I let out a groan. This was exactly what I got for listening to Jenna. She’d made me promise to have fun and threatened to drive up there if I holed up in my room the entire trip.
Then again, she was twenty-three and sleeping with her boss’s son. What the hell did she know about proper work etiquette anyway?
But I’d done it. Two drinks at the bar and I was free to go back to my room and order room service. I didn’t actually consume one of said drinks, but that was just semantics.
Looking down at my dress, I cussed under my breath. Jackass McGee was wearing the majority of the wine, but I hadn’t escaped unscathed. There was a big wet spot on my pink maxi dress, and the insides of my heels were already sticky. I grabbed a small cocktail napkin and squatted to clean my shoes before the mess soaked into the black leather. The napkin disintegrated on contact.
“Hey, can I have one of those?” I asked Mr. Not-So-Chivalrous as he used the entire stack of napkins the bartender had delivered to frantically pat down the front of his pleated khakis. Barf.
He didn’t have a chance to answer before a white linen handkerchief suddenly appeared over my shoulder.
I froze, my heart stopping at the sight of it. An all-too-familiar warmth chased a chill down my spine.
No way.
It was impossible.
For several beats, I stared at the delicate fabric, telling myself it belonged to a gentle ninety-year-old grandpa trying to help a slow-witted damsel in distress.
But there was only one hero I knew who carried a handkerchief. Denial was my forte, but I’d recognize those long, sexy fingers anywhere.
“Take it,” he rumbled. The sound of his voice made my nose start to burn.
Fuck. I’d spent the last two days reeling over a text message exchange with the man. Reading it. Considering deleting it. Then reading it again. Over and over, until I fell asleep at night. But that was the magic of a text message. It was private and non-intrusive. I could cry, laugh, smile, cuss—whatever my emotion of the hour happened to be. Trust me, I’d gone through all of them over the last forty-eight hours.
Seeing him was different. There were too many emotions tied to Bowen for me to sort through them on a whim. I was mad at him but missed him fiercely. I hated what he’d done but loved him with my whole heart.
Your guess was as good as mine as to which one of those emotions would bubble to the surface if I had to speak to him one-on-one.
He shook the handkerchief. “I said take it, Remi.”
Closing my eyes, I put my chin to my chest. My lungs ached as I held my breath. This wasn’t a ringing phone I could choose not to answer.
He was standing right fucking there. How? I had no idea. But there was only one way to get answers.
I took the handkerchief and rose to my full height. His towering body still loomed over mine. Slowly turning to face him, I sent up a prayer that he’d transformed into a swamp ogre over the last four months. It was unlikely, but a girl could dream.
Womp womp womp… Wrong!
The most handsome face I had ever—and would ever—see stared back at me, a bright white smile dancing on his lips. Son of a bitch, why did he have to be so damn good looking?
“Are you stalking me now?” I asked rather snottily. Okay, so a combination of bitchy and frustrated was what my ever-spinning wheel of emotions had landed on. It was probably a safe call. I could work with that.
He shrugged, nonchalant but still somehow arrogant as only Bowen Michaels could be. “Unlike some people, I’m not the one with the history of stalking. Did you bring the bubble tea this time too?”
Narrowing my eyes, I glowered. “Actually, I’m here for a real estate conference that has been planned for months. What’s your excuse?”
“Mmm,” he hummed, stabbing a hand into his pocket.
Like it was some kind of Jedi mind trick, I had no choice but to look at his delectably exposed forearm.
“That’s odd. Because currently,” he said, “the only conference at this hotel is the IBALS.” He pulled out a badge connected to a lanyard from his pocket and thrust it into my line of sight.
International Business and Accounting for Longevity Symposium
Bowen Michaels, CPA
Dammit!
My eyes flashed wide and only partly because I’d caught the most incredible whiff of his cologne, which transported me back in time to many nights when that fragrance was the only thing he’d been wearing. The other part was because it did in fact look like I was the one doing the stalking—again.
I huffed. “My conference is actually across the street, but by the time I decided to attend, the hotel was full, so I had to get a room here.”
