Page 9 of Wild Thing
“Of course you are. Fancy slut.”
She had a point. Gellar and Summers put me up in one of the nicer hotels considering I’ll be staying for just over a week. I made a mental note to thank Marie. She was always rewarding employees where she could. As far as CEOs go, she was firm but fair, and someone who I respected greatly. She somehow managed to keep egotistical men in line, while maintaining a femininity about her that I admired. It was a common misconception that women needed to demonstrate a hardened exterior in order to work successfully with men.
Marie managed to lead with grace, although I’d seen her whip off those velvet gloves and fight bare knuckled when she needed to; which was often, especially when men like Steven thought their opinion was the only one that mattered.
Steven made my skin crawl. A stupidly talented architect who was insufferable, inappropriate and who was unfortunately on the Omega project with me.
There will be no dodging that energy vampire this week.
“Text me when you arrive. Safe flight.”
“Mwah. Bye.”
Hanging up, I spotted The Dalton against the city skyline. Despite my eagerness to spend time alone, I was amped to see Taylor, who was flying in for the conference. I didn’t have many female friends apart from Taylor.
Or friends at all really. I was isolated back home.
I had Zack to thank for that.
***
Hopping out of the car was like stepping into a cyclone. My long, black hair whipped across my face as the concierge opened the door. A porter was already retrieving my luggage, so I hightailed it towards the entrance, nearly slipping on the soaked marble tiles as I hurried through the revolving doors. Smoothing my hair down, I took a moment to process the sheer opulence of hotel lobby.
As an interior designer, I was fascinated by design choices and spatial planning, always noticing the little things… and big fuck off things, like the magnificent crystal chandelier hanging from the center of the high ceiling.
It was stunning, if you were into that over-the-top Versace-style swagger.
Towards the elevators, I spied the private entrance to the hotel bar, hearing the clink of glasses and soft laughter from within. I loved hotel bars. The mix of loudmouth tourists, business assholes and alcoholic locals always made for interesting people watching.
After check-in, I rode the elevator to level 14, and made my way to Suite 02. Stepping inside, the suite felt palatial. I didn't feel important enough to be staying in a place this luxurious. I immediately considered staying in for the afternoon, curling up on the lounge and opening my sketchbook.
But I knew that wouldn't happen. I hadn't sketched for fun in years.
The entryway led to a combined bedroom and large open living room. Heavy drapes and sheer curtains were mechanically opening on their own, triggered by me opening the door, I suspected. They revealed the most spectacular floor-to-ceiling windows, offering breathtaking views of the park and thunderous river below.
A large desk, with a leather chair and lamp, was positioned against a wall, across from a plush, cream-colored sofa.
Noticing no kitchen, I frowned as I realized how much I’ll be relying on room service. My frown morphed into a smile when I spotted the fully stocked mini-bar. I sent another silent prayer of thanks to anyone that would listen for that perk.
My eyes tracked over to the king-sized bed. It was ridiculously extravagant with way too many decorative pillows.
But I didn't give a fuck. It was exactly what I needed.
But it was the bathroom that really took my breath away. Everything about it was sexy. And huge.Whoever designed this had clearly taken inspiration from dark romance novels.Black marble surfaces shimmered under soft, recessed lighting, and a large mirror hung above the double vanity.
An oversized bathtub took up an entire wall, while the separate rainfall shower had a goddamn bench seat welded to the wall.
Ultimately it was a space to unwind and relax, but there was no doubt the designer made choices with one thing in mind: Sex.
Checking the time, I decided to head down to the lobby bar for a drink or two before Taylor arrived.
I quickly ran my hairbrush through my dark hair, squirting a small dollop of mousse into my hand and rubbing it through. It was a lazy girls attempt at taking my hair from windswept drowned rat to face-framing beach chic.
Refreshing what little make-up I had on, I reapplied lipgloss, added some highlighter to my high-set cheekbones, before a spritz of Miss Dior.
A quick fit-check before heading downstairs: Black bodysuit, light blue denim jeans, black Converse sneakers.
Fairly casual, but tidy. It would do.
