“Don’t look now, but we’re being watched again,” I say through the side of my mouth, leaning in. I find it humorous how people care so much about someone they’ll never know.
“Maybe we should hold hands? For authenticity’s sake?” he suggests, his expression serious.
We’re flanked by a team of security, all of them ensuring no one invades our personal bubble while keeping a comfortable distance.
I nod.
This is literally what I signed up for—to be his fiancée. Public displays of affection are a part of that.
I take Trey’s hand and brush my shoulder against his arm as we stroll unhurried, like a lovely, normal couple enjoying the moment. He looks down at me with a knowing, closed-mouth smile and, for a microsecond, a spark of realness passes through me. Hot then cold. Electric then gone.
Diverting my attention, I focus on the Olympic Mountains in the distance. From here, I’m reminded how tiny we are in the grand scheme of things. Lifetimes from now, no one will know my name. It makes all of life’s big problems and impossible decisions seem almost miniscule. And it gives me all the more reason to do as much good as I can while I’m here.
We grab a quick lunch at a local oyster house before ambling into a vintage bookstore and a handful of charming little shops all lined up in a row. In the end, we’ve amassed a collection of things we don’t need. A first edition Maya Angelou. A crystal candy dish the shape of the Space Needle. A postcard-sized, framed map of the city from 1962. A Babe Ruth autographed baseball card that reminded him of his grandfather’s card collection. A few hundred dollars later, we climb into his rented SUV and head to the hotel.
Buying things I don’t need without giving them serious contemplation isn’t something I’m accustomed to, but Trey does it as if it’s as natural as breathing.
A handful of years back, I received a $2,000 tax return that burned a hole in my pocket for weeks until I finally compromised and splurged on a new pair of shoes before stashing the rest in savings. I imagine a trillion dollars could burn quite the hole if a person let it.
“Westcott,” he says as we turn a corner. His phone is pressed against his ear. I hadn’t heard it vibrate. In fact, I haven’t heard it vibrate once this afternoon. It was also quiet at dinner last night.
That can’t be normal for him …
Did he turn it off—for me?
“Yes,” he says, “that’s fine. Tell them I’ll handle it first thing Monday. And don’t do anything until I get back.”
Trey ends the call, slides his phone out of sight, and clears his throat. “Sorry about that.”
I wave it off. “It’s fine. Work doesn’t stop because you’re out of town.”
I tell myself not to read into any of this, that a man with his upbringing has kindness and good manners in his DNA. He probably treats everyone in his personal life this way. His reputation as a shark in the office is probably nothing more than a tactic that helps him close business deals and keep his employees from stepping out of line. No one respects a pushover.
“Is there anything you’d like to do on your last night here? We fly out first thing in the morning.”
Flashbacks of last night fill my head. My stomach flips at the thought of his tongue flicking between my thighs, and I shift in my seat.
“I’m up for … whatever,” I say, hoping he can read between the lines—and praying his driver and the three security guards with us don’t. In a perfect world, I’d exercise restraint. I’d suggest a museum or a movie, something neutral and unsexy. But last night’s been playing in my mind on a loop all day, and I’ve been craving another release ever since.
It’s Trey’s turn to shift. He loosens his tie, his lips turning up at the side. “Whatever … sounds like a plan.”
Once again, we’re on the same page.
The chauffeur deposits us under a black awning covered in the hotel’s monogram, and the guard in the front seat takes us inside. We board the elevator, and Trey’s fingers trace my lower back before trailing lower. A spray of goose bumps cover my flesh, and I stay still as a statue so as not to capture the guard’s attention.
When we arrive on our floor, a man and a much younger woman are waiting to board. The woman nudges her partner, nodding toward Trey with giant eyes and gaping, overfilled lips. But before they have a chance to say anything, the guard sweeps us away to our room.
The door isn’t halfway closed before he pins me against the wall. Lifting my arms over my head, he captures my wrists in his grip as his mouth trails tingling kisses down my neck. I writhe, heart beating in my throat, barely able to feel the marble floor beneath my weightless body.