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Chapter One
~ René ~
I zipped around some fancy black town car stopped in the middle of the road and then went up the driveway of the five-star hotel that was my destination. I pulled my Ducati motorcycle off to one side of the driveway when I reached the entrance and cut the engine. It was a Panigale V4 R with 83 lb-ft at 11,500 rpm.
It was a thing of beauty.
I pulled my helmet off and then climbed off my bike. The valet was practically drooling as I walked toward him. "Don't even think about it."
There was no way in hell I was letting some stranger ride my bike. Just wasn't going to happen.
I pulled a wad of cash out of my pocket and peeled off a hundred dollar bill. I tore it in half, giving the valet one half. "You get the other half if my bike is right there when I get out, untouched."
Hopefully, the guy's desire to make an easy hundred bucks was bigger than his desire to ride my bike.
"Yes, sir," the guy said.
We'd see.
I wasn't fazed by the strange looks I received as I strolled inside the fancy hotel. I was kind of used to them. I had short brown hair, brown eyes, and a slim swimmer’s body.
That wasn't what got me the strange looks. It was the faded jeans, black leather jacket, heavy-duty black biker boots, and the piercing in one eyebrow that usually did it. It freaked people out, especially those in the upper crust of high society.
Fuck if I cared.
I might occasionally bump shoulders with these people, but I didn't live with them, I wasn't in a relationship with any of them, and I seriously doubted a single one of them would be caught dead in the neighborhood I lived in.
So, their opinions didn't matter to me.
Granted, I wouldn't do anything that would embarrass my parents, but that didn't mean I had to get all nice and cozy with these people. Been there, done that. I'd grown up in high society.
Explained why I lived on the lower east side.
I grunted when I bumped into someone. Or more precisely, he bumped into me. He was talking on his phone and had plowed right into me.
"Watch where you're going," the man snapped before continuing on his way.
I so wanted to flip him off.
This was another reason why I didn't hobnob with the rich and famous. They were some of the most pretentious people I'd ever met.
Entitled. That was the word I wanted. They were spoiled rotten and felt the world owed them simply because they were breathing, and god forbid someone from my neighborhood breathe the same air. They just might have a stroke...or call a cop.
I rolled my eyes and headed for the reception desk.
I had to wait in line behind two other people. One, a woman dressed in a two-piece cream-colored suit, holding a Pomeranian with a pink bow in its hair.
The other person in line was a man in a dark suit. The woman was standing there quietly. The man, however, was snarling at the poor woman behind the reception desk.
"I reserved the presidential suite," he snapped. "I want the presidential suite."
"I'm sorry, sir," the young lady behind the counter said, "but your reservations were for a room with a king-sized bed, not the presidential suite."
"Then upgrade me to the damn presidential suite."
"I can't do that, sir. The presidential suite is already occupied."
I smirked, knowing exactly who was currently occupying the presidential suite. My parents expected the best and were not concerned with paying for it. It wasn't like staying here would put a dent in their bank account, no matter how long they stayed.
