Chapter Two
Two
He follows me out into the hall, to the elevator, and the strident chime announcing its arrival startles us both.
I catch a hint of his similarly aware smile as he reaches forward, pressing the button for the lobby with a long finger and then stepping to the far side of the car—giving me space again.
I pull out my phone and text Eden that I’m okay before looking up at him.
A familiar ache hits me right in the center of my chest, radiating out.
It’s wild how quickly our bodies remember infatuation.
“Do you come to LA often?”
He gives the slightest shake of his head. “It’s been a few years since my last visit.”
“Is this a work trip?”
Alec gives me his disarming attention again, but this time, something in his expression reads as oddly… tickled? “Yes.”
“What will you be doing there?”
He turns to face the doors as they open and holds his arm out to keep them from closing as I pass. “Endless meetings.”
It’s a weirdly bland answer for someone who looks like he was God’s pet project in the human-design studio.
But if he was in the entertainment industry, it would have been the first thing out of his mouth.
I’ve met more businessmen than I can count in the past couple weeks and my curiosity about his job is now officially flaccid.
I send a silent prayer out that Alec Kim isn’t like any of the executives I’ve spoken to and heard about in London.
He’s gorgeous and polite, but I’ve learned that means nothing. Evil loves to hide in pretty packages.
“What’s that face?” he asks. Both the exit and the hotel bar are in the same direction off the elevator, and we move together down the hall, two of my strides for every one of his.
I am eager to leave and get a room, but also dreading losing this warm, vibrating feeling I have being so close to him.
“What face?”
He lifts a hand, amusement shining in his eyes, and gestures to my head. “You have a thing against meetings?”
“I’m sure there are great businessmen out there. But I haven’t met many in the past few weeks.”
We stop near the hotel exit. He’ll go left. I’ll go straight. “I hope I’ve been the exception,” he says quietly.
“You have been amazing.” One… two… three beats of eye contact before I look away. My crush is back, hot and persistent.
“What were you doing in London?” he asks just as I open my mouth to say goodbye.
“I was there researching a story.”
“Fiction?”
I shake my head. “I’m a journalist.”
His expression changes almost imperceptibly but I clock it. “Ah. Which outlet?”
“LA Times.”
One eyebrow performs a quick, impressed flicker. “What’s the story about?”
I smile, chewing my lip. Looking at him, it’s easy to tell that he’s well connected, and being a well-connected businessman in London means the odds are good that he’s heard of Jupiter. Maybe he’s even been a guest there. I tread carefully: “It’s about a group of people doing very bad things.”
Alec squints at me, and what he says next isn’t what I’m expecting. “That sounds like a grueling assignment. Are you sure you’re up for hotel hunting?”
“I promise I am.” I adjust my backpack strap on my shoulder. “Though thank you again for letting me use your shower. I feel like a new human.” I nod toward the exit. “I’m going to grab a cab.”
“Take the bedroom, Georgia,” he says abruptly. “The one upstairs, I mean.”
“In your suite?” I cough out a laugh. “No way. I couldn’t.”
He exhales slowly. “Come on.” That quiet come on changes everything in his demeanor. He’s the same man as he was a second before but gentler, somehow more real. “You haven’t booked a room yet. It didn’t sound like there were a lot left around here.”
“I emailed from the lobby,” I say, adding without conviction, “I’m sure our travel department booked one for me.”
He lifts his chin like, Well, take a look, then. And when I do, I see a missed call and voicemail from Linda in Travel Services.
Alec watches me as I lift my phone to my ear, and his expression changes in tandem with mine. Eyes widen in hope, brow drops in defeat.
I slip my phone back into my backpack. “There’s some big science conference in town. Airport and downtown hotels are full.”
“Everything’s fully booked?”
“Everything close by, at least. They’ve booked me at a motel in Bellingham.”
“That’s nearly two hours from Sea-Tac.” He pulls back his sleeve, glancing down at a visibly expensive watch. “And it’s almost eleven.”
I groan at the ceiling. “I know.”
“Are you on the eight o’clock flight?” I nod, and he frowns again. “Seriously, Georgia.”
I deflate. What he’s offering sounds convenient but so very awkward. “It feels like a huge imposition. I’m not comfortable saying yes.”
He glances to the side, jaw clenched, and it looks like he wants to argue with my personal boundaries but won’t. “Okay. But come have a drink in the bar while you look for something closer. How can I send you off in search of a hotel this time of night?”
“That’s exactly what cabs are for!” I protest, but follow him anyway.
He leads me to a dim, far corner and gestures to a low table with couches circling it. “Maybe, but you’re small and it’s dark out.” He watches me sit and adjust my skirt around my legs. And not wearing underwear, it seems he wants to add.
Or maybe that’s just me.
There’s a small oil candle in the middle of the table, and I stare at him as subtly as I can while he reads the cocktail menu.
His hands are a love sonnet to masculinity.
His neck is pure filth. And even though the person in front of me is a full-grown man now, the contours of his face are so familiar, it’s almost like I saw him yesterday and not fourteen years ago.
I spent so much of my childhood at his house that I understood about half of what his mother would say to her children in Korean.
I wonder what Sunny is like now, whether she ended up loving London like I promised she would.
Whether my shy best friend had someone she trusted to talk to about her first kiss, her first heartbreak, her worries and victories.
Alec clears his throat as he checks his phone, and my attention refocuses on the sight of him in front of me.
He’s a treat I want to savor. I want to take long pulls of the view of him, hold it in my mouth, slowly swallow him down.
I can see his parents in his face: his mother’s dimples and cheekbones; his father’s height and long neck.
And then I remember I’m supposed to be looking for lodging, not studying the bulge of his Adam’s apple or the thoughtful fullness of his mouth.
I pull out my phone, but as soon as I get my travel app open, he reaches across the table and gently lowers my hand.
“Hey,” he says. “You’ve seen the suite. It’s huge. Let this go. We’re talking about a few hours of sleep in separate rooms.”
I reach up, rubbing my face. “It’s not weird?”
“You’re the one making a big deal out of it.” He blinks over my shoulder, surveying the room behind me. There are a handful of people at the bar, a few people at tables, but no one immediately next to us in this tiny, dark corner. Alec settles back into the sofa.
“Okay,” I say, “but I insist on splitting the cost with you.”
He gives me a delightful shot of both dimples. “And of course I will refuse. Besides, you’re a journalist. Isn’t this how a great story begins?”
“What kind of stories do you think I write?” I ask, grinning at him. “Stuck-in-a-strange-city, there’s-only-one-room-left-at-the-inn? I don’t write for Penthouse.”
He stares at me, expression straightening in surprise, and my words slowly reach my own ears.
“Oh my God.” I press my hands to my face. “I can’t believe I said that.”
Across from me, he bursts out laughing. “I mean, you wouldn’t tell me what you were writing, but I did not mean to imply that.”
“I know you didn’t,” I say through horrified laughter. “Now I really can’t sleep upstairs.”
He drags a hand down his face, pulling himself together. “No, come on, let’s start over.”
“Let’s.”
We stare at each other, eyes shining. Finally, we both break again, and oh my God, what is happening? My brain is too fried to successfully drag us out of this.
Thankfully, the waitress comes for our orders—Zinfandel for me, whiskey neat for him—and when she leaves, he leans back and stretches his arms out across the back of the couch. “That was fortunate timing.”
“We needed the reset,” I agree.
“Tell me more about your job,” he says. “Am I right that you and Sunny used to pretend to be detectives?”
I laugh. “How on earth do you remember that?”
“You two were always hunting around the neighborhood with notepads, looking for clues for mysteries.” He gazes at me with amusement. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you ended up working for the LA Times. But that’s a big deal.”
“Thank you.” Pride warms my chest.
“How did you end up there?”
“I only started about a year ago,” I say, “but I really love it so far. I went to USC for journalism and then hustled my ass off just trying to get any story anywhere I could. I did some crime reporting for OC Weekly for a while. Freelanced for every website that would take me. But when I wrote a pet project about a man in Simi Valley painting monthly portraits of his wife as she succumbed to Parkinson’s disease, and it got picked up by the New Yorker, I got a job offer from the Times. ”
“The New Yorker?” He stares at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. “How old are you?”
“I’m the same age as Sunny.”
Alec gives an amused flicker of an eyebrow. “That’s an impressive résumé for a twenty-seven-year-old.”
“I am,” I admit with a small smile, “occasionally a bit intense about work.”
A dimple makes only a brief appearance. “I’m getting that.”
“What kind of business are you in?” I ask, changing the subject. I’ve gone from feeling proud to feeling like I’m bragging.
The waitress returns with our drinks and he thanks her, raising his glass to toast mine. “I work in television.”