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The door opened, and instead of a hallway in front of us, there was a living room. “What is this?” I asked.
“The penthouse.” He pointed to a table that hadn’t been visible until we walked farther inside. “There is your food.”
“My food?” I gasped.
Shaking his head, he said, “Ours.”
“Since you’re distracted, I’ll eat, then crash. Which bedroom is mine?”
His eyes opened wide. “Bloody hell. They put us in the wrong suite.”
“What does that mean?”
Beau pulled his phone out and walked several steps away. “Right. Many thanks.” I heard him say before setting the phone down. “Sorry, the Sultan of Brunei booked the rest of the suites some time ago. The concierge said he ‘finagled’ this one for me.” He shook his head again. “Finagled? Such a strange word.”
That statement was a perfect example of why I rolled my eyes so often when I was with Beau.
“Do you mind? Truly?” he asked. “We’ve, err, shared a bed before. Last night, for example.”
I said I didn’t, but I did mind. This felt different, not that I could explain why. I was saved from saying more by a beeping noise. “What’s that?”
“It means someone wants to access the penthouse via the lift. Most likely, the guys are delivering Wanda’s stuff along with our bags.”
He pressed a button on the underside of a desk.
I shook my head again.
“What?” Beau asked.
“All this…it’s, you know, wild,” I said, cradling my cat close to me.
“What are you worried about?” he asked.
“Worried?”
Beau stepped closer and scratched behind Wanda’s ear, then rubbed her tummy. “I shouldn’t tell you, because it will make you self-conscious, but you always hold your cat this way when you are.”
Wanda squirmed, and I let her jump out of my arms. “When I am, what?” Beau didn’t take a step back, so I did.
“Worried.”
“What I am is hungry.”
He waved his arm in the direction of the table that was laden with charcuterie, fruit, and bread. “We can order something else if you’d prefer.”
“No. This looks, um, good.” I hated how tentative my voice sounded as much as how uncomfortable I felt.
When the valet arrived with our bags and all the stuff Beau bought for Wanda, I found a bathroom and washed my hands. As I dried them, I studied myself in the mirror.
It would’ve been easy to say I was worried about the inheritance. As in, whether it was real or not, and if it was, what that entailed. That alone was certainly enough to make me feel anxious. However, it wasn’t the thing that made me want to snuggle my cat. It was Beau.
As silly as I told myself it was, things felt different between us. Maybe because I was in his space instead of the other way around. In my apartment, I was in charge. If he annoyed me, I could tell him to leave. Half the time, he didn’t listen, but eventually—if I pushed hard enough—he’d go.
Here, I felt trapped. It wasn’t just his hotel room; it was his damned hotel. And his car. And his money paying for everything.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said to my reflection. “Turn around and go home.” There had to be a bus station in Las Vegas, and while I didn’t have a lot of money, I certainly had enough to pay for a ticket plus a car service to get me there. But what about Wanda? Were cats allowed on buses? They were allowed on planes, not that I’d be traveling that way—ever.
Beau was waiting in the hallway near the entrance to the bathroom when I came out, looking as though he’d heard the conversation I had with myself.
