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Intrigue etches his features, but he doesn’t question me. “All right, let’s go then.” He reaches out his hand apologetically, pulling me up.
The room isn’t short of mirrors. Almost everywhere I look, I see myself. Perhaps they’re there to give the illusion that the space is larger than it is, but right now, I loathe being surrounded by the reflections of me—like they were clones waiting to launch an attack on my conscience.
I tuck my breasts back behind my peek-a-boo bodice and fix my hair. I then smooth the creases we left on the bed.
“Do you make your and Raffi’s bed every day?” he asks, watching me.
“Yes, I do. Do you do yours?”
“I used to. Though my discipline has dropped off since my military days,” he confesses. “But mornings when I make my bed usually turn out to be good days. You know, in the old days, the Navy SEAL’s training started with making your own bed.”
“Huh. Start with doing small things in a great way kind of message?”
“Pretty much. There’s this well-known graduation speech from a former SEAL. Admiral McRaven, who said, ‘If you make your bed every morning, you will have accomplished the first task of the day.’”
“I just like things to be tidy, that’s all.”
“Me too. But, consider this. He also said, ‘If by chance you have a miserable day, you’ll come home to a bed that is made.’”
Seeing my slight smile, he knows he’s failed to fascinate me—just like his flying earlier. It’s memorable wisdom, but I don’t think a made bed would feel good to any of us tonight.
As he leads me off the yacht, his phone beeps. He keeps reading the text while telling me, “The prince is running late, and so are Rob and Amber. Come, let’s wait in my office.”
We take our time, meandering hand in hand through the rest of the showroom into another part of the headquarters.
Clayton lets me walk ahead of him, only to observe me. “So you like green? This is the second green dress you’ve worn with me.”
“Jade color. It matches my bracelet.”
“Of course.” He extends his hand, and like a magnet, I take it without pause. He then draws me to him, kissing me even before he closes his office door.
“Ahem.” A woman turns up. “Sorry Mr. Hartley. I thought you were in the conference room.”
We say hello to each other with a handshake. Her name is Wanda. Clayton is not as predictable as I thought. I like this assistant already—look at her piercings and tattoos!
Clayton gestures to Wanda to leave us alone and closes the door behind him.
“Fancy!” I claim, my eyes roaming around the expansive room. He calls this his office? It’s a fucking house!
He pulls me to his desk, staring at me as if he has a cunning plan. He clears his throat and then says, “Hey, let me show you something.”
He takes a watch-like device from a drawer. I don’t think this was his original plan, but I go along anyway.
“What is it?” I squint at the gold-colored object.
“I built it when I was a kid. Well, when I was in high school. I refined it over time. It’s a very crude version of our current tracking system.”
“A tracker?” I squint even harder.
“HartTracker.”
“You’re tracking people’s hearts, Clayton?”
He pouts. “No. You can’t track a heart. You know that.” He places his hand on my left breast. Then he points at the device I’m trying to decipher, “This is just a toy. You can keep it if you want.”
“So you know where I am at any time?”
“So you know I’m with you. That’smyheart in there.” He pulls me close, rubbing his chest against mine. “Well, it’s off at the moment.”
