“Asshole,” I yell after him with a smirk. He turns and blows me a kiss and a wave before walking across the suite to his room, and I’m relieved. I fooled him well enough; they’ll go to dinner now, and he probably won’t remember anything about it later.
I hope he won’t. I don’t want to talk about this, not with him or anyone. I want to ignore it.
I watch him walk into the room with Felicity before shutting my door quickly. Leaning back against it for a moment, I steady my nerves and reel a little from shock as I exhale slowly.
Who the hell did he think he was, calling me after all this time?
I stifle the lump of emotion caught in my throat and shake it off. I won’t succumb to tears over that scum bag; he deserves none of my tears nor my time.
***
My shower is hot, steamy, and satisfying. I come out flushed and breathless and think I should have gone easy on the temperature gauge. My head is swimming a little, and I’m still feeling fragile.
I haul on my nightdress and robe, pad out into the empty suite, and instantly know that I’m alone. I had been in the bathroom an hour and knew they must have left for dinner. It felt good to be able to chill out and have some alone time, though. I’ve mulled over the call enough in the shower, and I’m tired of thinking about it. I’ll have to screen my calls from now on or maybe change my number. I’ll need to call my mother as I have an inkling that she gave it to him, and it pisses me off immensely.
Always a sucker for a goddamn sob story. She needs to get a grip.
I have been on the social pages a lot over the last few weeks on Jake’s arm at various functions. I guess he figures I’ve hit a goldmine and wants to see what he can get out of me. I bitterly push the bile down in my throat as I think that all I am to him is a meal ticket. My heart aches with the reality of it.
He’s a prick. Money-grabbing asshole.
He had never wanted to be a part of my life, except when he thought my mother could throw some cash his way, and now here he is again, sleazing his way out of his dark hole once more.
I’m not my mother; I’m not some sap who can be pulled around by a garbled confession, asking to get back in my life.
I pace to the bar in the corner and slam my hands on the counter, that old familiar rage in me creeping out, teen Emma’s rage. I hate him for that; I hate him for making that part of me resurface, a part of me I try so hard to quell.
I reach out to a crystal decanter and pour myself a large brandy. I’m not one for hard liquor, but I need to quell all these emotions funneling up my throat. I need to get back in control and relax a little.
***
I don’t know how many brandies I drink, but the hotel floor gets really comfy and plush. It feels a little warm, and I enjoy the soothing music from the surround sound. Jake’s playlist is on repeat; he has an eclectic taste in music, but I like it. Every song makes me think of him, and I wish he were here on the floor beside me, enjoying this feeling.
If I don’t move, my head doesn’t swim too much, but it feels kind of nice, like lying on a raft on the sea and drifting away into oblivion. I like the way my hair fans out, and I can stroke its silkiness mingled with fluffy carpet, my woozy senses heightened.
I never realized how soft my hair was before now. I should leave it loose more often.
The ceiling looks fantastic from down here too. Smooth like whipped cream that’s been spread out over an expensive cake.
I am distracted by a distant noise behind my head; as I tilt back to look upside down, two pairs of feet come into view. Tall black stilettos on gazelle-like legs are standing next to a pair of expensive black shoes and tailored pants. Even his shoes and legs are screwable!
They have returned!
I giggle naughtily at being caught in such a compromising way. I wonder what they will make of drunk Emma lying sprawled on the floor. I find it highly amusing in my current state and have no cares about it at all.
It’s semi-dark with the lights on dim, and I can see they’re walking toward me; maybe they can’t see me. I chuckle again with mischief and pretend to be invisible.
If I close my eyes, I’m sure they will go right on by; maybe they might even walk over me.
“Emma?” His deep tone catches my attention.
“Jake,” I smile, opening my eyes again in a fluttery devilish way.
Oops, busted. He found me.
“Emma, are you drunk?” he says, sounding husky with amusement, and I laugh in an answer as he moves towards me and stands over me, looking down.
Oh boy, is it a breathtaking view!
His tie is draped casually around his shoulders, his white shirt open at the collar, his jacket discarded somewhere already.
Why did I never notice just how fuckable my boss is?
I hiccup. It feels funny in my throat and sounds so weird that it makes me giggle again.
I like being drunk; I’m lighter and more fun. It makes me think Jake is sex-worthy, and that’s pretty hilarious. I don’t find men a turn-on at all, so that’s even funnier … well, except Jake! He’s the exception to the rule in that everything he does is panty-warming and alluring, even standing staring at me as he is now.
I’m hit with a strange sound. It’s me! I’m laughing! I guess I find myself amusing; I sound so detached and not here.
I must be really drunk.
“Emma, I think you better get in bed. Come on.” He leans down to catch my hand across my stomach, but I leave it floppy and weighted, so he gets nowhere to pull at it.
I don’t want to hold hands today, Carrero. You’re looking a bit too Casanova tonight.
He tugs when he picks it up again, but I refuse to cooperate, deliberately going limp and weighing myself down.
Nope, I’m not going to hold hands with my hot boss while he’s swooning around looking sexy on me.
I giggle again, too heavy and too comfy to move. It’s nice here. It feels good. I want to sleep on my fluffy floor.
“Wan sssstay right here,” I slur. I can hear it now, and it amuses me even more. I’ve never heard myself slur before, never allowed myself to drink to the point of slurring.
I spot my handheld in front of me and prod dementedly at the air as if I’m trying to make a point, fascinated at the uncoordinated motion of my limb as it waves above me. Everything feels dreamlike and warm, like these are someone else’s hands.
He frowns at me, and I have the urge to poke him between the eyebrows. They are too even and straight to be authentic.
“You prefer the hotel rug to a bed?” He can’t speak without smiling, so I guess he finds me entertaining this way.
He has a beautiful smile. No! A gorgeous smile!
“Hmmm, mmm hmmm.” That was almost an answer, I think. God, why did I drink so much brandy?
Everything is swaying and soft. If I close my eyes, maybe I’ll hear something soothing like the ocean, like I’m on the ocean.
Oh, yeah, the sperm donor and all those tidal waves of emotions I was trying to drown.