6. Jess
What the hell just happened?
I stand in the bathroom, rocking my dress with no undies—but with a surplus of irritation. Trying to get my breathing under control, my body is still tingling with the aftershocks of my orgasm. The throbbing between my legs reminds me that we were only getting started. One second, I have Mr. Neighbor’s fantastic mouth on me, and the next, he’s gone.
What…the actual—? Who does that? Rude.
My opinion of him continues to decrease the more we interact.
Hurriedly, I pull myself together, wanting to go after him and give him a piece of my mind. Again. But when I finally manage to make it back to the main bar area, his suit jacket is gone and he’s nowhere in sight.
The bartender looks up at me when I approach.
I sit down with a huff, fishing out a few bills to pay my tab.
“Your friend covered what you’ve drunk already,” he says.
Some apology.
“He’s…not my friend. Nope. He’s my…neighbor,” I explain, sliding the cash over. “Ke-eep it as…a tip. I can buy…my own drinks.” It comes out in more of a slur than I intended. Oops-y.
“Your neighbor said he’s going to fetch the car and wait for you outside.”
I’m filled with a storm of emotions I can’t even begin to navigate. On the one hand, oh, my God, was that the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me. On the other, he really just left me there to make a phone call. Every time I think I’m warming up to the guy, he does something else to remind me what an utter jerk he is.
I shouldn’t ride home with him.
I should get an Uber.
When I get up from the barstool, I feel wobbly. Really wobbly. That cocktail must have been stronger than I thought. I haven’t had a sip in ages, and all of a sudden, it’s hitting me like a freight train. I guess I’m just out of practice.
In my defense: a rough day at work, which somehow triggered memories of my ex, and bam, those thoughts practically begged for a glass of bubbly (or three. Or four?).
I insist on paying my bill. I still have some dignity.
Just when I stumble out of the bar, two firm hands grab me.
Sitting inside a comfy limousine, I close my eyes.
I’ll only sleep for a minute.
Or two.
Or.
A few moments later, I open my eyes.
And blink.
And blink.
“Let go,” I hear him grumble.
“Ooo-kay,” I chirp, and reluctantly, I let go of these beautiful steel-hard shoulders of this gorgeous specimen of a man. Wait. Was he carrying me? What’s his name again? How strong he is, because I’m not a lightweight—no, sir, not this one. Where am I? Definitely not in the huge limousine anymore. How good he smells. Woody. Intoxicating. Dominant. Nothing like my ex. This one, he smells like a real man.
“No good night kiss?” I ask him, looking up into his eyes from my lying position. It’s comfy. Those long eyelashes on him! He has beautiful eyes. Brown. Or green. Or are they blue? It’s too dark to tell.
“Not tonight,” he grumbles.
“K.”
Next time I open my eyes, it’s still night. I’m lying on a couch, snuggled under a blanket. Where the hell am I? My head hurts, and I’m thirsty. When I hear the rustle of wings nearby (Pippin), I know I’m on my couch. Thank goodness. I can barely recollect my grumpy neighbor hoisting me over his shoulder, but once we were on our floor, he made it his personal mission to help me find my key (which, I swear, had decided to play hide-and-seek in the depths of my purse), and then he unceremoniously plunked me down on this very couch.
It’s all a bit of a tipsy blur, to be honest.
I look up. It’s 3:13 a.m.
Did we have…sex? No. We didn’t.
I sit up.
And blink.
There’s a glass of water and Tylenol on the coffee table. How thoughtful of him. It was a small, yet unmistakable act of heroism on his part. I feel instantly better when I gulp it all down.
But I still have no clue when it comes to his name.
Perhaps he is a Peter.
Once inside my bedroom, I strip, take my makeup off, and fall face-first onto my pillow.
It’s only then that the throbbing returns, and I squeeze my thighs together in an attempt to make it stop. Yeah, that doesn’t work. Having someone else touch me for the first time in forever, it’s like my body has come out of hibernation and is desperate for more. Still on my stomach, I raise my hips and place my hand between my legs, shuddering at how sensitive I am.
With the memories of his hand and mouth, I moan into my pillow, my fingers immediately coated with my wetness. It’s not the same. His were rougher and thicker than mine, and I have to use two right off the bat to feel the stretch one of his provided.
I picture him there with me, pressed against my back and pinning me to the bed as he gets me off. I wish those lips were on my neck, sucking and nibbling like he had been earlier. Demanding, challenging, relentless. God, that buff body would feel so damn good right now. The idea of being completely at his mercy has me more turned on than any other fantasy ever has or could.
When I come, my moans are muffled by the pillow.
It’s not nearly as mind-shattering as I was hoping, but it gets the job done. I’m left shaky and sweaty, yet still frustrated. Not sexually, at least. Emotionally. Who the hell is this guy who acts like a dick when I first meet him, then saunters up to me at my bar, bats those piercing eyes and has me with my panties down minutes later? A voice in my head interjects, reminding me that I was the one who cornered him, so I reluctantly take on a bit of responsibility. Meanwhile, another voice wonders if he’s still in possession of my panties.
You’d think after the hell I’ve gone through I’d be better at choosing men.
Spoiler alert: not quite.
Chalking it up to being horny and vulnerable, I sleepily bundle myself in my comforter.
The combination of a long day, a splash of alcohol, and the dwindling endorphins from a steamy hookup knock me out faster than you can say “lights out.”
All things considered, I wake up in a relatively good mood. Apparently having several orgasms really puts a pep in your step. Even though I have to meet with my new co-owner, I’m trying to be positive.
Last night’s experience was certainly enjoyable. I’m still not thrilled that Mr. Neighbor immediately ditched me but, hey, what am I going to do? I’m not about to simp and pine over someone I barely know.
It’d been a great way to alleviate some of this tension. My only regret is—despite everything—not having had a chance to repay the favor. He clearly needs it. He’s got that grumpy look on his face. I wonder what his “O” face looks like. I’m sure I can coax that look out of him.
Don’t think about him, I tell myself as I jump in the shower.
I need all my wits about me to face this new owner.
Pippin sees me coming out of the room dressed and starts shrieking in his cage, like he does every morning when I leave for work. Chuckling, I go over and reach through to stroke his feathered head.
“I know, I know, you don’t want me to go,” I tell him. “But I swear I’ll let you fly around when I get home. I can’t risk being late this morning. And as soon as the shelter gets another parakeet, you’ll have a friend.”
He nips my finger a little harder than normal, letting me know he’s not happy. I roll my eyes affectionately, drop a couple of treats through the bars, and make sure the curtains are open so the little guy has a good view outside.
On my way down the hall, I pause to look at my neighbor’s door. Too bad there’s no nameplate.
I stand there, wondering if I should knock.
It feels like the right thing to do.
You know, at some point, I need to ask for my panties back. Something like, “Hey there, new neighbor, so the panties you borrowed and mysteriously stashed in your pocket—any chance of a return?” Yeah. It’s bound to be awkward (and hilarious at the same time).
With a mix of curiosity and temptation, I’m tempted to rap on his door like I did the day before, wondering if he’ll answer naked again. Imagine his face if I gave him a cheerful good morning “Hello,” with that line above, just to throw him off. Or better yet, start with a surprise kiss! On his lips! Oh, the suspense would be unbearable.
However, it’s early, and I don’t hear any noise inside, so I assume he’s still sleeping.
Besides, we had a sweaty hookup in the back of a bar. It doesn’t mean I’m about to start throwing myself at his feet. He’s good but not that good.
Maybe next time.
Ilike to start my day bright and early, getting to work ahead of the game so I can do my usual rounds and ensure everything is in top-notch condition—today is no exception. Late yesterday afternoon, we broke the news to the staff about Norman’s retirement, and their reactions were like mine. He’s been such an integral, comforting presence, he’s going to be missed. Now that the news has sunk in, I notice they are worried about what a new owner could mean. I do my best to remain positive in front of them. They know they can trust me, and no matter what the new guy tries to do, I’m still the co-owner, and I still have a say.
No one is going to come into my hotel and shake things up without my say-so.
“The new guy is stopping by this morning, right?” Pauline asks when I stop by her office.
I nod, keeping a smile on my face and glancing at my watch. “Yup. That’s right. Norman is introducing us in about three hours.”
Pauline digs through folders. “I’m surprised you’re so cheerful,” she says. “I thought you’d be in crisis mode.”
I shrug, leaning against the doorframe as she puts a folder down and collapses onto her chair.
“I thought about it a lot last night,” I tell her, “and I’m trying to stay on the positive side of things. Going in with a negative attitude is only going to make things harder. I don’t want that.”
“You’re always looking on the bright side. That’s one of the things I admire about you. But also one of the things that annoys the crap out of me,” she teases. “You make it look so easy.”
“It helps that I had some fun last night.”
Pauline’s eyebrows shoot up, and she does a double take, as if I’ve just confessed to bungee jumping off a skyscraper for kicks (nope, I’m brave, but not that brave). She spins in her chair to give me her full attention. “What kind of fun?” she asks.
I lower my voice. “The half-naked kind.”
“Only half-naked?”
“There wasn’t time for anything else.” I shrug. “We weren’t exactly in a private space.”
“Where and with who?”
“I ran into my new neighbor at Swayze’s.”
Her eyes go wide. “No way! You mean the one you saw naked? The grumpy perfection whose balcony you climbed?”
“Yup, that’s the one.”
“It’s about time,” she says dryly. “I’m proud of you.”
I laugh at her calling me out. “Thanks. I’m proud of myself too,” I admit. “We didn’t get to do too much, but what we did do was fun.”
Honestly, my mind is still all over the place thanks to the nameless man who made me orgasm harder than I ever thought possible.
“You should stop by his apartment on the way home for an encore.”
“Oh, I will,” I say, keeping the conversation playful.
Behind me, I hear footsteps approach and I opt to move on, not keen on diving into my personal orgasm statistics in front of other employees.
Pauline hears them too. “To be continued,” she says in a hushed tone.
Smiling to myself, I leave her to her work while I finish my rounds. Even though I’m anxious about my meeting, I keep the lingering tension at bay and head to my office to finish my coffee and prepare.
Norman didn’t say I needed to prep or review anything. He was clear the meeting will be a way to provide formal introductions. Everything is expected to operate business as usual until me and the new co-owner can sit down and talk things out face to face.
That doesn’t deter me from dedicating the remaining time to analyzing our recent occupancy rates, assessing our financial performance, and reviewing our staff’s training and performance records. I have to ensure I’m well prepared to demonstrate my expertise in the hotel industry. Of course, Norman already handed over all the numbers, but hey, a little extra preparation never hurt anyone, right?
In the back of my mind, I have my suspicions that they’re going to try to buy me out.
I might as well be facing an enigma, for all I know. All I have is Norman’s vague take on Blackwood—but when it comes to billionaires, they all seem to follow the same playbook, don’t they? They swoop in and snatch up privately owned businesses—like our hotels—only to transform them into those cookie-cutter versions that seem to sprout up everywhere.
No, thank you.
I don’t want that for us. The WH properties are individually designed to reflect the distinctive characteristics of their respective locations. Norman and I dedicated ourselves to creating the ambiance of a bed and breakfast, but on a grander scale. Our loyal patrons frequently express their fondness for the welcoming, personalized atmosphere.
No matter how much money that “so-called” hotel super mogul offers, I won’t sell. No, sir. I’m not going to let them buy me off, bully, or intimidate me.
They bought the hotels knowing I would come with them.
They’ll have to deal if they don’t like me.
It’s not like they can fire me either.
I’m an owner with just as much say.
My phone buzzes, and Sarah lets me know it’s almost 10:00 a.m. Time for the meeting. Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that I’ve got this.
I can handle any rich guy in a suit.