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It’s been four days since news of Royce’s arrest broke. Four days of paparazzi stationed outside the hotel and my penthouse. One thing I did not anticipate was the lack of opportunity to see my girl. Never did I think I would resort to facetiming a woman just to see her, but I have called Lauren up each night. I’m whipped, and oddly, I like it. Last night only formed another roadblock, with it being The Luxury Hotel Awards. Lauren had already sent a message saying goodnight by the time I had returned home, so I'm even more perturbed that I haven’t spoken to her.
The constant pressure to build a case, to manipulate the field, and to find an angle to bring everything my father built to fruition has come to a cease-fire. And with no Lauren, I'm at a loss for what to do with myself. She never mentioned my nightmare and never once viewed me with pity. The nightmares are back, tormenting my mind and infecting what small amount of quiet I could find in my sleep.
Olivia refused a therapist when I started to wake, screaming. She didn’t want anyone to know the truth that lay behind the doors of Carson Court. To the outside, our life was as elegant and perfect as the gates that kept our family mansion secure from the public. As soon as I was old enough to seek support myself, I found therapy in the only thing I knew could help me: revenge. It irks me that I'm close to my goal, and my mind is reverting to old ways.
When I arrived at the hotel this morning, Lauren wasn’t at the front desk, but I know she is working today. I scan the cameras and frown, unsure where she is. Picking up my phone, I tap out a message.
Morning, pretty girl x
It takes a further few minutes to locate her. She is down at the health and wellbeing centre, assisting the staff with something on the computer. As soon as she can excuse herself, she steps away and looks at her phone.
How was the awards show? Win anything? x
I lean back and kick my feet up, typing as I watch her huddled against the wall, smiling down at her phone.
It was the same as always. Tiring. Two awards.
Her eyes do a quick sweep of the corridor. Then she is typing furiously, her mouth curved up in a knowing smile.
Want to know a secret?
For the most part, I don’t like secrets, but I like the smile on her face, so I send a question mark, grinning like a fool too.
I’m not wearing any panties.
I swing up out of my chair and glare at the screen. I’ve not been inside her for days. I don’t like this secret. My gut flexes, and I watch as she peers down the corridor, her hands eager to respond when I reply.
You’re not being funny
As if she anticipates my response, hers comes through almost immediately.
I’m not joking.
I missed you last night. Don’t taunt me.
I’m scowling down at my phone when Justine knocks and walks in, and I hold my hand up, stopping her from talking. She takes a seat on the sofa and checks her iPad as I wait for my girl to respond.
I’m bare and so wet.
Groaning, I drop my feet and twist the screen of my computer away from my PA. Lauren crosses her ankles, and I know she is telling the truth. Fuck. I need to see her.
You’re playing with fire, Lauren.
Her head tips back, and I can practically hear her husky laugh.
Burns unit, here we come!
She even goes as far as to send a fire emoji, the little minx. I laugh shortly. This woman has got me by the balls. I’m infatuated with her.
“Justine, cancel any meetings for the next hour,” I instruct, my voice tight.
“But we’re meeting wi—”
“Rearrange. Leave me, please.” I don’t look up, but I know she is staring at me, confused. I’ve never dismissed her like this. “Justine,” I warn.
“Of course.”
Get up here now!
