Innocent in New York (8 page)

"Thank you for joining me for lunch," Sophia murmured.

"My pleasure, though you should be sitting in a pleasant restaurant, twisting your brains to figure out what you want next for dessert. I'd take a wild guess that you'd want to try Arielle's strawberries dipped in chocolate," he said and kissed her cheek.

Her mouth watered. "I've heard that Arielle's food kills people but that it's totally worth it."

James chuckled, and finally gave her lips some attention, pressing those god-sent lips against hers. She missed the feel of him the second he parted. "I promise you'll have the chance to die soon."

With hectic travelers buzzing about her, she watched him leave the hotel.

---

"Go home, Sophia!" Agnes said by her side, making her jump.

"What? I — no!" She looked to the computer where she tried making a reservation add up. "I promised Serge to fix this. And you have customers." Sophia's gaze flickered to the people by her station.

"Screw Serge's useless computer skills, and screw the Gallaghers! Let me do this. You have everything planned for them and I can meet them and send them on their way. You worked thirteen hours yesterday and almost passed out. Did you forget about that?"

"I just forgot to eat," Sophia reminded her. "I'm perfectly fine."

"That's what people say before they drop dead!" Agnes countered, her eyes wild. "My aunt Gretchen said that, and the next day she fell from her apple tree and broke her neck, dying instantly."

"I'm quite sure those two things weren't related."

Agnes sighed heavily. "For once I wish you'd say
no
. If Chris isn't satisfied with you working eleven hours, he can go fuck himself."

"Agnes, please." Sophia looked her way when her friend jerked around and walked. She didn't need this now, and after a moment's pause she looked back at the screen and did what she did best; she fixed things.

Another guest accommodated and served a delicious dinner, Sophia walked to her workstation to sort some things out before the Gallaghers arrival in half an hour or so. About to log in on her computer, Agnes came over. Luckily, she seemed calmer and had let Sophia work in peace for a while.

"From Gallagher," she said, handing her a note.

"They've arrived?" She frowned.

"Yes. I sent them up to their room. They're in room 5233," she said, and nodded toward the note with the number written. "They need help with wine selection. They just said to enter." She shrugged.

"Oh," Sophia nodded. "I can do that. I thought they wanted to go to a restaurant. Perhaps they're tired after their flight."

"Looked that way," Agnes agreed. "I think they just want to chill. Hey, maybe you can leave earlier! You know, so you can work thirteen hours like normal people instead of fourteen?" She rolled her eyes. "Get your ass up there! You never know!"

"You're right." Sophia folded the paper note. "Thanks, Agnes! You're awesome."

"I know I am."

---

"5233," she mumbled, not sure why she recalled the number from somewhere. She went to the 52nd floor and read on plaques for the right direction.

The sparkling gold plaque on the door read
Marilyn Monroe
in lovely hand lettering, the numbers
5233
resting above it. She gasped. That's why the number seemed familiar! She'd been inside the Monroe room
once,
on one of her first days working at Herrera, and the room — one of the most expensive and exquisite suites in New York City — were off-limits to most. Chris had told her to keep her hands to herself and to not touch anything when he showed her the place. It was a swift tour — two minutes tops — but Sophia had fallen in love with it during that short span of time. She probably had a hundred dreams about that room afterward. Was she really about to step back into it? Perhaps Agnes misheard them and she was supposed to wait for the couple outside. But then again, they wanted help choosing wine so they wouldn't want to step
out
of the room, would they? Sophia's mind boggled. Her breath was heavier, her hands shaky.

"Oh, Monroe," she whispered, then closed her eyes and knocked on the door. Nothing. She cleared her throat and knocked again, followed with a careful "
Hello?
"
Her gaze moved to the door handle.
Let yourself in
, Agnes instructed. She was expected to be present. She grasped the handle and pushed down, followed by a click. Oh, what sweet click it was. Eyes wide, she opened the door. She met with comfortable temperature replacing the cooler one from the endless halls in the hotel, drawing her into the room before she could blink. The scent of fresh roses and lilacs — delicate but noticeable — reached her. Her eyes closed for a brief moment and she let herself take a deep breath, sinking into the warm atmosphere that lured her further inside.

"Oh my God. I'd die here," she whispered to no one, her hand grazing the back of a deep purple divan in the main room. She could envision herself on it, wearing a beautiful cocktail dress, gloved hands, and holding a flute of champagne — and perhaps a cigarette. She didn't smoke, but goddamn did she want to hold a cigarette. If she could marry a room, this would be it.

Where was the couple? They couldn't have left the room open for random people! That was against protocol —
and
against common sense! "Hello?" Sophia tried again, louder. "Mr. and Mrs. Gallagher? I'm here to help you with your wine selection."

"I think I'm good."

Her breath caught. That voice did not belong to Mr. Gallagher.

"James?"

"What took you so long?" he spoke against her neck and kissed her. Her legs nearly fell out from beneath her, only strengthened by his firm hand slanting around her midriff, holding her against him. He reached his other hand around her and offered her a glass of white wine. Accepting the glass, she turned around in his arms, finding him smiling. His tie hung loose on both sides, the top of his shirt unbuttoned. He'd lost his jacket and his sleeves were tugged up. He looked completely relaxed, not to mention rugged and handsome.

"What are you doing?"

"Took you long enough to get here." He watched her with an indulgent smile. "It almost seems as if you've never taken a step into these rooms," he noted.

"No, I've seen the rooms, of course. I've just never, well, stayed in one past the two-minute mark. These aren't the type of rooms I can stay in," she gave a half smile, "none of them. This one least of all. Oh, God, Chris will kill me after this."

"Really?" he asked. "You can't stay? Too bad I have it until Sunday with no one to keep the room occupied."

Breathe in. Breathe out.
"Are you insane?" She closed her eyes. "That would cost…twenty
thousand
dollars a night!" She overheard the price once and nearly had a blackout and it immediately crushed her dreams of staying in it. She felt dizzy, suddenly overcome by fear she'd ruin something in the room. Marble floors were durable, right? It looked to be in pristine condition, but what if she scratched it? She tensed, scared to even move.

"If you don't want it it'll stand here empty for the rest of the week. It's such a shame for the Marilyn Monroe suite." He trailed a finger innocently over a grand piano, but his gaze was anything but; all darkened with awakening mischief. He reached for the drink standing atop it, took a swig, and set it down onto the shiny surface. Sophia gulped, almost tempted to say '
careful'
. His smile broadened, drawing her focus to him again.

"You can't leave this room empty."

He lifted an eyebrow, in, what, a challenge?

"This is ridiculous," Sophia begged, hurrying over to him. "It'll lose its value if I stay here!"

He laughed. "Do you ever listen to yourself? You're as much a guest here as I am."

"I'm not like you," she countered, reaching behind him to check that his glass didn't leave a circle on the piano. She didn't miss his eye roll. "I am an employee."

"Not tonight, you aren't." He glanced at his watch. "You have thirty minutes to get ready. We're going to dinner. Come." He drew her away from the piano and up the black stairs. "You deserve better than that lunch
from earlier," he said, reaching the second level of the room. "I thought we'd try Arielle."

"I—" Sophia paused, barely having time to glance around the immense place unfolding before her. There was a wide bar at the end, filled with bottles for any drink one could imagine. Tall chairs lined the bar. The wide windows gave them a perfect view over the city, and the huge soft chairs in front of it made Sophia imagine her and James in one. "I — I don't know what to say."

"Say yes."

"Yes." It was always yes with him.

He smiled, pausing by a door with his hand on the doorknob. "I had Agnes collect some of your things. Take your time, enjoy, and meet me downstairs when you're ready." He leaned in and kissed her.

"Thank you," Sophia said and grasped his arm when he moved to leave. James smiled, cupped her face, and gave her one more, slow, soft kiss that made her legs forget how to function. She grasped the doorframe when he let go, and she sighed while watching him leave. The superiority of Monroe continued inside the bathroom as well, and Sophia marveled at its grace. The polished silver sparkled beneath the spotlights. A large oval pool took up a great portion of the right side with marble stairs leading into it. How much time did he say she had again?

She couldn't keep him waiting like that, and headed for a quick shower to get the workday off her skin, blow-dried her hair, and put on makeup. She could sink down into the tub some other time, especially since he had the room until Sunday. Rummaging the bag Agnes had readied, she silently thanked her friend for finding her favorite dress somewhere in her wardrobe. She slipped on the black attire, and smoothed the glittery fabric down her hips and thighs. It was set with sparkly rhinestones placed tight across her chest and fanned out down the skirt. She finished with a red tint to her lips, and then headed outside, not wanting to keep separated from him more than necessary.

He met her on the last step, placed his hands on her waist and lifted her. He kissed her, making her mind soar. Her feet touched ground, but she wasn't sure her head would follow anytime soon, enjoying its time in the clouds. She closed her eyes for a second, the masquerade party brushing through her mind along with the memory of his hold of her and how he already then had turned her world upside down. She smiled and blinked her eyes open to gaze at him. He looked damn handsome in that tailored suit.

"We should really get to dinner." He glanced at his watch. "Are you ready?"

Arielle.
Sophia's nerves reached the surface. It was a place one visited in order to be
seen
. Only the wealthiest got inside, and she'd stick out like a sore thumb despite her favorite dress and shoes. James seemed eager on it though, and she really didn't want to ruin it. She smiled and nodded. "I'm ready if you are."

He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and then moved to take her hand in his before bringing her with him to the elevated part of the room and up the stairs. A rectangular table accompanied with chairs fit for kings and queens met them. Behind the table, large expanses of windows showed them a clear New York night, riddled with stars rivaling Sophia's dress.

"I thought we were going—" Sophia's words died on her tongue when the door burst open, and in came women carrying trays upon trays of food. Sophia's jaw touched the floor. James brought her backward, giving them space to move. Dressed in black, fitted pants and shirts, women with upswept, glossy hair set the table. Written in an elegant handwriting in silk thread on their backs was
Arielle
. They lit candles, popped a champagne bottle, and filled two glasses. One of them turned on some music, sending a low hum of comforting sounds through the speakers — calm and dreamy. Like a group of ninjas, they exited Monroe, as if they were never there. Sophia blinked, gazing at the flickering candles, the lush setting, and delicious food.

"Do you need a moment?" he asked, squeezing her waist gently and she recalled how breathing worked.

She nodded, completely overwhelmed by the sudden change of plans. Her shoulders lowered. "You brought Arielle here." She turned to him. "You're out of your mind."

He seemed to think about her statement for a moment, and then his eyes alit. "They owed me a favor. They were more than happy to oblige."

"You have that effect, Mr. Archer."

He showed her to the table and pulled a chair out for her. She sunk into the seat, and watched in amusement as he grasped a white table cloth and put it over his arm to appear like a waiter.

"God, it smells delectable." She leaned forward to take another whiff of the deliciousness surrounding them. "If it tastes half as good then I can understand Arielle's position in the market."

"It tastes better." The devil smiled. "Let me." He picked up her plate and started walking along the table, scooping food onto it.

"This might seem simple and ordinary," he said, returning, "but they're world-famous for their grilled chicken, and it's a must in the world of Arielle. Though simple, it's very much full of surprises."

She stared down at the plate he served her, finding it brimming with delicious salad, marinated chicken, baked potato wedges, and sauce.

"This couldn't be more perfect. It looks lovely." She beamed up at him. It smelled fantastic as well, making her mouth water. This was exactly what she needed. Sophia had heard of Arielle's mouthwatering ingredients that had left people in utter bafflement. She recalled a review in a magazine once, where the author almost straight out asked if anyone had a tip to their ingredients along with his email subtly — or not so subtly — placed beneath. Sophia thought Arielle came off as mysterious, and Agnes straight-out believed they meddled with witchcraft. Sophia was about to find out.

"Go on, try it," he urged, finally sinking into his chair. She smiled in return and started cutting the perfectly grilled chicken. The grilled crust broke and her knife sunk into tender meat. After breathing in the succulent scent, she lifted the fork to her lips like some starving, desperate soul. "Oh," she blurted, her gaze shifting to James.

Magic, definitely magic, Agnes was right.

She couldn't make out any words, letting the blend of spices spiral into life. She took a sip of the wine they served, and the lovely taste intensified.

"Good, huh?" James said from across from her before he took a bite himself.

Sophia nodded, dabbing a napkin against her lips, trying to regain herself. "I didn't expect that. I mean I've heard of their food, of course, but still," she said, shaking her head, feeling docile. "How can I go back to eating mortal food after this? You've ruined me."

James laughed. "Don't underestimate mortal food."

Sophia sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Thank you," she said with meaning, "that was amazing. Arielle is absolutely fantastic."

"Don't mention it." His eyes glinted and a small barely-there smile pushed at the corners of his lips. "I hope the food was to your liking. I took the liberty to discuss it with Agnes before ordering, and we both agreed you'd enjoy this."

One of Sophia's brows quirked; there was something about that subtle smile dancing on his face, the playful reflection in his eyes. "You and Agnes, huh?" she asked, watching him from her seat. "Was food all that you discussed?"

He smiled, a slow teasing smile, and his gaze didn't waver. "Of course. It wasn't like I tried to pry information about your life before me out of her."

She stared at him. "I would hope not. That would be despicable."

"Yes," he put his chin onto his overlapped hands, "that would leave you with a very vile creature."

Sophia swallowed. "I have a dark history, one you'd want to stay clear of, and, and Agnes's lips should —
are
sealed for safety reasons."

"So they seem." The candles flickered. A whisper the color of burnt ember brushed his face, heating the deep brown in his eyes.

Focus Sophia.
What had he lured out of Agnes? Something embarrassing like the time her brand spanking new skirt was eaten by the revolving doors at work and the security footage ending up on YouTube? Nope, it couldn't be. This was something he'd find pleasure in teasing her with, and the skirt incident was just beyond painful. Not his style to bring it up.

"My career." No question to it. "You're a messed up man, James," she spoke lowly.

His lips peeled into a grin, and she knew she hit jackpot. "I'm very curious how a virgin ended up working in an adult shop in the middle of New York."

"It was just for three months between jobs," she said hurriedly.

"I would have paid to see that."

"That's exactly what Agnes said when she found out," Sophia added with a frown. She didn't know Agnes at the time she worked there, but managed to mention it after a few too many drinks two months ago. "I was even employee of the month because of my sales figures."

"That's hilarious." James shook his head.

"So you have amazing skills getting people to spill their guts," Sophia said, holding his gaze. "Agnes never shares unless it's okay with the other part."

James took a moment to taste his wine. "I was about to say you shouldn't be mad at your friend for telling me. Sometimes people don't even know what they're telling me before it is too late. I have no control over it." He shrugged.

"I feel so sorry for you," she said, her voice flat.

"It's all right. I just have to try live with it."

Sophia saw through his false drama. "I'll help you."

He lifted his glass. "For Marilyn Monroe."

Sophia reached for hers and lifted it in salute. "For Marilyn Monroe."

"And adult shops."

Sophia pursed her lips. "You're not going to let this one go, are you?

"Nope."

When Sophia moved to clear the table, James was there in an instant, prying her hands away from the table before she could reach for her plate. His hands tightened around her wrists.

"Tsk."

"James," she laughed, looking over her shoulder at him.

"No, Sophia," he said by her ear. "I have everything taken care of. You're not going to lift one finger."

"But—" she protested, but shut up when he moved to draw the back of his hand down the arch of her spine, erupting heat in her flesh, and sending pleasurable shivers throughout her body. She gasped, and just like that, he took her voice and had her soaking up his touch. James lured his hands beneath the hem of her dress, grasped the back of her thighs and hoisted her up to loop her legs around his waist, then carried her up the stairs to the bedroom. He introduced her to a room dressed in white with a king-sized bed in the middle, set with a black canopy. He walked a few strides and they both tumbled into bed. She marveled at the cool silk beneath her body, softer than any material she'd ever touched.