Page 21 of My Dark Prince
But each time the elevators dinged, I spun to face them and sagged at the sight of whatever schmuck exited.
You’re waiting for her, dipshit.
I paused, the glass ice against my lips. Well, fuck. I realized what it looked like – waiting here like Joe Goldberg’s long-lost brother, ready to ambush her as soon as she finished work.
But I had to see her again.
This was a need, not a want.
This means absolutely nothing. You’re not interested in reconvening where you left off. You’re just … curious.
Sure. Curious.
It didn’t mean anything that I instructed all my staff – top management to bellboys – to let the crew leave only through the main entrance. Or that I all but ensured she’d pass the lobby if she wanted to escape.
We’d meet again, whether she liked it or not.
And no, it meant nothing.
Briar had grown up to be an intimacy coordinator. Did that mean she now lived in America? Not necessarily. Was she married? Did she have a boyfriend? Was she in touch with her so-called parents? Did she ever reach out to Cooper? Was shehappy?
I was fairly sure I could find the answers to most of these questions. Of course, I had no right to. Back then, I’d made the executive decision to leave her alone after learning my true nature the hard way. I was – and am – a walking, talking disaster. Ready to ruin lives at a moment’s notice. The further I stayed away from her, the safer she would be.
That should’ve been enough to drive me out of my seat and into the Ferrari with Franklin.
And still.
Still.
I swiveled on my stool and eyed the elevators, waiting for her to emerge. Each time the doors opened and out trudged along a loved-up couple, a businessman, or a herd of tourists, my teeth slammed together, until I could feel them dissipating into powder.
An hour ticked by, then another.
Finally, at nine at night, I snapped my fingers.
On cue, Kelsey materialized behind the bar. “Sir?”
“Have them evacuate the presidential suite floor.”
“Do you mean the room?”
“The entire floor.” I was not taking chances.
“Uh … do I give them a reason?”
“Because I said so.”
Ten minutes later, the film crew began dispersing, trickling through the elevators. The lowly hair and makeup personnel filed out first, followed by the technicians and cameramen. Next came the producers, director, and their assistants. And lastly, the actors.
I caught a glimpse of the infamous Scarlett Boureanu, a redheaded bombshell who’d become Hollywood’s latest darling. She sent me a wink, which I pretended not to register, craning my neck to catch a glimpse of the woman behind her.
Sure enough, it was Briar. Unlike her glamorous client, she wore a tattered green ballcap, a trench coat, and a magazine she covered her face with.
And still, I recognized the wisps of her red-gold hair.
I slid off the stool and jogged toward her. “Briar, wait up.”
She did not, in fact, wait up.
