Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
ROMAN
Goddamn. How hard was it to just fall asleep next to Lilith last week? Hard enough that it's been a week since I left her tiny townhouse on the Venice Canal, and somehow she intrudes on my thoughts while I'm reviewing quarterly projections or approving the new sommelier's wine list.
I've hired two executive chefs since then, negotiated with a Saudi prince about his upcoming wedding reception, and spent three hours in a meeting about importing Italian marble for the spa renovation.
But every time my phone stops ringing, every time I'm not placating some VIP guest or signing off on a seven-figure expenditure, I think of her. And of that night.
And, yes, I humiliated myself with that text asking her to skip work with me.
Playing hooky? Me? I've never missed a day of work in my life.
Thank Christ she had enough sense to turn me down.
Between that and my pathetic "can't stop thinking about waking up next to you" message, I might as well have just sent her my bank statements and the deed to my soul.
Everyone warns about drunk texting, but I was stone-cold sober when I sent those messages.
No alcohol to blame—just pure, unfiltered idiocy.
I couldn't go further with her that night. Lilith isn't some disposable conquest. And Christ, even with every muscle fiber screaming for her, my chest feels like it might cave in as I think of giving her what she deserves. Not the platinum card. Not just another fuck. ME. Raw and unfiltered.
I've never handed those keys to anyone. That's why I kept it physical with women like Sera—that tawdry, torrid, toxic, tedious train wreck.
God, she was perfect in her imperfection.
I could slam her against a wall, burn through the sexual adrenaline, and walk away with my heart safely locked down.
The mere concept of surrendering that to someone makes my hands shake.
Control is oxygen to me. Without it, I suffocate.
And Lilith? She'd own me completely. One taste and I'd give her everything—the empire, the broken pieces, all of it.
The tattoo burning across my ribs says it all: those who are hardest to love need it the most. I'm a goddamn fortress of razor wire and land mines.
But underneath? I'm starving for it. Desperate. Terrified.
So, even though I know that Lilith has been on the property twice this week, giving readings in her cabana and even started giving readings in the Poseidon suite for the first time, I have not gone near either place.
I've been avoiding her. And I will keep avoiding her until I figure out exactly what I want to do.
Until I know for sure that I'm ready to unlock that part of me that I have never unlocked for anybody.
Goddamn, I just don't know if that’s possible at this point.
I look out the window at palm trees bending almost horizontal. The barometric pressure's dropping fast. The Weather Channel calls for a a very strong El Nino storm, perhaps the worst in decades, I call a mandatory meeting with my emergency team.
"OK," I say to Ned, Harry, Pete and George.
"Phase One protocols. I want all outdoor furniture secured or moved inside.
Pool areas cleared and locked down. Sandbags at every entrance point on the lower levels.
Pete, coordinate with maintenance to check all backup generators and ensure we have three days of fuel.
Harry, work with guest services—I want everyone moved from oceanfront rooms to interior accommodations.
George, contact all scheduled arrivals and offer complimentary rebooking.
And Ned, I need hourly weather updates and direct lines to emergency services. "
I pull up the resort's storm contingency plan on my tablet. "If conditions worsen, we move to Phase Two—full guest lockdown in the Grand Ballroom with emergency provisions. I'll be leading this response personally."
I sit down and stare at the computer screen, my eyes tracking the angry red swirl of the massive storm as it barrels toward the California coast. The digital projection shows its massive eye, surrounded by violent bands of wind and rain.
Fuck!" The resort will survive, but Venice Beach is directly in the storm's path.
My gut twists thinking about Lilith's shop—Mystic Tides—with its purple awning and crystals in the window, so close to the water.
Just that old boardwalk between her and disaster.
I remember her voice shaking when she talked about the seawall, fingers working that pendant she always wears.
And Jack and Lilith in a crisis? They'd be useless.
"Uh, George," I bark into the walkie-talkie, my knuckles white around its plastic casing. "I need to get to Venice Beach tonight. You can handle this, can't you?"
"Yes, boss," his voice crackles back, "but I thought you were going to lead the response."
My jaw tightens as I decide. George has military training and my emergency team backing him. Lilith has tarot cards and incense. Her eyes wouldn't see the danger coming until it's too late. And Jack with his designer boots? Useless.
I make my decision in a split second and slide behind the wheel of my black Rolls SUV—chosen this morning when I saw the storm clouds gathering.
The first raindrops hit as I merge onto the 405 toward Venice.
Within minutes, water floods the freeway.
My wipers can barely keep up, giving me half-second glimpses of the road ahead.
My knuckles go white on the steering wheel, but I push harder on the gas.
All I can think about is Lilith's shop with its old foundation, sitting too close to what must be an angry Pacific by now.
I leave the Rolls in a flooded spot and run through the rain, my shoes and suit soaked through in seconds.
The shop comes into view—Mystic Tides—with its front window broken.
Through the gap, I see Lilith with wet hair stuck to her face, stacking tarot cards on a high shelf while Jack dumps crystals into bins.
Water has already reached the bottom shelves, ruining books and submerging amethysts in the rising flood.
"Oh, Roman," she gasps when I burst through the door, her topaz-jade eyes wide with relief as she flings herself against my chest. Her body trembles violently against mine, her voice breaking. "Thank God you're here. Everything's ruined."
"We'll save what matters," I promise, already scanning the chaos for a solution.
For the next three hours, I direct the rescue operation. I haul soggy tarot cards and crystals to the shelves along the back wall, away from the flood. Lilith's dark hair with green streaks has frizzed into a halo as she moves her old leather-bound books, eyes wide.
Rain pounds the windows while I stack sandbags against the door, cursing when water seeps through anyway, ruining my expensive shoes.
The smell of wet incense and paper fills the air.
I climb a rickety ladder to patch the ceiling with duct tape and a garbage bag, wondering how I—a man who runs luxury hotels—ended up here during Southern California's worst storm in years.
The electricity snaps off, plunging us into darkness.
The storm’s roar is deafening, wind battering the storefront as we give up on the flooded floor.
We load the last of her merchandise into my SUV—crystals, tarot decks, books, incense, candles, all of it wet.
I wipe rain from my face. “You two have to get to my resort tonight.”
Lilith shakes her head. “Roman, I can’t leave,” she says, gesturing at the mess around us.
“Someone might break in.” Her wet face catches the dim light.
My chest tightens as I look at her standing amid the wreckage, water still seeping across the floorboards.
She has insurance—she’d mentioned it when I replaced those old pipes last month—but that’s hardly the point now.
“Lilith,” I say, voice low and urgent. “What’s a looter going to want?
Piles of soggy tarot cards? Boxes of crystals?
We’ve emptied the register, loaded everything we could into the SUV.
There’s nothing left to steal that’s worth a damn.
You can’t stay here—and your house will be dark, too.
You and Jack are coming to my resort. Tonight. ”
Lilith’s gaze bats between me and the storm-lashed windows as if she might summon the courage to argue further.
Before she can, Jack throws up his hands, soaked curls plastered to his forehead.
“Roman, that sounds like literal heaven—luxury, warm beds, running water. I’m wiped out.
Ready to collapse face-first into silk sheets and be waited on like the forgotten prince I am—since I’m still hunting my own Prince Charming. ”
I can’t help the flicker of a grin. Lilith snarls at Jack over his “prince” quip, which only makes my heart pound harder. She’s embarrassed for me, maybe scared I’ll take him seriously. But I’ve wanted to hear those words from her lips for months. Prince Charming. For me, they feel like promise.
“That’s settled,” I say, voice firm enough to cut through the howl of wind. “You two pack what you have left. We’re gone in five minutes. The Weather Channel says this storm’s got us for two solid days—and nights. My resort has power, heat, hot showers. I’ll see you there.”
A flash of lightning splits the sky, illuminating our drenched silhouettes.
I grab Lilith’s arm. “Come on, before the storm decides to tear the roof off this place.” With Jack at her side, she finally nods, and I lead them into the darkness—toward safety, comfort, and a flicker of hope amid the tempest.
Lilith shakes her head, her eyes wide with panic. "My Prius in this rain. I—"