Page 18 of Don't Tell

I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, but I don’t dare look at any of them. Mr. Nightingale taps my arm once. I’m not sure what it means. He doesn’t wait to give me an answer. He’s gone before I can even form a thought.

Carmen replaces him by my side. “Oh my god. Girl, what was that about? You didn’t tell me a guest had the hots for you.”

“He doesn’t,” I say, still watching him leave. I need to get him out of my life before he ruins everything. I remember the NDA inmy bag. That’s what he wants, isn’t it? I’ll give it to him then, so he can finally let me be.

“You’re holding out on me, aren’t you? There’s something going on between you two, and you don’t want to tell me about it. Why not? I tell you everything.”

Why won’t people just stay out of my business?

I reach back into the equipment room and grab my cart. “It’s nothing, really. I have to go. I need to clean his room.” I don’t wait for her to respond. I push my cart past her. Before I head to the elevators, I make a stop at the locker room to grab the NDA from my bag.

I walk to the penthouse elevator with the back of my neck on fire. I press the card reader. The doors open, and I step in. The fury is building up inside me. I hold onto it. I’m going to need it.

My reflection stares back at me in the small mirrored box. My eyes burn red with tears streaming from sheer embarrassment or rage. I brush them away, unwilling to let Mr. Nightingale see me with anything but rage.

Having him defend me was embarrassing enough; crying in his suite will send me to the grave.

I don't announce myself when I enter the suite. I use my key and refuse to look at him as I push my cart in. He’s sitting on a couch in the living room. He has been waiting for me; I can tell. The fact that I don't speak throws him off balance.

I go straight to the cleaning. I go to the bathroom because he is not there, and I need to come up with a different approach. The NDA is sitting where my sketchbook used to be. Do I sign it here and thrust it at him? Or do I go out there and confront him?

For now, I focus on scrubbing a sink that is already clean because my hands are shaking, and I cannot — until the shaking stops — hold a bottle of glass cleaner without dropping it.

The shaking does not stop.

I see his face every time I close my eyes. Not the face he wore when he growled at Roger. No. It was the look he gave me after, the feel of his touch. Why is that what’s coming up? I need to be furious. I'm furious.

I go to the bedroom. I make the bed. I straighten a duvet. I lift a pillow. I set it down. I lift it again. I know I'm moving wrong.

Then I hear him come into the room, and the anger returns. Good. I know he is watching me. I will not look up. I finish in no time. I close my cart. I turn it toward the door.

“Suzanne…”

I stop. I let go of the handle and turn around. That’s the opening I needed. I lean down and yank the NDA from the cart. I march over to his desk, snatch a pen from it, and sign.

I thrust it at him. He doesn’t move. The document lands at his feet. “There. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Now, do me a favor and get out of my life.”

“Suzanne…”

“For the love of god, stop saying my name. I’ve given you what you want. Now you know I won’t tell anyone what I saw. You have no reason to be around me anymore. This is done. So you need to leave me alone.”

“Sit down, Suzanne.”

My ear starts ringing. There’s a boiling sensation in my head. If I were a cartoon, smoke would surely start coming out of my ears. “You can’t tell me what to do, and you can keep your dirty money. I don’t want it.”

I grab my cart and start pushing. His hand comes out of nowhere and closes around my wrist.

Why do people keep touching me today? Why won’t they leave me alone?

“Let me go.” I don’t turn around. I stand as still as a statue. “Let me go, Mr. Nightingale, or I’ll scream and — ”

His hand moves to the back of my neck. He angles my face so that I’m looking at him. But there’s one problem. He’s closer than I think. All the anger I feel suddenly flies out of my body. I’m left with a sensation. It bubbles up in the depths of my stomach, in my thighs, and in my chest.

I’m wrong. I feel it everywhere.

He is looking at my mouth.

Oh.