9. Cole
COLE
Things I don’t want to think about when I go shopping with my mother in our luxury stores: the woman from the party.
Things I can’t stop thinking about no matter what I do: the woman from the party a few nights ago.
As we wander into a classy store in my hotel, my mother gestures to the maps of the world hanging on the wood-paneled walls, then to an antique globe on a shelf. “What do you think about this one? Should I get it for my office? It’s so professorial, isn’t it?”
I give her a smile. “That would seem an ideal fit, then.”
She wiggles a well-groomed eyebrow. “I get what you’re saying, Cole.
Just embrace the whole persona. Perhaps I should start wearing tweed jackets next and add some horn-rimmed glasses to my look,” she says in a teasing little tone.
I laugh, giving her a quick once-over in her designer jeans and silk blouse, paired with Jimmy Choos.
She wears ultramodern clothes and teaches ancient history.
She is a woman of contradictions, and she relishes that.
“And as you embrace it, you should get anything you want,” I say, then I gesture to a map of the ancient world hanging on the wall. “But I have to admit, when I first stopped in here when it opened, I thought that would be perfect for you.”
She pats my cheek, a thoroughly motherly gesture. “You know me so well.”
“We’ll pack it up. We’ll ship it. We’ll send it where you want—your home, your office, or your classroom.”
She gives me a soft smile. “You’re always so sweet about that, but I truly don’t need anything. I have everything I need.”
“This isn’t about need, Mom. It’s about want. It’s about what you enjoy.” We had so little growing up, and anytime my mother, brother, or I wanted anything, that want was diminished, it was squashed. We were taught to want nothing. We were taught that wanting things was bad.
As my mother’s gaze travels around the store, my attention is drawn to a small stack of leather-bound books. One of my indulgences. This collection happens to be of sonnets, so I pick it up. It fits the theme of the store—lush, intelligent gifts—and I love it.
I decide to buy it as a gift for someone.
“I’m getting you the map,” I tell my mother, since she’s still gazing at it with longing in her eyes.
“If you insist,” she says.
“I do. I do insist.”
When we head to the counter, I tell the clerk that we want both the book and the map on the wall. The goateed man gives me a nervous look, then swallows. “Your money’s no good here, sir.”
I laugh. “I’ll pay just like everybody else does. This is not on the house.”
He stares at me as if I’m speaking Greek, but I give the young man a firm look. “I appreciate your effort, but trust me, I’m going to win this battle. And I’m going to pay for both of these,” I say, then I reach into my wallet and toss some bills on the counter.
As we leave the store, Mom glances at the leather-bound volume. “You’ve always loved your Shakespeare.”
“Of course. I was raised by a scholar.”
And an asshole , I add quietly in my head. But we don’t speak of my father. There’s no need to. I don’t like to think of the man who told me that I deserved nothing growing up because I’d be nothing. That I was a mistake. That he never expected anything from me because he never wanted me.
And so, for the longest time, that was all I delivered. Nothing. I thought he was right about everything, but he was wrong. I clench my fists, my shoulders tightening, that familiar surge of borderline anger rising in me when I think of him.
Time to lock up the thoughts of the man who is out of my life, as I always do when they descend on me and try to convince me that I’m still nothing.
He knew how to make my brilliant mother feel that way about herself too, and I’ll never forgive him for that. I’m so damn glad she’s finally out from under his thumb. It took long enough, but here she is, enjoying herself, living freely, being all she wants to be.
We pop into a few more shops, and when we’re done, we stroll toward the spa. Along the way, she gestures to the design of the lobby, the sleek, stylish, thoroughly modern feel of this hotel. “You have great taste, Cole.”
“You taught me well. You taught me to appreciate words. You taught me to appreciate beauty and the finer things in life.”
She wags a finger at me. “And don’t forget that I taught you to appreciate history too.”
“I would never forget that. I would never forget that you have to learn from history or it repeats itself.”
“Indeed, it does. And now look at us, learning from it, and learning from it means treating yourself well and treating others well too.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
She gives me a pointed but sympathetic look. “That includes yourself.”
I bark out a laugh. “You think I don’t treat myself well?” I gesture with helicopter arms to the luxury surrounding us. “I want for nothing.”
A soft smile crosses her lips as she shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean.” She taps my sternum. “I mean here.”
I sigh softly, the muted kind. “I know what you mean.”
“You’ve been so focused on business since Georgia,” she says, and my body tightens at the mention of a woman from years ago.
I say nothing, letting her continue. “I know it’s hard to put yourself out there. I know you didn’t always see the best examples from your father and me. And I know that was hard, losing her.”
It was hard. But it was also years ago. I’ve moved on. I’ve made it through. “I’m fine.”
She squeezes my shoulder. “Then maybe let yourself . . . go out.”
I roll my eyes. “You think I don’t go out?”
“You know what I mean. Go out and let someone in,” she says.
We’ve arrived at the serene waterfall that frames the entrance to the spa. “I’ll consider it,” I say, but she gives me a stare that says she knows I won’t.
“Do consider it,” she says, a soft plea.
“I said I would. Now go enjoy yourself.”
“Oh, I love when you tell me what to do.”
“Good. Go relax, have fun. You’re starting a new semester soon, and you have all of those young minds to shape, so unwind before you have to go back to California.
” I look at my watch. Her trip has lasted less than thirty-six hours, but I’m glad she made it out here.
“I’ll pick you up at the end of the day and take you to the airport. ”
She shakes her head. “You don’t have to take me to the airport. The driver can take me.”
“I want to, and I will. End of story.”
She gestures for me to take off. “I have an appointment to go get pampered, and you have your meetings. Who are you seeing this morning?”
“The hotel owner across the street.”
She straightens the lapels on my suit jacket. “Remember to play nicely with the other children.”
I laugh. “We’ll see about that.”
I say goodbye, and as I make my way through my hotel, my thoughts once more return to the other night with the stranger. I replay those moments on the dance floor and in the alcove. The taste of her skin, the feel of her long blonde waves, the sound of her voice, so sensual and delicious.
And the slide of her lips. Pink and alluring.
That woman is front and center in my mind as I walk across the street to my meeting, recalling how she moved against me, how she fell apart in my arms and Daniel’s arms too.
How that felt.
Exquisite.
Everything about her was exquisite.
I linger on thoughts of her for a few more minutes, knowing that once I head into the meeting, I’ll have to expunge them.
With the book I purchased in hand, I weave my way along the walkway over the Strip. Once at The Extravagant, I stop at a mirror near the entrance to check my reflection.
Custom suit.
Silk tie.
Pressed shirt.
Combed hair.
Neat shave.
I look the part of the new hotel owner in town going to meet with Sage Carmichael for the first time.
I’ve heard good things about her. She’s well-respected and is known for her focus on her employees. For above-average pay, as well as good healthcare. She attracts the best with what she offers them.
With the revamp of the hotel, she’s been attracting a whole lot of bookings too. Bookings that, admittedly, I’d like to have at The Invitation.
Competition is fierce in this city for rooms, and her renovation is amazing, with the ruby, emerald, and sapphire themes throughout the property. The jewel motif is gorgeous, extravagant indeed.
That word alone— extravagant —shoots my thoughts back once more to my stranger, as I count down the days till I see her again. The woman who’s still dancing her way through my thoughts. And honestly, even though I’ll be seeing her with Daniel, part of me does want to see her alone.
Take her alone. Have her all to myself.
Bring her incandescent pleasure. Just me. Only me.
Daniel won’t care. Daniel isn’t possessive, nor am I.
We share women in the moment, not for a longer term. We share them because we love making women feel good.
But I’m more than capable of doing that by myself too.
Though she seemed like the kind of woman who wants us both, and what a woman wants in bed, she should damn well have.
That is my rule to live by.
I walk through my rival’s casino, surveying it once again.
I’ve been here before. I checked it out.
You need to understand the competition. I made sure I canvased every nook and cranny, knowing that I had to make mine better.
Then I had my people pay visits here during the renovation so I knew what was going on every step of the way.
I don’t ever want to be surprised in business, and nothing at her hotel surprises me. All of it impresses me though. It exudes class and says sophistication, most of all, beauty. That’s the theme the Carmichael sisters have chosen, and everything typifies it.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I head to the third-floor executive suites with the book in hand, ready to give it to her as a nice to meet you and I’ll try not to be a dick gift. But I make no promises.
The door to the suites is open, and the woman at the front desk lifts her face, flashes me a smile from behind her red glasses, then says, “Hello, Mr. Donovan. It’s good to see you.”
She’s good at her job, since she knows me on sight.
“I have a meeting with Sage Carmichael.”
“Yes, you do. Let me tell her you’re here.”
The woman disappears down the hall then reappears a minute later, gesturing to the hallway.
“She’s ready for you.” I walk down the hallway toward the corner suite.
The executive offices are set in the middle of the property, giving a view of the casino floor below.
The woman shows me in and closes the door behind me.
And holy fuck .
Standing in front of the glass window overlooking the casino is a stunning woman in a red dress with a zipper all the way down the back.
I want to unzip it with my teeth.
Her blonde hair is twisted neat and tight in a clip. Those silky strands remind me of my stranger. That clip, too, reminds me of the one she left behind that night. The barrette I picked up when she scurried away. The barrette I plan to give her next weekend at the party.
But right now, I’m not thinking of my stranger, because I’m too busy admiring the view in front of me.
That body. That ass. Those legs.
She stands at the window, hands on the sill, gazing at her empire below.
She looks powerful, and power looks so damn good on a woman, especially when a powerful woman gets on her knees at your command.
I’d like to put her on her knees.
And I feel a little bit guilty for admiring my colleague like this. For focusing on her body rather than her brain.
I vow to erase these momentary filthy thoughts when I speak to her. These sexual thoughts floating through my head of how she would look without that dress on.
But admittedly, I also feel the slightest bit guilty too, because all my energy, all my ample sexual energy, should be on the woman I’m seeing at the next party. Only it’s on the woman in front of me.
“Good morning, Sage,” I say.
The woman in red turns around.
My jaw threatens to fall to the floor, and it’s only years of practice, years of composure, that cause me to keep it shut when I see her face.
Because that mouth. Those lush pink lips. There is no question. She is the one. She is one and the same.
Sage Carmichael is my stranger.
And I want her even more.
But she’s also the cutthroat competition, and that is going to be a big problem.