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Something about the rain lightly barreling down on the cab as I ride to the restaurant Thorin picked out for tonight is calming. I saw him Wednesday for our weekly charity event, then Friday for lunch, now Saturday night for a date once again before we have to endure my family’s terrible dinner tomorrow at Nana Noel’s.
Neon lights pass by, highlighted more than usual as the droplets of rain send the color cascading through each other. The music in the cab is low, unusual for New Yorkers. Then again, Thorin sent this cab to me, and it’s far posher than the stereotypical yellow cabs most see zooming through the city with little care for pedestrians.
Before long, the cab is sliding into a drop off zone in front of the Ravenscroft Hotel flagship site. The canopy stretches clear out to the street and a doorman opens the door before beckoning me out. I offer him a grateful smile as I step under the walkway, water sloshing around me but not on me.
Thank goodness for small mercies in New York.
Walking down the pathway, another doorman opens the main door to the lobby. Several guests are milling about, but I head towards the back hall, around a large, grandeur fountain in the middle of the floor. It should feel tacky, but somehow it works with the overall European vibe the hotel seems to offer, though I doubt they have fountains inside across the pond.
Smiling as I spy Thorin leaning up against the wall, his phone in his hand. Tonight he’s in a deep navy suit with a black shirt. The dark tones, mixed with the dreary weather send my hormones fluttering in all directions. He’s dressed like his mood.
I quickly realize he’s not looking at me, but glaring down at the device as though it’s personally insulting him. Stepping close enough to bump my arm into his, I raise a brow in question as he turns his attention to me.
“We should go to my office first,” Thorin murmurs. “Something happened.”
Well, doesn’t that sound ominous? “Alright,” I answer easily since it’s not like I can complain about being hungry. He takes my hand, alleviating some of my anxiety, and pulls me along towards the elevator bank. “Your office isn’t on the main floor?”
“I specifically designed it so it wasn’t,” Thorin murmurs. “The second floor boasts several conference rooms and other business specific needs such as private offices. It also means nosy people can’t wander the main floor and pry into my office easily.”
Ah, now it makes sense. I never would have thought about the ability to have more secure privacy to work than moving an office to a higher floor inside a hotel. “Isn’t there a headquarters building your father works at?”
“Yes, but I prefer to work from here. Less people butting into my life.” We step into the elevator a moment later.
After the whirlwind the media has taken to divulging their inner thoughts about Thorin the supposed drug abuser, I don’t blame him for keeping his distance from a place that doesn’t feel safe. I couldn’t imagine not going into work, but I also have Detrick to act like a guard dog when the situation is warranted. “What happened that we need to be here?” I ask right as the doors slide open. The hallway in front of us is barren of anyone.
Thorin steps next to a set of doors, placing a keycard over a receiver that blinks green before we step inside. “Typically I have my door unlocked during the day so my assistant can come and go as she needs,” he explains. “But since it’s the weekend, I try to keep everything locked besides conference rooms, but only because those get booked out months in advance.”
I wonder how many people try to schmooze clients by bringing them to Ravenscroft Hotel’s personal business floor to cater to the wealthy men visiting from out of town? I shake the idea off as I look around his office, surprised at how homey it feels, yet still comes across quite masculine and professional. The sitting area up front contains several couches, oversized but not taking over the space, and beyond is his office with his desk and several filing cabinets.
Stepping towards his desk, Thorin lifts the phone and dials a number, placing it on speaker as it rings several times. He offers me an apologetic smile. “I received a notification a moment ago about a news story from my assistant, Holly. I think we need to inform King prior to going to dinner so that he has ample time to work with it.”
Another news article? Something tells me this one is just as unflattering as the many articles that have been published before. I nod, settling down onto one of the chairs and leaning back in it. As much as I dislike gossip putting a halt to our evening, I understand the need to nip it in the bud before it spreads like wildfire; whatever the article even says.
Several moments slip by before King’s rough voice answers. “Why are you calling me from your office on a Saturday?”
“Because I have a sociopath trying to invade my life,” Thorin deadpans, catching me by surprise.
Who is he talking about? What sociopath?
“Vicky Elmer just uploaded an interview with Jessica Lancaster to her website,” Thorin states.
King swears from the other line. I resist the urge to do the same.
“Apparently Jessica is doing a tell-all interview where she describes my betrayal with Bex as some sort of scheme on Bex’s end to ride on my coattails of money. She even mentions Bex’s father being so disgusted with his daughter’s behavior that he cut her off. None of which is true.”
Thorin isn’t looking at me, but I stare in bewilderment at him. There are no words to describe the tumultuous feelings rioting inside of me. Shock. Anger. Hurt. The fact the bitches dragged my father into this is appalling. He’ll be outraged and no doubt find some way to spin this against me.
“And how her love for me never left, spoiling her engagement she couldn’t continue with as she feels we’re destined to be together.” Thorin’s voice grows louder and angrier the more he talks. “She makes it sound like we’re fucking seeing each other, King.”
“Vicky Elmer is a viper who will disclose any news article she thinks will sell,” King growls. “We’ll set the record straight. I’ll inform the PR to contact the news and do a quick aired segment about the truth of the matter as well as your and Bex’s friendship–”
“Relationship,” Thorin immediately corrects and my heart squeezes in my chest. His brown eyes look up suddenly, as if remembering I’m sitting a mere few feet from him. The hard glint in his eyes softens as his mouth quirks up at the side. “Our relationship,” Thorin repeats, softer this time.
King barely misses a beat. “Your current relationship with Bex,” he amends. “I’ll ensure to paint Jessica as the lowly attention-seeking socialite she desperately is and how only fodder magazines listen to those types, spewing nonsense because they have no idea how to report on factual affairs.”
On one hand, it is kind of tragic to know Jessica lowered herself to doing something so wholly unfair to Thorin just for attention. On the other hand, I want to shove her into oncoming traffic for dragging me into whatever internal competition she is having with herself. She exudes mean girl energy like no one I’ve ever met.
“Are you alright?” King asks.
