Page 43 of Santa's Baby
Fuck sake.
“Of course,” he says, “And I’ll offer a better rate next time.”
I wave the idea aside. “Nah, stick to a quid an hour. It’s fun.”
With that, Reuben grabs his wallet from the dresser and pulls out a ten-pound note. I try to wave that aside too, but he won’t have it.
“Tiffany,” he says, with a serious stare. “Take it, please.”
“Cool, yeah, alright. Ta for that,” I reply, and stuff it into my hoodie pocket. I glance about the place, and it’s a right fucking mess. Should have used towels. “Need any help cleaning up?”
“No thanks, that’s my responsibility, not yours.”
“Good luck.”
It’s a relief when he laughs along with me, our connection reignited.
“I had a great time. Truly.”
“Something else we have in common.” I give him a wink. “I’ll be keeping an eye out for the next proposal. Get it in quick, my schedule is rammed.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
This place is suddenly stifling. The heat is from way more than just my hoodie. It’s fromhim.
I march straight over to the door with asee ya, but he steps forward.
“Wait,” he says before I turn the handle. “I wasn’t joking about the confidentiality agreement, Tiffany. This is breaking the code of conduct and if anyone finds out –”
I cut him off with a finger to my lips.
“I’m not an idiot. Pinky promise, remember?” I give him a wave before I leave. “See you around.”
“Yes. Keep an eye on your notifications.”
I make it down to reception before I start to get dizzy. Real fucking dizzy. I lean against the reception desk, trying to act casual as I get the night porter to call me a cab, dabbling in stupid small talk as I wait for it to arrive.
Had a nice stay?
Yeah, thanks. This place is cool. Time runs away when you’re having fun, doesn’t it? Loved the lasagne by the way. Yum.
The night porter seems a nice guy.
“Saw you in there with your dad earlier.”
Holy fuck, if only he knew.
I go along with it.
“We live in different places, you know. Sometimes it’s cool to meet halfway, and I get a decent chocolate sundae out of it.”
Blah blah blah.
I feel queasy at the thought of Reuben just a few flights upstairs. I’ve got butterflies upon butterflies wanting to get back up there and throw myself into his arms like a crazy bitch.
I breathe a sigh of relief when the cab pulls up, ready to drive me back to some semblance of normality, but the relief wears off as soon as the hotel disappears around a corner.
Because I don’t want a semblance of normality. I don’t want my apartment and a hot bath, and my calendar packed with bookings set to whisk me right through bastard Christmas.