Page 33 of Brown Sugar
“Alright, princess,” I say. “What princess wants, she gets.”
It’s a joke. A callback to the other week when I first gave her the nickname. Even through her heartbreak, she gets it, aiming the smallest smile at me.
I’m ready to drop Kiana off in her suite and give her the much-needed privacy she craved, but when I turn to go, she grabs my arm. I glance down at her slender hands wrapped around my thick, veiny, hairy forearm, then meet her eyes in silent question.
The look I give her is plain as day.
You realize you’re touching me, right?
She doesn’t let go as her eyes answer me. Still red and puffy, the almond-shaped orbs soften with humor.
“Mind hanging out with me?” she asks.
Every muscle in my body clenches up. “In your hotel room?”
“Sure,” she says. “It’s just like my penthouse. Except there’s a minibar and we can see Big Ben from my balcony. And… and there’s room service. We can order whatever we want. The label’s footing the bill. Why not run it up and make those assholes pay?”
An unexpected laugh rasps out of me. “Calling your own label assholes now, princess? You must be pissed.”
“You said it yourself. They overwork me. They… they treat me like some piece of property.”
That’s because, in their eyes, you are.
“Alright, under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You never. Ever. Wander off again.”
“Tyson—”
“Never again,” I repeat in a sterner tone, my voice rough. “It might be turning out okay now, but somebody is after you. You will stick by me and the security team.”
She blows out a sigh, kicking off the heels she’s wearing. “Fine. But I have a condition for you too.”
“And that would be?”
“You have to put one of the hotel’s complimentary robes on with me!”
Before I even get what the hell’s happening, I’ve got one of those plush terry cloth robes on and Kiana’s laughing. She’s put one on too, the robe much looser on her than it is on me. Wandering over to the phone of the ritzy British hotel, she dials room service and orders everything on the whole damn menu.
Including several bottles of champagne that cost thousands of pounds.
“You weren’t kidding, were you?”
“Nope! I’m running up the bill. It’s the least I can do. They don’t care about my heartbreak. What I’m having to go through on this press junket answering questions about the stupid album. Eleven love songs all about Shawn. And now they want me to pretend it’s about some other guy?”
“They said it’ll attract more attention.”
“Maybe I’m sick of attracting attention. Maybe I want to be normal for once.”
“Alright, princess, calm down. You’re preaching to the choir. I’m on your side.”
Her eyes shine meeting mine. “You are… which is why you’re going to drink this champagne with me.”
Room service knocks in the next minute.
It takes five of them to wheel everything inside the large suite. Five carts fill up an entire wall, covered with silver domes and glass vases of fresh flowers.