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“I have no idea,” I tell her.
She’s not put off by my sharp tone and runs out from behind the desk. “He’ssingle, you know. Aren’t you single too?”
“Nope.” I’ve never been anythingbutsingle. Still, I don’t have the slightest difficulty finding a man to use for a little while when I’m interested in getting some exercise.
Lately, I haven’t been interested.
A cock just doesn’t astonish me as much as it used to. Even the most impressive one takes second place to a long shower and a date with Maestro, my favorite vibrator. Perhaps that’s just maturity talking.
Ashley is still babbling about Conner, her hero and masturbation fantasy, when I walk out on her.
I left my bad feelings about Conner Wiseman behind years ago, along with the rest of my feelings about him.
And I have no interest in a reunion.
As for tonight, I’ll stay out of his way if he stays the fuck out of mine.
Chapter3
Haven
“Wait.” I sidestep the overeager teenage valet when he practically snatches the keys out of my hand.
He trots on my heels as I open the trunk and withdraw the large box wrapped in silver paper. Once I have the box in hand, I toss the kid my keys and accept the claim ticket he’s waving around.
While I’ve passed the swank Palace Hotel thousands of times, I’ve never had a reason to step inside. The hotel is a landmark of high maintenance chic and pretention. A celebrity destination. I think I remember hearing that a president or two has slept here. Stepping into the lobby is an assault on the senses.
An assault onmysenses anyway.
Most people would appreciate the cathedral ceilings, the glittery chandeliers and the Renaissance-inspired wall art. Everything I see is a visual scream of ‘NOTICE ME, I’M CLASSY!’
Nothing wrong with that, nothing at all.
It’s just that I can’t squash the odd sense that I’m standing in a place where I don’t belong.
There’s no shortage of people milling around but none of them look ready to participate in a wedding. Long corridors beckon from every direction like a wonderland maze. The front desk is swamped with guests and I don’t have the patience to stand in a line.
Nearby, some dude dressed like an old fashioned bellhop, silly hat and all, hangs out beside a gigantic wheeled luggage rack and examines the gold buttons on his blazer.
I clear my throat. “Excuse me.”
He focuses with some effort. His eyes are two shiny marbles and he sways on his heels, unable to remain still. I know the look of a man who’s juiced to the gills. That shit, whether it’s pills or powder, isn’t something I’d ever touch myself. However, one feature of my line of work is that I get to spend time with plenty of people who do.
“You’ve got bags, huh? I’ll get your bags.” He’s already starting to wheel the luggage cart.
“I don’t have any bags. I’m not a hotel guest.”
He stops. Scratches his head. His hat tumbles off and lands on the floor. He stares at it.
“Hey.” I snap my fingers to get his attention. “I’m here for a wedding. Can you point to where I might find it?”
He presses his lips together in confusion. He still hasn’t picked up his hat.
Just when I’m sure that talking to him is a complete waste of time, he points a gloved finger to the left. “That way. It’s that way. I’m sure it’s that way.”
Good enough. It’s only when I’ve exited the lobby that I realize I forgot to thank him.
A soothing smell permeates the air, a blend of citrus and flowers, too universal to be someone’s perfume. Must be pumped through the vents. I ought to copy this idea at the club. The stench of liquor breath, cologne and sweat leaves a lot to be desired.
