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I bite my lip. “I think I’m okay.”
“Well...” He clears his throat as he grabs a napkin off the stack nearby and scribbles something on it. “If you change your mind, let me know.”
He discreetly slides the napkin toward me.
You. Me. Tonight, it says.
No one has to know.
My breath hitches. Obviously, I knew what Oliver was implying when he asked to make my stay more satisfying. It’s not the first time I’ve been hit on in a Botsford Plaza bar, but I’ve never had it framed quite like this before.
Like a dirty little secret.
No one has to know.
Around here, everyone knows everyone’s business. That’s just the way things go down at the Plaza in Vegas, especially with Ira Botsford the Gossip King working security. One little wink in the bar gets noticed and the next morning, everyone is talking about who’s boning whom.
I glance around the crowded space. It doesn’t look like anybody noticed Oliver’s sneaky napkin trick. He looks forward, not drawing any attention to it as he sips his beer.
I pick up the pen while I study Oliver in the dim lights beside me, cataloging all the features of his attractive face. Big blue eyes. A chiseled, clean-shaven jawline. Dark hair just long enough to tickle his eyebrows. Thick shoulders and strong hands. It definitely wouldn’t be the worst notch in my bedpost, that’s for sure.
But this is Oliver Black. The building manager. The boss around here, though not technically my boss. We work in different departments. I’m corporate. He’s not. There’s no official company ethics rule against it other than my own. Don’t date co-workers. It’s always a disaster.
I glance into those icy blue eyes again and pause.
Don’t date co-workers, sure, but a one-night stand isn’t a date, right? It’s just emotionless sex — which sounds absolutely amazing right about now. The perfect way to get over… uh… what’s-his-face?
Man, I really deserved to get dumped.
Oliver peeks at me again. Sweet. Sexy. Patient.
I could definitely do worse. And, as previously mentioned, no one has to know, right?
I shouldn’t.
I really shouldn’t.
I jot down 2508 on the napkin and leave it there. “Thanks for the drink, Oli,” I say as I stand up.
One quick glance at the napkin and Oliver smirks. “You’re welcome, Ms. Landon,” he says, discreet yet victorious.
“Have a good night,” I add casually.
He nods. “I’m sure I will.”
I squeeze out of the bar the way I came and ride the golden elevator to my room on the 25th floor.
Carpe diem.
Isn’t that what people say?
CHAPTER 2
PAIGE
four years later . . .
“A little to the left,” I say, making a quick nudging motion with my hands.
