Mine to Steal (Mine to Love) (7 page)

When I
drive up to the front entrance, I grab my luggage from the trunk and hand the keys to the valet. The lobby is tiled with white marble, and the walls are lined in rich wooden mahogany panels. There are small seating areas with black leather couches spread throughout the expansive entrance and every seat is occupied. Overhead, gaudy chandeliers are dimmed, providing a warm inviting feel. The place is certainly trendy and clean, not that I really care about the trendy part. From the looks of the others waiting in line and those loitering about, it definitely appeals to the younger crowd.

Hattie reserved the hotel room on short notice
, and I’m sure we’re spending a small fortune for this place. She mentioned there was some sort of convention going on, so we had to splurge to get a room in the city.

The
attendants at the check-in desk are dressed in navy blue suits and stand behind an ornate marble counter, each with a robotic smile. I assume there will be a wait, so I pull out my phone to check my messages, but I’m interrupted.

“Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?”
the hotel clerk asks with a flirtatious smile. I step forward, and she flips her blond hair over her shoulder and cocks her head to the side waiting for me to answer. I reward her with my own smirk and watch as her cheeks flush.

“Yes. Trey Miller.”

She looks at her screen, and I hear the familiar clicking of a keyboard. “Ah, here you are. I see you’re here for three nights. Is that correct, Mr. Miller?” She takes a small card and runs it through the machine, glancing at me briefly while she waits for an answer.

“
Yes.” My phone buzzes in my hand, but I send it to voicemail, intrigued by the flirtatious woman in front of me.

When I look up, she’s writing a number
on a little card before she slips the key in. She closes the envelope and hands it to me and points. “If you go past this desk and take a left, at the end of the hallway you’ll find the elevators. Just go on up to the twenty-third floor, and your room will be on the right.”

I tuck the envelope int
o my pocket and grab my luggage. Smiling at her, I glance at her nametag and nod. “Thank you, Pamela.”

Pamela clears her throat and
calls after me. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Miller.” I turn to look at her once again and give her wink as I round the corner.

I follow her directions to the elevators and pull out the sleeve to check my room number
. I discover she left me a note:

If you need anything, ask for Pamela.

The hallway is empty as I look back from where I came. I can’t see the front desk from here, but I grin thinking about the woman and her little note. The up arrow lights before the door to the elevators chime and open. I step in and the doors begin to close; a couple comes barreling in laughing, barely able to keep their hands off each other. I clear my throat when I realize they have no idea they have company in here.

The woman’s
neck reddens and a giggle escapes while the guy protectively holds her close to him. It’s as if he thinks he’s saving her reputation. The Muzak tunes in the elevator are loud when you’re alone, but right now, it’s not loud enough. The door chimes, and they exit the confining space. The doors don’t have a chance to close before they start making out again.

As the elevator glides to a stop on the
twenty-third floor, I wait for the doors to open and step out to locate my room. The key card swipes through the holder, and I wait for the green light before pushing the door open. I toss my suitcase onto the bed and pull my phone from my pocket to check my messages. Relief sweeps through briefly before it turns to annoyance when I discover there is nothing.

As much as I want
an update, my team needs a chance to handle things. The phone needs to charge anyway so I plug it in and take inventory of the room.

I’ve stayed in my share of nice hotels, but this room takes the cake. The walls are deep
beige with dark cherry trim and the biggest hotel window I’ve ever seen. I walk over to check out the view and see the city in front of me. It’s dark out, so I can’t quite figure out what I’m looking at, but the lighted skyscrapers are an amazing view.

There is a king-size bed against the center of the wall and three large canvases hang overhead revealing one large image. The desk, opposite the bed, matches the wall trim, except it has ornate carvings in the legs
. The overstuffed chair is better than the one I have in my office.

The bed calls to me
, and I want to crawl on top of it to recover the sleep I lost last night. When I look in the mirror next to the desk, it reveals the tired eyes and rough appearance I expected. I rub my hand against my cheek feeling the day’s stubble and decide to clean myself up. Between the drinking binge, training Jett and the flight, I’m exhausted, and it shows. If I’m doing anything tonight, I need wash up and take some time to relax.

I walk
into the bathroom eyeing the floor to ceiling beige marble tiles. There is a large shower that is completely glassed in and the bathtub to the side of it could comfortably hold two.
Too bad I don’t have someone with me.
I open the glass door and run the water before I strip my clothes off and step in.

The hot shower feels refreshing as the water runs down my face, rinsing away the funk of airplanes and rental cars.
My arm is braced against the shower wall as I stand in place and allow the water to drown everything else away. It feels good to stand still.

Last night replays in my
mind again. The dancing, her arms around my neck - the way she kissed me as if it was something she’d been waiting for. It’s like she’s Cinderella, but I’m no Prince Charming. I wish I would have stopped her from leaving, or at the very least, been able to kiss her longer, preferably without an audience. Maybe when I get back home I can convince Jett we need another night out, because I need to find her.

The effects of the hangover are finally beginning to recede, so I
unwrap the hotel soap and lather up. The bathroom is filled with steam after I turn off the water and I’m no longer able to see my reflection in the mirror, which is probably a good thing. I run my fingers through my wet hair and wrap the towel around my waist, not bothering to dress before I lie down on the bed.

Since Mr. Cavette agreed to meet tomorrow morning, I arranged to
have dinner with Kayla later this evening. She’s an old college friend who moved out to Chicago a couple of years after graduation. We have managed to stay in touch over the years, and I consider her a close friend, but our jobs keep us from hanging out as much as we’d like. We send the occasional email or text and make it a point to meet up if we’re in the same zip code. I haven’t seen much of her since she came here five years ago, but we get by. I’ve probably only seen her three times for dinner or drinks, and every time, she’s as beautiful as ever, and just as serious. There are few women I have met that are as witty and smart yet can put you in your place with one word.

We had several classes together in college but didn’t really speak until we were introduced through mutual friends our junior year.
After dating for a few months, the pressure to make it work was too much, and we broke up. In the end, we decided we were better off as friends because we were too much alike. Both of us are stubborn and opinionated.

Although, I’d be lying if I
say I don’t have other ideas every time I see her.

She wasn’t sure if she’d be done with her meeting in time to grab dinner, so she gave me an address of a bar she likes to frequent to unwind.

I glance at my watch and decide I might as well get dressed since we’re supposed to meet at eight. That gives me forty-five minutes to dress, wait for the valet, and find the bar.

* * *

When someone suggests a bar, I immediately assume loud music, smoke, and of course, beer. But this place is not a bar; it’s more of a pub.
Not that there’s much of a difference
. I suppose I equate a pub with being a step above a bar. Kayla suggested this place, and I figured it would be something a little livelier, possibly a younger crowd, but
Ale’s Well
doesn’t fit that description at all.

A hostess
walks up to me wearing a nicely pressed shirt and slacks with a skinny tie. I don’t know of many bars with a hostess, or maybe I have never been to that type of bar. Since there’s a wait for a table, she tells me I can take a seat in the barroom.

“The
what
room?”

She laughs and points to the center of the pub and whispers, “the bar, over there. They make us call that the barroom.”

I nod in understanding and find a seat near the end as a bartender approaches me to take my drink order. He walks away, and I turn on the stool to take in the scene around me. The black and white checkered floor is barely visible through the swarm of people, and the conversations taking place are muted by the soft music overhead. On one side of a couple arguing, and on the other a couple is all over each other. And here I sit. Alone.

Overall, I like this place
. It has a prohibition atmosphere to it, and I can see why Kayla likes it so much.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, distracting me from my observation
s. I check to find a text from Kayla.

Kayla: Running late.
There in 5

Me: Just got here.

Kayla: Get a table. Order a French 75

Me: What? Never mind. See you in 5

The main bar area is intriguing, but the hallway to the side is what catches my attention; it’s impressive. Instead of booths or tables there are lounge areas with lit wine racks, separating one area from the next. I ask the waiter for two French 75s and wait for the drinks, and my friend, to show up. I’m not sure what a French 75 is, but if Kayla drinks it, then I’m sure it’s good.

I check my email
, and there are a few from Hattie, updating me on the progress Jett today made, as well as a few questions I need to answer for the Rialyn people. At least I can put it on pause until morning, and hopefully I’ll be able to give her a thumbs up on the Cave contracts. But it will have to wait, because in the distance I spot Kayla looking for me.

The last time we saw each other was over a year ago,
and as soon as she spots me, a wide smile breaks through her beautiful face. It’s as if no time has passed at all.

“Hey
, gorgeous,” she announces before she reaches me.

“Kayla,” I respond, needing a moment to take her in. “You look beautiful, as usual.”

She feigns embarrassment before gathering me into a hug. “How’s it going?” She takes a seat next to me as the waiter sets our drinks down on the small table in front of us.

She looks amazing, no doubt there. I watched several men check her out as she walked toward me, shak
ing their head in annoyance when she hugged me. She can gain anyone’s attention, and she’s always known that.

“So?”

“What?” I ask her, confused as to whether a conversation started that I’m not aware of.

“I asked, ‘how’s it going?’” She cocks her head to the side and squints her eyes at me
. “Are you already tuning me out?”

I laugh at the familiarity of her words, something she used to say often in college. “Of course not. I was momentarily rendered stupid, I guess. That dress
suits you.”

“Wow, since when did you get all sweet?”

“Wasn’t I always?” I know I wasn’t the most affectionate guy, but I thought I was pretty generous with the compliments.

She shakes her head
and smiles as she reaches for her drink. “Ever had one of these?”

“This will be a first,” I answer, reaching for my own glass. “I didn’t expect it to be champagne.”

“It’s not. Try it. And a word of warning - you’re going to like this, but I wouldn’t have more than two.”

“Aye-aye,” I answer
, and lift my glass to have a taste. It’s a little too sweet for my liking, but it’s not bad. “No worries on the two warning.”

“Too fancy for ya?”
she asks as she takes a sip.

I shake my head and ignore her last comment. “So how’ve you been, Kay?”

“Please don’t call me that.” She rolls her eyes and takes another sip. “It makes me sound like I’m old.”

“You didn’t mind in college,” I argue.

“There were many things I didn’t mind back then,” she laughs. “I’ve been good. Traveling quite a bit to meet with clients, so the fact I could meet you tonight is pretty amazing.”

“Maybe it’s a sign.”

“No.” She laughs at me for the second time since she got here. “There are no signs that point to you and me, Trey. Been there, done that. I love you, you know this, but you and me -” she looks around, “yikes.”

“Hell, you ruined my plans for the evening,” I joke, knowing she’s correct in her assessment of us.

“Sorry, Romeo,” she answers before she stands up. “I’ll be right back. Can you order me another?”

“I thought you said no more than two?”