Chapter 1 #6
“We will start with the weekend and see where things go. This is Vegas, anything can happen.”
“You’re crazy,” I muse, shaking my head.
“About you?” he nods. “I am, yes, completely and utterly crazy about you.”
Despite the circumstances when a beautiful man who just kissed you senseless says something like that, well how can you blame a girl for swooning just a little, but that bitch called reality has to creep back in and she’s got some real shit timing.
“I can’t. I’m sorry, but I-”
He interrupts me with another kiss, and when I try to object a second time, he goes in for a third. Before long, we are lost in each other all over again, and I’m holding on for dear life.
We are breathless by the time we finally separate. His fingers still in my hair, his forehead pressed to mine. “Please,” he breathes. “Stay.”
So, we go to brunch. Don’t ask me what happened, I’m still not completely sure myself, but here I am anyway: sipping a Mimosa, across from the man who won me and kissed me so stupid I couldn’t help but chant “Yes, yes, anything yes.” I should have my head examined.
“Not hungry?” he asks, cutting into a piece of French toast.
“Not particularly no.”
He raises his napkin to his lips. God those lips. If you told me he wears some kind of hallucinogenic drug inducing lip balm I would believe it.
He sits back in his chair, with that smug grin on his face. “And why is that?”
I set down my glass and lean forward over the table.
“Well, you see, I was supposed to be on a plane home right now so I can listen to my mother list all the way I’ve disappointed her by breaking it off my engagement with Mickey.
” His grin widens. “Instead, I’m here, being held captive by a man who manipulated me into staying the night in his hotel, kissed me stupid, and then took me to brunch.
So, I guess you could say I’ve lost my appetite because it’s been a day. ”
I reach for my glass, tipping it all the way back, letting the bubbles chase my troubles away.
“Marry me.”
It’s not a question so much as a demand, which clearly is meant as a joke because we’ve known each other for less than twenty-four hours. I glare at him from the corner of my eye as the last of my drink slides down my throat, then carefully set the glass on the table between us. “Fat chance, Pal.”
Ask a ridiculous question, get an equally ridiculous answer.
He chuckles as the waiter suddenly appears setting a fresh mimosa down in front of me. I give the man a wide grin which he returns with a shy smile, but when his eyes meet the man across the table, that smile falls like a house of cards.
I take a sip from my new drink, feeling Roman’s eyes on me while I look everywhere but directly at him. “You know,” he says. “A few more of those and you might just change your tune.”
“Is that right?” I ask, raising a brow.
His smile widens as he nods. While I hate to admit it, he may have a point.
Clearly my hormones are desperately hot for this man despite my many, many objections.
Adding alcohol to an already volatile situation may not be the wisest decision, but the challenge in his eyes sets my teeth on edge.
Like he’s daring me to call his bluff. This man has no idea who he is dealing with.
I bring the glass toward my lips and that cocky smirk slides across his handsome face, but before the glass reaches my mouth, I bring it to the side and tip it, slowly pouring the drink onto the plush emerald carpet at his feet.
“Oh no,” I say, in mock horror as the liquid soaks into the carpet. “How clumsy of me.” I tilt the glass a little more, pouring the rest of the drink onto the floor, shaking out the last drop for good measure.
Roman flicks his fingers and the waiter appears to clean up the mess. Roman remains quiet, watching me while the waiter takes care of the mess. For a moment, I think I might have pushed him a little too far, but then he leans across the table, takes my hand in his, and raises it to his lips.
“Baby, you can tear this place apart, brick by brick with your bare hands and I will stand in the rubble and swear to honor and cherish you for the rest of my days.”
I swallow thickly, and remove my hand from his, focusing on my now cold plate. “Well, Mr. Roman, you got me here. Now what’s your plan?” I ask, choosing to ignore that rather intense declaration.
“No plan,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I want us to get to know each other.”
“Is that what we were doing upstairs, getting to know each other?”
He smiles. “That was…,” he trails off for a moment and I remain quiet until he finally says, “a mistake.”
I jerk my head back. “A mistake?”
“Yes, it was forward of me, and I owe you an apology.”
I blink. Was he serious?
“If that’s how you feel, what am I even doing here?”
“As I said, we are getting to know each other.”
“So, no more kissing?”
“Not until you ask for it,” he says.
A small part of me is disappointed, but the much louder indignant part of me stands up to salute. “Well then, I guess you are in for a very long weekend, because it will be a cold day in hell before I ask you for anything.”
He grins. “We’ll see.”
“Oh yes we will,” I counter.
“Where are we going?” I whine as I follow Roman down a long corridor.
He doesn’t reply, marching forward like a man on a mission. He comes to a stop outside one of the high-end boutiques near the lobby. He reaches for the door, holding it open for me to enter. With my nose turned toward the sky, I brush past him into the salon.
Two women dressed in immaculate black suits stand just inside, wearing matching sunshine grins. “Good morning Mr. Roman,” they coo in unison.
“Good morning, ladies. May I introduce Miss Priscilla Castelano. Priscilla this Miss Page, and Miss Kilmartin. They will see to all of your needs this afternoon.”
I put on my politest smile and nod at each of them. “It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Page. Miss Kilmartin.”
“Lovely to meet you,” they recite in perfect sync.
I glance at Roman with a curious expression. “Care to explain what my needs for this afternoon are exactly?”
He grins. “Anything you want. Dress, bag, shoes, the whole nine yards. I want you pampered and blissful when I pick you up tonight.”
“Pick me up?” I ask. “You aren’t staying?”
He lifts my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “I’m taking you out.”
“Taking me out where?”
“I’ve got the whole evening planned. There are a few things I need to take care of this afternoon and thought you would enjoy a little indulgence.”
“Indulgence,” I repeat, mostly to myself. Even the word sounds decadent and after everything that has happened I could use a little indulgence.
“Ladies, I leave her in your capable hands.,” he says, with a wink.
I shake my head, hands on my hips, staring at the now vacant doorway. Yet another asshole looking to dress me up and take me out. Clearly, he thinks he can throw some money around and make my panties disappear. Poor schmuck has no idea who he is dealing with.
I spend the rest of the afternoon being primped, plucked, and pampered. They offer tea with sandwiches and champagne. I forgo the booze still a little buzzed from brunch and inhale the selection of eclairs and cannoli instead. Earning me a disapproving look from the judgement twins.
Hours later, I sit beneath the dryer, flipping through a copy of Life magazine.
My head is on fire, the curlers in my hair are pulled so tight it’s giving me the mother of all headaches, but as my mother always says beauty is pain.
The time dings and the dryer cuts off. The quiet rushes in followed quickly by whispering voices from somewhere behind me.
“Who’s the VIP?” asks a feminine voice.
“Priscilla Castelano,” Miss Page responds.
“Who’s that?” the other woman inquires.
Miss Page groans. “Just one of Roman’s girls.”
“Another one?”
“Third one this week,” Miss Page replies.
My head is steaming despite the dryer being turned off—the nerve of this guy—keeping me here, playing the lovesick fool like, I’m going to just fall at his feet, when he’s got a harem at his disposal.
I see red. I flip up the dryer lid and dive from the chair, with Kilmartin hot on my heels.
I march from the salon, the plastic cape flapping behind me as I storm across the lobby.
People stare, ladies gasp in shock, but all of that nonsense barely registers through the anger seething inside me.
In a flash, I’m in the elevator, the doors closing in Kilmartin’s panicked face.
I slap the button for the office level and wait, staring at the numbers above the door counting down the floors until I unleash holy hell on the unsuspecting Roman.
The doors are barely open before I charge out, by passing a nervous looking secretary.
She calls out to me some useless nonsense about needing an appointment, but, clearly, we are way past that at this point.
At the end of the hall, his office door is closed.
I wrench the door open, sending it slamming back against the wall with an impressive slap, and find myself in a room full of suits.
Four middle aged men stare back at me slack jawed, in my plastic cape, and a head full of curlers, which of course began to unravel.
The object of my rage sits behind his desk, grinning like a king on his throne.
“You bastard,” I sneer.
All eyes turn to Roman, who stands to address the room. “Gentlemen, I think that’ll be all for today.”
One after another, the suits pack up their papers, eyes dancing between me and Roman, then scurry out the door, closing it softly behind them.
Roman moves slowly around his desk. “Did you need something Miss Castelano?”
“Yes, a plane ticket. Now!”
He recoils, taking me all in, then calmly reaches over his desk, picking up the envelope and holds it out for me.
“Thank you,” I snap, turning on my heel and march toward the door.
“Can I ask why the change of heart?”