The waiter is waiting there, hovering, anxious, clearly wanting to fulfill my every desire. I’m pretty sure if I asked him to go down on me right now, he would. I almost laugh out loud, to think it. Pierce is turning me into a dirty girl after all. But there is one thing this waiter can tell me that I want to know.
I lean forward against the table and wrap my hands around the warm coffee mug he brought me. “Why are you being so helpful?” I ask. “I mean, do you do this for all of your customers, or . . .”
His face flushes, but he bobs his head again, clearly torn between embarrassment and wanting to give me the right answer, whatever that may be. “We aim to make all of our guests as comfortable as possible here at the Woodland Marquis . . .” he says, shifting on his feet. The hotel chain is fairly well-known, so I figure they must have some kind of rewards club or something for big spenders. Maybe that’s why. Then he adds, “But of course, any guest of Mr. Pinewood is a special guest of ours, Miss. After all, we are all here at his behest.”
My eyebrows inch higher on my forehead, even though I try to keep my expression as neutral as possible. “And why is that?” I ask, hoping I won’t give too much away, or sound like an imposter. After all, Mr. Pinewood’s “special guest” should probably know why she’s so special already. But hey, if he throws me out now, I’m only out one buffet breakfast.
The waiter does look a little confused, but he answers me nonetheless. “Well, since Mr. Pinewood is responsible for running the Woodland Marquis Company, of course.”
My stomach twists into a tight knot. “He’s the owner?” I blurt, before I can help it. “Of this hotel.”
The waiter’s eyebrows rise almost as high as my own. “No, Miss,” he says, and I start to relax in my seat again, until . . . “He owns the entire chain.”
Holy shit.
I knew he was wealthy, of course. No broke guy would throw around diamonds the way he has, not to mention limos and helicopter rides. But the owner of the Woodland Marquis, one of the largest luxury hotel chains in the whole country? I’m gaping at this poor waiter in shock, and bless the guy for not throwing me out of this restaurant on my ass, or assuming I’m some kind of imposter. “I . . . Sorry, of course. I . . .” I stare around wildly for a distraction, and take a hurried gulp of my coffee. It scalds the roof of my mouth, but I ignore it. “Could I get a refill?” I ask, batting my eyes.
The waiter just looks relieved for an excuse to move away from my table. He bows again and hurries toward the service entrance, leaving me alone to contemplate this new development.
The more I think about it, though, the more it explains. The penthouse suite must be his family’s, or maybe just his? I pull my phone out of my tiny clutch purse, too small to hold anything but the phone itself and my house keys. Time to break my google block on this guy.
Pierce Pinewood brings up a stunning number of results. To judge by the image section, they’re all definitely him—I waste a little bit of time staring at his chiseled jaw, his perfect body in a couple of candid swimsuit shots by paparazzi, and way too many icy blue stares from the covers of huge magazines—mags even I recognize. Hell, Time listed him as one of their 30 Under 30 to watch a couple of years ago—though judging by his age and the article’s date, he’s just over 30 now. 32 to be exact.
That screenname just keeps getting more and more obvious, I think with a faint smirk.
But maybe that was the point. Maybe he wanted people on that site to know who he was. Why? I shake my head. The reveal of Pierce’s real position in the world certainly explains why he has limos and helicopters and penthouse suites in hotels at his beck and call wherever he goes, but if anything, it confuses me even more as to why he was on the Sugar Babies website to begin with. And especially why he picked me, out of all the thousands upon thousands of girls available there.
I shake my head. Pierce is the kind of guy who would never need to buy a woman in his life. They must throw themselves at him, hoping for a long-term time-share in his luxurious lifestyle, rather than any kind of cold hard cash repayment. I toy with the bracelets on my wrists, then reach up to trace the outline of the diamond choker.