Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Jules
The staff is going to be pissed. Or at least some of them will be. But I can’t let the potential of The Mayfair’s rooftop go to waste.
“Does this need to go as well?” Jimmy calls from the other side of the roof terrace, pointing to a small table that up until ten minutes ago had been covered in ashtrays.
“Yes,” I reply. “Absolutely everything.”
I pull out the metal tape measure I found in Louis’ desk and wince. Just moving my arm makes my body ache. What in the hell did we do last night to make my goddamn arms hurt?
The answer is everything . Absolutely everything. I can still feel Leo all over my body.
I roll my lips back to stop myself from smiling.
I place the toe of my stiletto on the end of the tape measure and pull. I have no idea what Louis needed to measure, but he wasn’t doing anything else, so he must have been measuring something. I just hope it wasn’t his dick .
I start at the far end of the roof terrace. My guestimate is sixty by fifty yards. I keep pulling out the metal tape, which seems to go on forever.
I wonder how Leo’s feeling this morning. Neither of us got much sleep last night. I crawled out of bed at five, showered, and left around six. He didn’t stir. I wasn’t sure if he was deliberately avoiding a conversation about the night before, so I didn’t wake him.
There will be plenty of time to talk, although my vote would be to skip right past conversation and put the entire episode behind us. That, or get naked again. Naked is definitely the more complicated of the two options, but I have evidence in my aching muscles that it would also be the more fun option.
“Should I start sweeping?” Bill, one of our maintenance team, asks, pulling me away from thoughts about Leo.
“Yes, please. The surveyor is coming at two.” At least it’s cloudy, so he won’t be cooked up here as he does… whatever he’s going to do. We’ll need shade up here if this is going to be a guest space. Umbrellas or a pergola. It’s just before twelve, so we’ve got time to clear the rest of the chairs and sweep up. The surveyor is going to tell me how much weight the roof can take, and any safety renovations needed before I engage an architect and a designer. I need to know the structural costs before I get excited about anything else. I’d really like to cover the place in decking. We also need to put electricity up here. At the very least we’ll need music and refrigeration, but I’m not opposed to a full bar. Maybe even a grill.
My phone rings and my heart splutters, as I immediately assume it’s going to be Leo.
But of course it isn’t. It’s just Joan.
“Are you up on the roof?” she asks .
“Yeah, just getting things ready before the surveyor gets here.”
“Well, you might want to come down here?—”
She stops short. I pull the phone from my ear to check if she’s been cut off.
“Jules?”
“Oh, you’re back,” I reply. “I lost you?—”
“Leo Hart is on his way up to the roof.”
“Leo is here?” Joan is one of the few people who actually knows Leo is the hotel owner. It’s not a secret, per se—people just don’t care. Joan found out because she was so pissed off with Louis, she wanted to know who to write to over his head.
What the actual fuck? Why’s he dropping in today of all days? He can’t want to have The Talk about last night while I’m at work. He’s too professional for that. Unless he’s throwing me out and calling off the fake engagement. Will last night go down in history as the mistake that blew up my whole life, just as things are falling into place?
“Shit,” I say. “Can you stop him?” I’m not mentally prepared to see Leo at all, but definitely not here and now. I wanted to present the roof terrace development idea as a no-brainer, so he’d have to invest. But he’s caught me on the fly.
“He’s gone already. Bruce is bringing him up.”
I groan and head toward the exit, hoping I can be halfway down the stairs as they come up and we can double back. That’s another cost I’ll need to factor in: renovating the stairs and access so guests don’t come through staff-only parts of the hotel.
I’m about five yards away from the exit when Leo appears at the door with a shit-eating grin all over his face. Bruce is nowhere to be seen .
“Jules, Jules, Jules. This roof terrace thing is an addiction, isn’t it?”
“You’re hilarious. What are you doing here?”
He shoves a brown paper bag at me and nods toward the group of chairs Jimmy hasn’t cleared yet.
I peer inside the bag. It’s a sandwich. “You brought me lunch?”
“I did. Thought you might be hungry this morning after…” He grins another shit-eating grin and it’s like he’s set fire to my cheeks. “After skipping breakfast this morning.” He sits, looking me over like I’m a painting in a museum, like he’s trying to take in every hue and stroke.
I’m not embarrassed because we had sex. More like… I feel like he’s seen too much of me, too much of what’s below the surface. But it was just… it was the kind of sex where I feel like he knows me better afterwards. Soul-baring sex. But now that he’s seen me that way, I’m not sure what his reaction might be.
I perch on a raised concrete wall by the railings and pull out the sandwich. I take a bite, staring at him right back. It feels like his presence here is some kind of dare, and I never back down from one of those. After I swallow, I say, “I didn’t skip breakfast. I ate yogurt with fruit. Some of us like a head start on our day.” I take another bite. The sandwich is good. Chicken salad—exactly what I’d usually order for myself.
“You didn’t run off?” he asks, his voice a little quieter than before.
“I came to work. I have a lot to do at this place you’ve been running into the ground.”
He nods and crosses the space between us to sit down next to me. He’s just far enough away that I’d have to reach out to touch him. “Right. Good. ”
“You’re not going to make me have The Talk here, are you?” I ask.
“The Talk?”
“Yeah, you know, where you tell me how you were drunk and upset about Caroline Hammond or whatever, and last night was?—”
“Fucking epic. Wanna do it again?” He smiles but it’s less shit-eating and more… hopeful. I’ve seen Leo Hart work a room. He knows how to turn on the charm. But when he’s being awkward and a bit goofy? That’s when I like him best.
I can’t help but laugh and my nerves drift away. He doesn’t regret last night. Neither do I. The idea warms my muscles and relaxes me, like my entire body was gripping on to something I can now release.
“So why are you here?” I ask, avoiding his question.
“I told you, I brought you lunch.” He rolls back his shoulders, his white shirt sleeves clinging to his arm muscles. I wonder if he’s feeling the effects of last night, too. “I didn’t even know this was up here. It’s got railings and everything.” He pulls a bottle of water out of the bag and twists open the cap. He takes a sip. I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs under his warm skin. I want to press my lips to his heat.
My eyes flicker up to his. I’ve been caught staring.
He offers me the bottle.
I don’t want water. I want to make out with him, right here and right now. But I settle for the drink. Our fingers brush as I take the bottle from his hands. There’s something about the way he’s looking at me that sends my heart into free fall in my chest, a stone kicked off the edge of a bottomless well.
I smile and put my lips to the bottle, just like his were a minute ago. I taste him there. My mouth begins to buzz .
My radio bleeping interrupts our little staring contest. I turn the volume down. If anyone wants me, Joan knows where to find me.
“It’s a great size,” I say. “Incredible views. And you’re going to invest in it.”
His eyes widen. “Am I?”
I scrunch up my nose. Maybe I shouldn’t have put it so aggressively. “It should be guest space. You’ll see when I show you the plans. Just keep an open mind.”
“I’ll listen to anything you say,” he says. His gaze drops to my lips, then flit back to my eyes. Desire stirs inside me. I want to slide onto his lap and kiss him for the rest of the day. From the look in his eye, I’m starting to think he wants that, too.
“What time are you back tonight?” he asks. “I have a work thing. Drinks, but?—”
“I’m out with Sophia. When I told her about the engagement…” I trail off. I tried to tell her with No Big Deal energy, but it didn’t work. We kind of danced around the subject of Leo and how he needed a fake fiancée and now he has a real fiancée. She knows, but she hasn’t asked me directly and I’m grateful. After congratulating me, she started asking about the logistics of subletting my room. I told her that since my fiancé is a billionaire, I’d be happy to pay rent until the end of the year. What she doesn’t know, but might suspect, is that I’ll be back in that room well before the year’s end.
“You’re celebrating,” he says.
As soon as the word is out of his mouth, I put my hands over my face. “Oh god. I hope tonight isn’t an impromptu bachelorette party.”
“Relax,” he says. “You’re just going out with your friend. ”
“I hate not being able to speak freely to her. And I really hate lying to my mom. She hasn’t even met you and I’ve agreed to marry you. She’s going to think I’ve lost my mind.”
“I can meet her if you want me to,” he says.
I start to laugh. I can’t help myself. “So you can start lying to her, too? I can see us getting married for real, just because it’s easier than lying to everyone all the time.”
“I can get us booked on a flight to Vegas tonight. Oh, but I have that work thing and you’re on your bachelorette.”
“It will have to wait ’til the weekend,” I deadpan. “Oh but tomorrow’s Saturday. Gosh darn it, I have plans. Maybe next weekend?”
His phone goes off, but his eyes are on me as he pulls it out of his pocket. I can’t place the expression in his eyes. Is it lust? An appreciation of my humor? Something else? He glances down at his phone and silences it.
My radio, his phone—it’s like the world is trying to pull us back to reality, but we want to stay right here.
“You’ve ditched the pantsuit,” he says, gaze trailing down my body.
His phone buzzes again and this time it gets his attention. “Shit, I have to go,” he says. We both stand. He glances down at my ring and lifts up my hand. “Looks good,” he says. He presses a kiss to my knuckles and starts for the door.
“Thanks for lunch,” I say.
“Have fun tonight,” he calls over his shoulder.
Just before he reaches the door, it busts open. “Dollface!”
The shock of hearing my old nickname doesn’t have time to fully register before the man standing in the doorway starts making his way across the roof terrace. He’s smaller than I remember, with slicked-back, thinning hair that accentuates the lines on his forehead. But even ten years after I last saw him, there’s no mistaking those twinkling blue eyes and that broad smile.
“ Dad? ”
“Come and give your pa a hug.” He beckons me over.
I glance at Leo, then back at my father, walking forward like I’m attached to a string. “What are you doing here?”
“Saw you got a new job!” he says, flinging his arms around me. I can’t bring myself to hug him back, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I detect the scent of alcohol on his skin and realize that’s his signature scent. As I child, I didn’t associate it with alcohol, but as an adult there’s no mistaking it. Has he just come from a boozy lunch? Or has he always had a drink by this time? “I wanted to come and give my congratulations.” He doesn’t sound drunk. Maybe he had a drink to settle his nerves before coming to see me. If I’d have known he was coming, I probably would have done the same thing.
I know Leo needs to go, but he’s lingering by the door. It feels like he’s a tether to get me out of here. I step back and out of my father’s embrace. “What do you mean, you saw I got a new job? How?”
“In the paper. And you’re engaged. And the manager of this place!” He holds his arms out like I’m in charge of the entire island of Manhattan. “You’ve done well, Dollface. And you look good. Turned out real well. Always knew you would.”
I feel myself warm under his inspection, even though I know I shouldn’t care at all about his approval. “In the paper?”
I see Leo wince out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t mention we’d been in the paper, but I knew an announcement in The Times was part of the plan .
“ The Times . I came back into town and it caught my eye. Now I’m back for some daddy-daughter time. Thought you might give your old man a job so we can see a lot more of each other.”
My entire body relaxes. I’ve been tensing every muscle since he burst through the door, but now I understand why he’s here. He hasn’t dropped by to offer his congratulations. He doesn’t want to hang out with the daughter that he hasn’t seen in a decade. He’s here because he wants something from me.
I shake my head. “I’m only the temporary manager,” I say. My gaze flicks to Leo. I’m about to lie and I need him to back me up, no questions asked. “I don’t get to make any hiring or firing decisions. I’m not allowed. It’s in my contract.” My mom used to work in housekeeping here. She’d kill me with her bare hands if I gave my father a job in the same hotel where she worked. “And anyway, what kind of job would you want?”
He shrugs, the disappointment across his face pulling at something inside me. “I can turn my hand to most things. I like the idea of standing outside in a top hat, opening car doors and getting nice tips.”
He wants to be a doorman? The guys on the door at The Mayfair have been doing the job thirty years minimum. It’s not about opening a car door. It’s about knowing whose door you’re opening, knowing who’s a regular, remembering their kid’s birthday or their favorite restaurant. Our doormen are the first encounter a guest has at this hotel. That encounter can’t involve my dad.
I shake my head and try to find the right words. My tongue feels like carpet, my jaw heavy. I don’t know what to say. How does he think it’s okay to ask me to put my job on the line for him after everything? This can’t be happening .
“I’m just as happy helping out wherever. You tell me what you need and I’ll give it my best shot.”
What I need? How about a dad who doesn’t disappear for weeks and months and years on end?
“Thought you’d want to help out your old man,” he says, his voice a little softer. He looks out onto the city and scoops up my hand, bringing it to his chest. “You remember when we used to climb out onto the roof of that apartment in… where was it?” He glances at me.
“Jersey City.” It was the last apartment where he visited me and Mom. We only went up to the roof once. When my mom found out, she lost her mind. When Dad suggested it again—our little secret, he said—I refused, knowing my mom wouldn’t approve. Looking back, it wasn’t the best decision my father ever made from a safety perspective. There were no railings and I had to climb out of a window to get on the rooftop, but I caught a glimpse of the freaking Empire State Building. It was one of the best days of the summer for me.
“We ate beef jerky and played Fleetwood Mac until it rained,” he says.
I can’t help but smile. “I remember.”
“Not quite the views from this rooftop, but not bad.”
“I’m Leo.” Leo steps forward and holds out his hand to shake my father’s. “I’m Jules’ boss.” He dips his hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out a business card. “Why don’t you come see me and I can figure out if I have a job for you? Call that number and my assistant will set something up.”
I feel my pulse start to throb in my neck. No! He can’t give my father a job. He doesn’t understand how this will turn out. My father won’t turn up. Or will turn up and—god knows where he got the handfuls of cash he used to turn up with after a period of being gone. Did he rob banks in that time? Steal from his employers? I won’t let him take advantage of Leo.
Dad can’t have read the announcement in The Times very well, because he doesn’t put together that Leo is my fiancé. Long may it stay that way.
He reads the business card and I catch Leo’s eye. I shake my head. “Don’t do this,” I mouth.
“It’s okay,” he mouths back.
“Dad, you have to go,” I say. “I’m working.”
“Okay, okay. I know when it’s time to leave a party. Speaking of party, is there a nice cozy bar in this hotel?”
“It’s not open,” I lie. “Please, Dad, you need to go.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Leo says. “This place is a maze. Don’t want you getting lost.”
“Dollface, I’ll call you,” Dad says from halfway down the stairs. He pauses and turns back to me. I don’t have his number, and he doesn’t have mine. “We’ll go for coffee,” he says.
“Sure,” I say. That will never happen.
“I’m busy this weekend, but what about next week?”
“Maybe. Before work?” I ask, expecting the early hour will put him off.
“Sure thing, doll.”
I wasn’t expecting him to say yes to that. The next thing I know, he’s coming back up the stairs at a jog. He holds out his phone and I realize he’s asking for my number. I enter my details. What am I doing? Should I just shut him down and get Leo to throw him out?
Thoughts of that afternoon on the rooftop in Jersey City fill my head. I wanted him to be that dad all the time. The exciting one. The fun one. The one who was there .
I hand him back his phone. “You have my number,” I say. “If you message me, I can give you a date for coffee.”
“And if you call my assistant, we can arrange a meeting,” Leo says.
I exhale. The balls are all in his court. As much as I’ve agreed to coffee, I understand there’s a ninety percent chance I won’t see him for another decade after today.
But then… there’s that one-in-ten chance he might call. We might have coffee. I might rebuild some kind of relationship with him. I didn’t realize it until now, but something buried deep within me hopes that’s still possible.