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“You’re changing the subject.”
“I’m not,” I insisted. “I was just trying to explain myself, and then I remembered the flowers.”
Harper studied me in the flickering light that filtered into the backseat from the streetlights we passed. He smelled like expensive cologne, and his gaze was unnervingly direct. I looked away after a few moments and busied myself with my phone. After another pause, he asked, “Where are we staying?”
“The Mandarin Oriental. That’s still one of your favorite hotels, right?”
He answered my question with another one. “Is your room even on the same floor as mine?”
“I doubt it. I booked you the Central Park West Suite because you once told me you spent a month there and really enjoyed it, and I got myself a single. Standard rooms are usually on lower floors.”
“That suite is as big as an apartment, and it has two bedrooms. I totally get the personal space thing, but doesn’t it make sense for both of us to be in the same place this weekend? That way, we can get a lot of work done when we’re not at the TV studio.”
I finished upgrading my return flight to first class, then slipped the phone into the pocket of my flannel shirt and turned to look at Harper. “You don’t really have much to do. I’m just going to keep plugging away at your emails, and I’ll let you know whenever I find something that needs your attention.”
“Even so.”
I asked, “Is this about wanting to be productive, or is it that you hate being alone in hotels?”
“The second thing,” he admitted.
He flashed me that million-dollar smile of his, complete with a matched set of dimples, and I sighed and said, “If you promise to stop doing that, then I’ll share the suite with you.”
“What am I doing?”
“Being charming.”
He frowned at me. “What do you mean?”
“You’re intentionally laying on the charm to get me to do what you want.”
“I literally just smiled at you.”
“I know. Quit it.”
He raised a brow and said, “You’re an odd duck, Phee.”
“Don’t turn it around on me.”
“But it’s your issue, not mine. I’m just being friendly.”
We continued lightly bickering all the way to the hotel, then finally shut up when we stepped onto the sidewalk. The Mandarin Oriental occupied the top floors of the massive Time Warner complex, and it was both elegant and luxurious. It always surprised me that Harper liked staying there since it was fairly quiet and private, as opposed to a see-and-be-seen hotspot.
While the bellman took care of our luggage, we cut through the elegant black and tan lobby. Along the way, Harper got a text, grinned, and showed me his phone. Kel was apparently making good on his promise of frequent updates, because he’d sent a picture of Loco sitting on one of the lounge chairs in the backyard with a salad in front of her. A bunch of lettuce was sticking out of her beak, and Kel had actually tied a little bib around her scrawny neck. He was clearly going for major brownie points with the boss.
I was glad I’d agreed to stay with Harper when we got upstairs, because the suite was a thing of beauty. Like the rest of the hotel, it was tasteful and sophisticated with a tan, white, and black color scheme. This particular suite also featured plum-colored accents in the curtains, throw pillows, and the round area rug that was situated in front of the big, C-shaped couch. Best of all was the view of New York’s dazzling skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The two bedrooms were on opposite sides of the spacious living room, and each had its own bathroom, so I really didn’t have to worry about a lack of privacy. I went into the larger of the two bedrooms, unpacked Harper’s suit and button-down shirts, and inspected them for wrinkles before hanging them in his closet. When I also unpacked his socks, shoes, and the pair of ties, he muttered, “It’s like you’re laying out my clothes for the first day of kindergarten.”
“I just want to make sure you’re all set for tomorrow. This is an important gig.”
“I know, but we’re just going to have to pack it all up again in the morning.” He kicked off his sneakers and looked around, then found the room service menu and changed the subject. “Let’s order some food. You must be starving, because I know they didn’t feed you dinner back in coach.”
“It’s almost eleven p.m.”
“But we’re running on west coast time, so not really.”
He tried to hand me the menu, but I said, “See if they can make me some steamed fish and vegetables.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“Suit yourself, but my personal trainer is two thousand miles away, so fuck the diet.” He picked up the phone and proceeded to order my entrée, along with a mini cheese pizza, a side of fries, and a slice of cheesecake.
