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Pajama Party
Before I get the chance to ask him to turn around to preserve my modesty, he does it of his own accord. He dims the lights and faces the wall. It’s all an act, of course, with those huge mirrors on the wall. Knowing he is watching me, I take my time to strip, broadening my shoulders and sucking in my stomach to give him the best view possible. I tie my hair up so it won’t get wet, all the while showing off my boobs.
Just as I finish, I catch his eye in the mirror, and this time it’s his turn to have some color on his cheeks. I climb as elegantly as I can into the warm bubbling water. I say “elegantly,” but all I mean is that I try to not stumble in and break something, especially after the cuvée choking incident.
The bath water feels so good. It’s the perfect temperature, and it smells … expensive. Some kind of overpriced designer mountain bath salts, I’m sure. The kind they punt along with copper skin rollers and Himalayan crystal yoni eggs.
I pick up my glass again and make sure my nipples aren’t showing … yet.
“Are you decent?” he asks.
“Is that a trick question?”
He chuckles. My god, I love it when he chuckles. I’m no comedienne, but it feels really good when a billionaire laughs at your substandard wit.
He turns and takes me in. There is definitely a glint of longing in his eyes, like the flame of one of the candles. Even in the dim light, I see it. My own desire makes me take a small breath.
“How is the water?” he asks, not taking his eyes off me.
“It’s wonderful,” I reply. “I didn’t realize how … stiff … my body was.”
“Well, you did have a rather nasty fall,” he says.
I wait for him to offer to rub my shoulders or wash my back, but he just stares, and I can feel that chemistry building again. That unique stream of electricity that runs between us.
I can’t stand it.
It’s too much, so I change the subject.
I take a sip of the chilled champagne, this time without choking. “What were you doing there?”
He blinks. “Where?”
“At the protest,” I reply.
“Coincidence,” he says, looking away.
Liar.
“And the blasts?” I ask. “Let me guess: also a coincidence.”
“I’m watching my security feed for updates,” he replies. “So far, they haven’t identified the cause of the explosions. An expert will weigh in. No doubt the authorities will want to be involved. The blasts were small, thank god. Industrial-sized fireworks, really. The important thing is that no one was badly injured.”
Anxiety suddenly floods my body. Becks! I’d been so lulled by this strange place that I hadn’t been thinking clearly. “Shit!” I say, nearly dropping my glass into the bubbling water. “I need to let people know I’m okay! My best friend will be?—”
“It’s done,” he says, calmly.
I frown at him. “What do you mean, it’s done? How can it be done if I haven’t done it?”
“I took the liberty,” he says, not apologizing.
“Rude,” I reply. Obnoxious, really.
“You could just thank me.”
My jaw drops. “Thank you? For going through my phone?”
“Well.” He draws in a breath and takes a sip, looking supremely arrogant. “You were unconscious.”
