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Needling her in person is merely her punishment. I know she received my email. I know she ignored it. No one’s ever kept me waiting.
“You can just bring them to the doorway then,” Evelyn pitches hopefully, once again following reluctantly in my shadow.
I could… But I won’t. “I am not your servant, Ms. King.”
That draws a scoff from her as I withdraw my card key from my pocket and swipe it to open the door. The first thing she sees is her suitcase lying in the middle of the foyer, still partially open.
“You went through my stuff.” Her tone is flat, but the expression in her gaze when I look at her from over my shoulder is anything but.
I shrug, well aware of how the action only irritates her further. She marches past me, her chin darting into the air, and does her best to repack her belongings. I know to her that every second spent in this suite is one too many, but she can’t seem to bloody help herself. When she sees the state of the clothing, she sighs and sinks down on her knees to carefully re-fold every garment and arrange them neatly in the case. She’s methodical. Efficient. I’m almost impressed by how quickly she creates order from chaos.
“Something is missing.” She shakes her head and runs her fingers through every garment. “A pair of…”
Her eyes drift to mine, horror burgeoning in them before I even reach into my pocket.
“Oh. Here.” I curl my fingers around the bit of lace, allowing the garment to dangle from my fingers.
She stares at my hand for a full five minutes before swallowing hard and slamming the lid of her suitcase closed without reaching for the knickers. “Keep them. Obviously, we have the same taste.”
“Not quite.” I raise the underwear to my eye level, observing the plain cut and texture. “Black doesn’t suit you—” She clenches her jaw. “I much prefer the red.”
“I’m sure you do.” She stands, hefting her suitcase as she does. Spotting her wallet and planner on a nearby end table, she proceeds to snatch those up as well, tucking them both beneath her arm. “Well, I hope they fit, Mr. Bellamy,” she says before heading for the door. “Enjoy.”
I clear my throat before she can even reach for the doorknob. “I believe you are forgetting something…”
“Oh.” She digs through her wallet for a checkbook and balances it against the back of the door while juggling a pen in her free hand. “How much did you give him? I’ll make out the check for the exact amount—”
“So that the check can bounce, and you disappear again? I think not, Evelyn.”
She sighs, her shoulders stiffening. “Unlike you, I strive to keep my word—”
“Unlike me?” She shrugs off the warning in my tone, still waiting for a figure to jot down.
“You aren’t exactly reliable, Mr. Bellamy, and I’ve had one hell of a day already. I really don’t—”
“You’vehad a hell of a day?” I’ve moved toward her without realizing it. She flinches but doesn’t budge an inch from her position by the door.
“Yes,” she snaps. “So, if you just tell me a damn amount, I can—”
“Funny. I’ve had one hell of a day myself,” I admit, picturing that bastard Adrian Riley, and my mother’s persistent hounding. Not to mention the rather eventful morning. “A very long, veryhardday.”
Her breath hitches in her throat. The next second, she shoves her checkbook into her bag and fumbles for the door handle. “I’ll send you the cash in the morning—”
“I don’t think so, Evelyn.” I smell roses when I come up behind her and place my hand on the door near hers, keeping it shut.
She scrambles out of my reach, even if the action takes her farther from the exit. Given the haunted look in her eye, I wouldn’t be surprised if she considers jumping out of the window a viable option.
“You’re an ass,” she declares, her tone laced with steel.
I frown. “I thought we had already established this. During our conversation this morning,” I add, in case she forgot.
Her cheeks redden. Her lips part. She hasn’t forgotten. “That was…” She apparently doesn’t find the right words to describe it. She grits her teeth together instead and rolls her eyes as if anything before this moment was beneath her to discuss.
“Unfinished,” I state when she says nothing else in return. “I never did hear that last part—”
“Stop it.”
“When you seemed to be in the middle of begging me to… Well, I think my memory’s a little fuzzy on what, Ms. King.”
