I smiled on hearing his accent: British, posh, desirable.
He ended up riding in the elevator with me. He was tall, rakish, a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair. Maybe fifty, if that.
“Good run?” he asked once we’d pressed our respective buttons.
“Very. Yes.”
“Where did you go?”
I told him.
“You did all that? This morning? Bloody hell, that shows dedication. Perhaps if you’d given me a wake-up call, I would have come with you.”
I laughed at that. He had kind eyes, an inviting smile.
“I didn’t get the wake-up call, I’m afraid.”
“Tomorrow…” I teased.
“Tomorrow,” he chuckled. “Room 4722. I’ll be waiting.”
“All right.”
“If my wife answers, just hang up.”
“Okay,” I laughed. “Will do.” We’d reached the forty-sixth floor. The doors were opening.
“You’re beautiful,” he said suddenly, as if he could not help himself.
“Thank you.”
“You have a lovely day.”
“You, too.”
I was still smiling when I got to my room. The idea that I could be pouring sweat and still attractive/attracted to middle-aged businessmen in hotel elevators. Perhaps it was the Lululemon.
I’d barely gotten my sneakers off when the girls came barging in, hysterical. They were yelping and jumping and speaking over each other. Apparently, they’d had the distinct pleasure of bumping into one Simon Ludlow and his personal trainer at the pool. And after they chatted him up and explained who they were, Simon had invited them to join him for a quick jaunt to the Apple Store and lunch before he had to begin prepping for this evening’s premiere. And could they pretty please, with icing on top, go?
“Absolutely not.”
“Mom, his bodyguard is going to be there.”
“I don’t care, Isabelle. Simon is twenty-one years old. Why is he inviting you to lunch?”
“It’s just pizza.”
“Actually, he turned twenty-two last month,” Georgia added, as if that would somehow help their case.
“No.No.”
“Mom,please. He only invited us after I told him you were my mom. He was just trying to be nice.Please.”
“He’s like the sweetest one,” Georgia said, and at that point I realized they were wearing makeup. What the hell?
“He might even be gay,” Isabelle added. Her attempt to soften the blow?
Georgia threw her a look. “He is not gay. Simon is like theleastgay.”
