“Oh, definitely.”
She smiles, then Bryn continues fiddling with her phone, looking distracted.
“Spit it out, Heyworth,” I demand after a minute of silence, dropping my feet and leaning forward. “You’re on cloud nine.” I roll my eyes, pretending to be disgusted when in fact, all this does is make me wonder why, why, why I haven’t found out the name of my Workaholic. I’ve checked the hotel logs since the night he left, but all I have is that California corporation name. And nothing else.
“Not cloud nine! But… ten.” Bryn giggles, then pulls up a horoscope app on her phone.
I watch her skim her horoscope, biting her lip thoughtfully as she reads her fortune—the stars—whatever you want to call it.
“I do enjoy reading these suckers, though I never pay attention to any negative things they have to say. I only run with the good ones. This time, though, it’s way off.” She sighs. I peer at the screen and realize they’re predicting that she should be ready for business and pleasure, both. Has Christos broken up with his girlfriend? Seems to me like maybe that’s what’s going on with Bryn and her Christos lately.
“Read mine,” I suddenly say, excited about hearing it. “Wait—you read it first before telling me what it says. Shit, don’t tell me if it’s bad.” I don’t want it to jinx me, or to make me feel hopeless about things.
“What’s your sign?” she promptly asks.
“Taurus. Ruled by Venus, I apparently like very beautiful and expensive things.” I take a peek as she searches up my sign. “What does it say?”
“Don’t peek and don’t talk—I can’t concentrate on reading with noise around!” She starts reading in silence.
“What does it say?” I ask.
“‘Dear Taurus,’” she begins after a moment’s hesitation. “‘If you still love him, go for it. Don’t wait for an astrologer’s permission, don’t wait for me to give you a safety net, just do it!’”
“What?” I take it and start reading stuff like “If a relationship has felt the rough and tumble of the stars, remember the universe always helps us with course corrections to fix what’s broken, or learn to let go…”
Damn Bryn, that little liar. I hand back her phone.
“Bryn, you are a lousy astrologer. You’d die poor.”
She giggles and sets the phone aside. “No, really. You’re hooked on him, Sara. I do think you need to find him. Why wait? You can be waiting forever. Why do we give our power away?” She frowns now. “I mean, we’re bombarded by all these marketers telling us what to think, how to feel about ourselves; we wait to see what others think about our clothes to determine if we really like them. We wait for an astrologer to tell us the coast is clear to do something we’ve been wanting to do. It’s wrong.”
She chews her nails thoughtfully, while I mull over the same things.
“Let’s do something we really want to do. Let’s finally do something for ourselves, take our own advice,” she proposes.
“Okay then.” Suddenly, I think, why not? I won’t end up worse off than I already am, and I could end up far, far better. Like, with my Workaholic’s hands all over me. But how can I find his name when I haven’t been able to so far?
I consider this for a second. And then it hits me. How did I never think of this before? Because you were too busy jerking off to him in the tub, Sara. Duh. Impulsively, I dial the number for the maître d’ at Daniel’s direct line and pray that he remembers me when he answers with a curt French accent.
“Oui. François.”
Hardly believing I’m doing this, I get straight to the point because I know François doesn’t like to dally on bullshit. “Hi, I’d like to see if you can do me a favor and check back on your guest list for me. I need the name of one of your guests that stayed at our hotel recently.”
“Sara Davies,” François purrs with a chuckle, recognizing my voice, and then he asks me what date, and says he’ll look into it.
“Really? You’d do that for me? Thank you!” I hang up, suddenly wide-eyed. Hell and holy shit, how did I not think of it before? My Workaholic will have had to write down his name at Daniel. Pay with a credit card. Check his coat. Something.
I’m nearly breathless with excitement, suddenly glancing at an inquisitive-looking Bryn. She looks so interested she’s nearly falling off her chair. “He’s helping me find him. Your turn,” I finally tell her, recovering myself.
“Did you really call?” She sounds doubtful.
“Do you want to call back to verify? Come on. Your turn. Go after him, Bryn,” I encourage, suddenly excited for her to do something empowering and maybe a little reckless, too.
And Bryn suddenly grabs her phone and shoots off a text, and I know who she’s texting.
So Bryn texts Christos, and as I watch her start flushing and getting all nervous, I know that this isn’t a joke. This is us, and these are our lives, and sometimes you just need to go for it.
And when Bryn suddenly heads out, looking all guilty and excited, I just know that, at least for her, business and pleasure are definitely mixing tonight.
What do you have in store for me though, stars? I wonder without daring to hope. Then I stand at the window and look out at the city, and I can’t help but hope.
I stare out the window at New York City, the city that never sleeps, where something crazy happens every day, numbing you to the hustle and bustle. It’s a city not everyone could live in, but I can’t imagine living anywhere else. My earbuds are as permanent as me, walking everywhere. Thanks to walking, my legs have been lean and toned all these years, looking as good as when I spent the better part of my childhood and teen years dancing.
God. It was magical, to move my body to the music. I would be the instrument that the music moved, and the happiest moments I remember happened when I was lost in that music, my mind a blank, simply completely immersed in the sound and how it made my body sway to it.
Sex with him felt like that, where no thought came in, only me moving to the pace he set.
Men never have that control over me, usually I would think I only satisfied my lust and that was that, but with this one, one night wasn’t enough. It was a taste that only made me crave more, and now I don’t even look at other men because they’re just not… that guy.
The guy whose name I’ll find out very, very soon.
Sara
It’s the audition I’ve been waiting for, and I’m holding nothing back. I’m in my last pose—a damn fine split, sweating to the tips of my fingers and catching my breath as the music ends. And a deathly silence settles in the room.
“We’ll call you,” the woman in the perfect bun says after a long moment.
She’s stoic, with her legs crossed, as she sits in one of the chairs lined up at the side of the dance floor where I just leapt, twirled, twizzled, and split, did pirouettes, grand jetés, and fouetté turns, and I had my best run with this piece since I can remember. A man sits next to her who is just as stoic as she is. Neither of their expressions reveals the one crucial thing I want to know: whether they liked my piece. My moves. Me.
And whether my performance was good enough to get me into the show.
“Thank you,” I answer as formally as I can, and then I get to my feet, grab my towel, and step out of the room. I pick up my duffel from the waiting-room sofa, exchange my dance shoes for my running shoes, and head out in leggings and a tight, long-sleeved tank top, draping a sweater around my shoulders.
I’m trying not to feel defeated and assume the same thing that always happens will happen—that I will never get the call. I need to stay positive, because good thoughts bring good things.
When I head home to find an empty apartment, I remember that Bryn was out dog-walking this afternoon after work. I’ll be alone with nothing but my damn thoughts for a few more hours. I toss my duffel onto the couch, then throw myself next to it. I wish I’d told Bryn to wait for me. I need a distraction. Without one, I’m going to either eat my nails raw or eat Bryn’
s secret chocolate stash. Neither of which is a good option.
I’m drumming my feet on the carpet and nervously surfing my phone when I decide to freshen up. I’m barely out of the shower, still wet and drying off, when my phone rings. Bryn’s name appears on the screen, and I almost squeal with relief. Nearly tripping on the bath mat as I step out, I grab the phone to answer.
“Bryn, thank God!”
“What? Why? What happened?”
“Nothing, but I can’t stay cooped up in here much longer. Can I meet you at Mrs. Ford’s?”
“Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I’m stuck in Central Park, and I desperately need you to change places with me. Since you’ve filled in for me with Mrs. Ford before, would you mind helping out again? I need to rush home to change for a date with Christos tonight.”
Damn, that Christos is moving fast.
I don’t know if I want to award the guy with a medal or get mad for stealing my roomie from me so many times.
Smiling to myself, I put the phone on speaker as I yank out a pair of jeans and a cropped white sweater. “I’ll take the train up there right now. Send me your location.” I quickly dress and comb my hair back before I give it a quick blow-dry. Then I grab my MetroCard and keys and head out.
Thank you, God. At least I won’t die from the anxiety yet. This will distract me for a while, at least until I find another audition that will lessen the blow if I’m denied.
I take the train to the Upper East Side, head west, and walk several blocks down the park until I spot Bryn sitting on a bench with Mrs. Ford. My favorite golden retriever, Milly, sits beside them as the two chat away. The widow seems to enjoy talking so much that sometimes I wonder if Bryn and I are the only people she interacts with. Today, she is wearing a flashy teal outfit and has her hair arranged in a fancy style, as if she is meeting someone important later.
My eyes lock on a third figure sitting with them. As I near, the man glances my way before quickly shifting his gaze. I continue to stare at him as I approach, and it doesn’t take long for his gaze to return to me. His large figure rises to full height as he stands to greet me, and I feel a bolt of electricity hit me in the chest as familiar eyes stare back at me.
He’s tall. Dark-haired. Gorgeous. With deep, thick-lashed eyes you want to sink into. And lips to suck on like they’re all that exists between you and heaven. I stop walking, stop breathing, because… he is here.
A moment passes and Bryn seems to notice my shock.
But shock doesn’t come close to it.
Because never in my whole life has my heart leapt so far and fast. It feels as if it’s ripping out of my chest. I can barely force my legs to move for fear of hearing my knees knock together. I struggle for air, but it feels like someone cut off my windpipe connecting my nose and lungs.
He wears a white dress shirt and black slacks, and his face is chiseled and brooding. The real shock lies in the intensity brewing in his dark eyes as they stay locked on mine. My heart speeds up as I hold his gaze. The city bustles around us. Making eye contact is not something I do often, living in a city of millions, but I can’t take my eyes off him.
The memory of having him inside me returns with a vengeance.
Bryn begins to introduce us. “Um. Ian, this is—”
“Sara. We’ve met,” Hot and Dirty Workaholic interrupts with a stiff smile.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment it feels like nothing else exists.
His name is Ian.
Fucking Ian, with his serious, handsome face and shiny, black hair. He’s as lit as I remember. Straight out of a Suits episode, and I am dying from the happiness of staring into his hot-as-fuck face.
Suddenly too nervous to be so obvious, I turn my attention back to Bryn, feeling like I’m going to vomit, my stomach is clutching so tight.
I feel a little light-headed and a lot self-conscious, and I would hate for him to notice, so I try my best to act otherwise. Confident, that’s me.
Except when I’m caught off guard by my sexy Workaholic.
I can tell by the expression of total shock in Bryn’s eyes that she’s just had a light-bulb moment. She knows I’ve just found my one-night-stand man. And she seems as shocked about who he turned out to be as I am. But she looks excited to get us talking, and to be honest, I’m just as happy to get this man to myself and shoo off Bryn to her Christos.
“Ian is Mrs. Ford’s grandson,” she explains to me. Then she tells Mrs. Ford, “Sara is going to take over so I can prepare for tonight. I’ll talk to you guys soon,” and I watch her leave.
So now what? What do I say? He’s Mrs. Ford’s grandson. I can’t just grab his dick and tell him how much I’ve dreamed about it. And him.
Milly barks and I realize Ian, too, is looking at me. With a thoughtful frown and a wicked, devious glimmer in his eyes.
Is he thinking of our evening in 1103 too?
“Here, give me that,” he gruffly tells Milly, and he grabs Milly’s toy and tosses it relatively close and tells her to fetch.
I become aware of Mrs. Ford looking at us in interest.
I give her a smile, hoping that it looks innocent, and quickly occupy myself with Milly.
“Do you two want to walk Milly around while I relax?” Mrs. Ford asks Ian and me. “You can get to know each other. Sara is one of my favorite girls, Ian, and Ian is my favorite grandson, Sara. There is no other man in the world for me.”
“I’m your only grandson, Gran. And I’d love to get to know Sara more intimately.”
He winks at her, looking charming and much more of a good guy than the guy I fucked in room 1103. Mrs. Ford chuckles and pulls out a book, as if that is that. As if the word intimately didn’t mean a whole other thing to me than it probably does to Mrs. Ford.
Ian—my Workaholic, my one-night stand, my perfect lay—watches me daringly while he takes the leash. His gaze meets mine as he motions me forward. I start down the path with wobbly knees, aware of him and Milly stepping in beside me.
“How have you been?” he asks, voice low.
“Good. I’m glad to see you.” I smile.
He smiles too, and my eyes almost hurt by looking at the Face of My Dreams up close again. “Can’t say I wasn’t disappointed when I checked in today to see you gone,” he says.
I’m shocked to hear this, something his dark gaze seems to easily drink in.
“Yeah, Sara. I noticed.” He leads Milly to a shady area surrounded by trees. “Did I have anything to do with you leaving?”
“No.” I really don’t want him to worry, and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t like having affected my job that way. “They’re making cuts and I was probably the worst concierge they had, so they let me go.” I roll my eyes as if they’re so silly to have done that.
“That’s not accurate.” Ian tuts and shakes his head. “You went above and beyond for their customers.”
“Not really. Just one of them.”
As my words fill the air around us, suddenly we’re both staring at each other, the chemistry between us so on fire I worry for the trees nearby.
“I should change hotels,” he says mischievously, a twinkle in his dark eyes.
“No. You shouldn’t.”
“Absolutely I will. If they can’t value you, then I’m not interested.”
“Your company sends you to that hotel. You and other execs.”
“You don’t think I can persuade my company to change hotels?”
“I’d hate to lose you and your company’s business if I were them. But!” I reach out and steal Milly’s leash from his fingers, then twirl around and face him, backing away from him as I narrow my eyes. “I think you’re bluffing to make me feel better. I’m fine, though. Trust me. I’ve got this.” I point toward a sniffing, tail-wagging Milly. “I also have a job helping my roommate with her new business.”
“You find that rewarding?”
“I find my salary rewarding.”
There’s a slight quickening in my pulse when he s
miles. “And the job?” he asks, tilting his head in curiosity.
“I’m grateful for it. I can’t say I don’t still look at casting calls in the city, but… it’ll do.”
“Shouldn’t be hard to find plenty of those. This is New York, after all.”
“I know.” There is more to my story, though, and I’m surprised when I say it out loud. “I was so close to landing the gig of my dreams years ago. My body failed me terribly. Bad body,” I chide.
“What happened?” He frowns, but the look he gives my body isn’t exactly one that agrees with me about my body being bad.
“Shit. A lot of shit. I ended up as a concierge.”
“Can’t say I regret that decision or turn of events.” There’s that smile again.
“Really. Our one-night stand was that profound to you.”
“I’m about to make it two.”
As I keep backing away and he keeps walking forward, I catch him glancing at my lips.
He doesn’t even try to hide it.
It turns me on.
My hungry body recognizes him as the last guy to pleasure me, and my hormones are flooding my system in response. I start feeling my heart pound and I can barely suppress my crazy, out-of-control reaction. I can almost taste him on my mouth, can almost feel his touch, like I did in room 1103.
Exhaling, I spin back around so that Milly and I are walking a few steps ahead of him, and I tuck my hair behind my ear and try to ignore my erratic hormones.
Seeing him again, his gorgeous face, his sexy designer slacks and that crisp white shirt, inhaling his intoxicating scent, I’m reminded why I haven’t stopped thinking about him since that night.
This guy makes me hungry. Hungry like someone who hasn’t eaten for days and is standing before a chocolate buffet, and chocolate is her favorite.
He catches up with us, stealing the leash back from me. His fingers brush over mine and he tugs on the leash so slowly that I know it’s on purpose.
“So this is how I find out your name.” I tut and shake my head.
“I seem to have one.”