Six
IN BED, ROXIE opened her eyes to darkness. Night. The best time of day. Her body bowed as she pushed her shoulders back and stretched her limbs. Would the gym be open twenty-four hours? Top-rated hotels did that kind of thing, didn’t they?
Her stomach grumbled. Okay, no gym. Food or shower? After eating, work would be next. A super quick shower would have to come first. What did she want to eat? Ice-cream, coffee cake… fresh strawberry mousse.
Fantasizing was fun, but when she eventually picked up the phone to room service, steamed chicken and vegetables were the only things on her order. Smart. No indulgence or excess. Not in food anyway.
Her phone was dead again. Like that was a surprise. She dragged out her charger to juice it up and switched on her laptop too. Having slept all day, she’d be up all night. Her body was returning to its regular rhythm.
When someone knocked on the suite door, Roxie sprang up from the dining table where she’d positioned the laptop and hurried over to answer it.
She threw open the door but was in reverse before setting eyes on whoever was there.
“Hold on, I have to find my purse,” Roxie said. The uniformed guy with the trolley paused. “You can bring it in, that’s fine. I just have to find cash to tip you.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but that’s not necessary.”
Astonished, she stopped and stood silent while he brought the tray in and set a place for her at the table.
“I have to tip you,” she said, snapping out of her shock. “I always tip. Hospitality staff deal with some amount of BS.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, retreating with a smile. “It’s unnecessary. You are Mr. Lomond’s guest. Enjoy your meal.”
What the hell? Her impulse was to argue.
What was the opposite of robbery? Why wouldn’t he want a gratuity?
Her stomach grumbled again, diverting her bewilderment.
The food smelled good, really good. She went to sit at the place the guy had set and dragged her laptop over to open her email.
If she didn’t reply to clients now, their messages would distract her later.
Spam. Nonsense. Client. Client. Bill. Spam. Meme from Toria. Client. Technically, she was on vacation and wasn’t supposed to be working. Any work that she got done would be less for next week. Being ahead of the game was never a bad thing.
Stabbing another vegetable, she pulled it from the fork with her teeth.
One email caught her eye. , what did they want from her?
Recompense for what had happened outside the club?
Astrid hadn’t said anything about that earlier.
Maybe it was decided after she’d been retrieved from jail.
The email had come in hours ago, while she was sleeping.
The only way to find out was to open it.
The text was straight to the point. First was a link to her dedicated page on the Crimson website.
Her own page, fancy. Clicking on the link took her to an admin login screen.
Hmm… Returning to the email, she discovered a username and password.
Inputting both, she was delighted that they worked.
The actual page was divided into two sections: one for videos and one for chat. Two buttons, one said “upload video,” the other “stream.” Glancing down at the hotel robe, she pulled the lapels together, laughing. Yeah, streaming would be a bad idea.
People had posted a bunch of comments and questions. Thus far, they went unanswered. It wouldn’t hurt to work her way through them while she ate, would it? Everyone seemed so happy and excited. Ignoring them would be rude.
Before she could do anything else, the system demanded a username and profile picture.
Curses. Selfie-time. The laptop told her there wasn’t enough light, once, twice and again.
No matter how she angled, the lamp wasn’t sufficient.
Putting on the overhead light worked, though balancing her laptop on a forearm while posing was tricky.
As she switched off the ceiling light, she loaded the picture to her profile.
Username was a little more difficult. It had to be something fun… and couldn’t link back to her business pages. The Crimson website wasn’t hers; it was Lomond’s. After the tour was done, her page would be erased and her credentials revoked, as they should be.
Lomond’s… What was she to him?
A comment caught her eye.
Smiling, Roxie chose her username: “Lomond’s Delight.”
He’d get the irony of that, right? It wouldn’t matter. Her username wouldn’t cross his desk; anyone official would have better things to do.
After the way Astrid had run down her greatest hits, Roxie wouldn’t blame Lomond for having a negative opinion of her.
Her opinion of him wasn’t exactly lofty.
When he went around exuding arrogance like he did, he was asking for people to judge him.
He couldn’t be as good as he thought himself to be. No one was that good.
Reading the questions one at a time, Roxie typed answers under her new username…
Q: How do you feel about your prize? You must be crazy excited. Going on tour like that, with Zairn Lomond, it would be a delight! Amazing fun.
A: It was unexpected. I had no idea there were going to be any contests or prizes the night we went to see Sunset. Just goes to show that anything can happen any time!
Q: Who are you? Do you even like to party?
A: I love having a good time! Music and lights, what’s not to love?
Q: Are you a Crimson Queen?
A: Uh… I’m not totally sure what that is, but thanks for your question.
Answering another and another, she worked her way down the never-ending list. A counter in the corner was ticking up…
fast. What was it for? She scrolled down to read the words beneath it.
“Users online.” Cool. People were logging on right in front of her.
The positivity and excitement were infectious.
The comments were coming so fast she could hardly read them before three more popped up. The counter kept rising. Her fingers stalled, hovering above the keys. An audience. A huge number of people rushing to read her words.
Hmm, there were two choices: run or give the people what they wanted. Cracking her thumb knuckles, she pushed the food away and sat up straight. The people wanted to talk, and she was never short of something to say.
“Hello, everyone,” Roxie typed. “Wow, you’re all so enthusiastic!”
The cascade of eager greetings blurred the screen for a second.
Lomond was popular. He was in the press for the women he dated and the men he socialized with. He’d appeared as himself on the big screen. Hosted business seminars. Offered commentary in the news. He was the businessman that the paparazzi wouldn’t leave alone.
He lived in a world many aspired to. Everyone wanted to be him or date him. Yachts in the Mediterranean. His own Bahamian island. Owner of sports stadiums and concert venues, he epitomized the playboy lifestyle. Always wearing hand-tailored clothes, he was showered with lavish expensive gifts.
The world paid attention to his every word, both in person and in the press. One word from him could make or break a brand. He’d created celebrities and cut them down. Established and extended careers while demolishing and restricting others.
In the know and the primary interest on any scene, Zairn Lomond was idolized all over the globe.
Sitting there, watching question after question pop up, the true scale of what she’d waded into became clear. Most of the questions were about him. What he was like and what he’d said to her. Everyone wanted details.
“Whoa, beauties,” she typed. “I can’t answer everyone at once.”
“What’s he really like?” was the next question that appeared.
“Who?” Roxie typed, adding a laugh emoticon. “I’m kidding. Lomond, right?”
A flurry of the word “yes” fired onto her screen, filling the page.
These people were brilliant and hilarious. “You’re really into him, aren’t you?”
Typing a question in response to their question was maybe a cop out. The true answer was she couldn’t answer.
The questions kept coming. There was begging too. Begging for an answer.
“Please tell us. Please. Please!”
“We’re so jealous right now! You have to give us something.”
“Anything!”
“Yes, please, please, please, anything.”
“Did you swoon all over him?”
“What does he smell like?”
“Please!”
“Did he touch you? Like hold your hand or anything? God, I’d melt if he touched me!”
“Please tell us something!”
There was no getting out of it, Roxie had to be honest. “I’m sorry, beauties,” she typed. “I can’t dish the dirt. I’ve never met him.”
For the first time since the droves had joined her, there were no words. A good five seconds passed before the denials came.
“Bullshit!”
“No way!”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You have met him. You have to have met him.”
“We don’t believe you!”
“He’s the whole prize.”
“Uh, yeah, nothing to hide, remember? Don’t bullshit us.”
“Why are you lying? Why would you lie?”
“I don’t get it.”
“She’s lying! Total liar!”
“Don’t lie about him. You shouldn’t be there if you’re just going to lie about him.”
“Tell the truth!”
“I swear it,” Roxie typed. “I wish I could dish every juicy detail. We have never been in the same room, except at the studio when I was in the audience.”
“No way!”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I thought the whole point was for you to be looking over his shoulder.”
“He doesn’t actually want someone in his shadow all the time.”
“Imagine…” another user typed. “Being in his shadow 24/7.”
These people were so dedicated to him.
She sighed. “You are wonderful people,” Roxie typed, her fingers moving fast. “He’s blessed to have followers like you.”
“I’m pissed off,” someone suddenly wrote.
“Yeah, it was supposed to be a dream come true.”
“It was a lie.”
“We were duped.”
“So much for getting the truth.”
Horrified, Roxie watched as the group broke down to insults and upset. Some voices jumped in to try tempering the rising anger.