later today. He’s probably gone to his offices or got a meeting somewhere.”
I try to remember if he told me what he does for a living, but nothing springs to mind.
“I’ll start on the bathroom. You start in the living room, then we’ll do the bed together,” she says.
I head into the living room and start to empty the bins. There’s nothing in there but a beer bottle and a flyer for an off-Broadway show he must have been given on the street. Not that I’m deliberately searching his rubbish.
I’m just curious about him. He fucks like a champ, but he’s paranoid as all holy hell.
He’s so intense in everything he does. The way he picked me up at the bar. The way he fucks. The way he talks. The way he argues. He’s annoying but fascinating. I can’t help but be interested.
The bins provide no further clue about who Bennett is or what he’s doing at the hotel. Is he in town for a conference? Where does he live? His surname must be around here somewhere. I can Google him when I find it.
I straighten the cushions and find a computer mouse between the seats. I set it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. There’s a charger plugged in by the floor lamp, so I pull it out and wind the cord around my hand, while taking a surreptitious look at what’s been left on the table. There’s a receipt for four hundred and something dollars from a restaurant. Wow. That must have been a great meal. And one for Duane Reade. I look more closely. For condoms.
My stomach swoops and I check the date. It’s for yesterday. The time is just after he left my apartment. Was he restocking? Did he have a date yesterday evening?
“Is it bad in there?” Marcella calls from the bathroom. I drop the receipt and straighten the magazines laid out on the table.
“Not really. Just tying up some cables and straightening the cushions. In there?”
“No, this guy is OCD. All his toiletries are in a straight line. He might actually be a serial killer. Did you see how good-looking he was? And the body on him? Nothing good can come from that.”
Oh, Marcella, how wrong you are.
“I’m going to dust,” I call out.
“Okay, do the bedroom as well.”
I look for clues about Bennett on every surface I shine. But other than those two receipts, I find nothing. There are no papers lying about. No loose change by the bed or nighttime reading.
I pull open a drawer to find neatly organized socks and boxer briefs. I can’t resist, pulling out a pair of his pants and holding them up. They’re roomy. Which is necessary for him. That guy has a lot to contain. But there’s nothing else hiding amongst the underwear.
The next drawer is equally unhelpful, with neat stacks of dark-colored gym gear and nothing else. What am I expecting to find? His diary, complete with a small gold lock keeping the pages secure?
Next up is the wardrobe. I open the door and am hit with the familiar smell of him again. I drink it in, and I feel it on my body like his hands gliding over my skin, down my throat and down, down, down.
I flick through the jackets, surreptitiously dipping my fingers into pockets, but there’s nothing here to tell me anything other than the size he wears. And I already knew that.
Is it normal to leave no clues about who you are in a hotel room?
Is he hiding something?
Or everything? I really don’t know anything about him other than his first name.
I pop my head into the bathroom, looking for clues. “Do you need help in here?” I ask.
“No, I’m nearly done. Can you strip the bed and start on the pillowcases? I’ll come in when I can.”
I glance around while Marcella’s talking. As she said, there are limited toiletries on the vanity unit, all neatly set out in a row. There’s a brown leather bag on the corner of the bath, and although there’s probably nothing in it, I wonder if there’s a way I could check. Maybe Marcella will ask me to do the mirrors again and I’ll get a chance to see if Bennett is a man or a robot.
“No problem,” I reply and head out to the trolley. I swap my duster for pillowcases and sheets and move through to the bedroom. I start with the pillowcases. They smell like him. Not that I’m a weirdo, deliberately sniffing an almost-stranger’s pillowcase—I just can’t help but notice. I didn’t see any aftershave in the bathroom, so I’m left wondering what gives him that unique scent. It doesn’t smell like it came out of a bottle. It smells like his skin, when he was over me, pushing into me, straining like he was struggling to hold back.
“How you doing?” Marcella asks from behind me. I jump at her being there, like I’m guilty of something—fantasizing about my one-night stand.
“Yeah, just stripping off the old sheets.”
The sound of the door to the suite opening catches our attention and we both freeze, looking at each other.
There’s definitely someone in the living room, but I’m not about to investigate. “You wait here, I’ll go and get… something.”
Before I can try to convince her not to go anywhere, Marcella has headed out.
“Good morning, sir,” she says. “We’re almost done.”
I stay as still as possible, waiting for him to respond.
But I don’t hear him say anything.
When Marcella returns, she’s carrying bottles of water to place by the bed.
Just as she finishes setting out the water, her radio bleeps. It only went off once yesterday and it meant we had to drop everything and head to another suite to service it immediately. “This will be the Avenue Suite again.” She lowers her voice to a near-whisper and continues, “He seems fine today. You finish the bed here and meet me in Avenue. Okay?”
I nod, suddenly aware of the pulse in my wrists beating against my skin.
Me and Bennett. In this room. Alone.
Bennett. Mysterious. Paranoid. But why? Who is he?
As quickly as I can, I smooth the sheets across the bed, tuck them, and try not to picture Bennett’s naked body wrapped in them. Is he a deep sleeper or restless? Does he sleep naked or in PJs?
Why am I so interested?
I’m not sure if it was the good sex or the fact he’s everywhere but so distant at the same time.
Every now and then I pause, but I can’t hear anything. Is he even still in the other room? Maybe he went into the dining room, a polite retreat to give me space to do my job.
I finish the bed and make sure the pillows and cushions are perfectly lined up. I round the end of the bed looking at it from all angles, making sure it’s exactly how it should be. Bennett is nothing if not thorough—I know that from personal experience. Plus, I want him to think I’m good at my job, even if that job is cleaning hotel rooms. From the little I know about him, I think he appreciates someone who cares about their work, who takes pride in it. He’s the opposite of slap-dash and sloppy, and I imagine a careless approach in any part of his life is abhorrent to him.
I cross my arms and admire my work. It’s only a bed, but it’s beautifully made. Perfect in fact. A part of me wants to slide off my knickers and slip them under his pillow.
But I don’t want to get myself fired.
I’m still smiling at my idea as I exit the bedroom and lock eyes with Bennett. It’s like he’s been waiting for me to appear. He’s sitting on the sofa, a laptop on his knees. His gaze flits back to the screen.
“Housekeeping is all finished in your suite. Anything else I can do for you… sir?”
His eyes cut back to mine, and I can’t help pushing down on my bottom lip with my teeth.
We still, staring at each other for what seems like forever.
His eyes snake down my body, from my eyes, to my collarbones, my breasts, my waist, hips, legs. He maps me thoroughly before meeting my eyes again.
“Nothing, thank you,” he says, and for a moment I’m confused. Then I realize what he’s saying—there’s nothing else he needs. From housekeeping? From me? Both, I guess.
“But I want you to know that I believe you,” he says.
My heart lifts. I don’t know why I care, but apparently, I do.
“Good,” I say. “I was telling you the truth. I have nothing to hide.” I glance around the room. “Unlike you.” I shouldn’t have said it. Honestly, my mouth is going to get me in real trouble one day.
But he doesn’t respond, and the devil on my shoulder can’t resist an extra prod. “There’s nothing personal of you here at all.”
“So?” he asks, his tone slightly defensive.
“So, it’s like you’re trying to disappear. There’s no scribbled note by the side of your bed. No business papers on the coffee table. Nothing in your pockets that would give away who you are or where you go every day. It’s like you’re a shadow. A shadow of a man.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You’ve gone through my pockets?”
I groan. Of course he’d pick up on the one thing I shouldn’t have done. “Yeah, probably not in my job description, it’s just… I slept with you the night before last and I don’t know anything about you.”
“We had a one-night stand. We’re not planning a wedding. You don’t need to know me.”
“Right. It’s normal to not know someone if you have a one-night stand with them, I guess. I don’t have access to the rule book on that, and I don’t have much experience, but I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, what I’m saying is, I’ve cleaned your hotel room from top to bottom and I feel like I know you less than I did the night I saw you naked. Not knowing is one thing, but it’s like you’re purposely hiding who you are.”
“Why didn’t you say you did computer science in college?” he asks.
“Because—wait, how do you know I did computer science at university?”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Efa?”
Him saying my name startles me. Because he’s the only person who uses that name and it feels oddly… intimate. “I didn’t realize you required that information,” I snap. “Did you need to know my bank balance at the exact time of penetration? Can you provide a list of credentials I should prepare before my next one-night stand?”
He glares at me like he’s about to toss his laptop aside and challenge me to a wrestling match, but he doesn’t say anything.
“The way you expect me to be so open and honest about everything—which I have been, by the way—yet you’re so private and paranoid? It’s weird. Anyone would think you’re Ben Fort, for goodness’ sake.”
His eyes widen in shock.
I gasp.
The hum of the city fills the silence between us and neither of us moves. Realization trickles into my brain.
“You are him!” I clasp my hand over my mouth. A feeling of being completely right settles in my gut.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he barks, and if looks could kill, I would be six feet under.
Bennett. Ben. That tracks. Rumors say he’s young, and even though he’s an “older man” for me as a lover, he’s technically young as a boss-man billionaire. If he wasn’t in tech, why would he be interested in me doing computer science at university?
“Get out,” he says firmly.
It’s all the confirmation I need that I’ve stumbled across Ben Fort, reclusive billionaire and CEO of Fort Inc. One of the brightest minds of his generation. And the man I always dreamed of having as a boss.