Been There Done That (Leffersbee #1) - Hope Ellis Page 0,39
remind you of the past. Try to convince you he’s still the same ‘aw shucks’ small-town boy he always was. Then . . .” Her voice lowered. “He’ll figure out the one thing you really need. And whatever that thing is, he’ll throw everything he has at it. You will be so overcome with gratitude, you’ll get over your reservations, let him tap it, and settle down in suburbia with a shitload of trust fund babies.”
I followed the progress of a woman walking along the sidewalk, pushing a stroller. “If that’s the typical plotline in your books, we need to discuss your taste in literature.”
“Friend, my experience with love has been the exact opposite of a fairytale. Even though I’ve been dragged through the mud, stomped on, spat on, and disfigured by love, I still believe in it for others. I still think the men I read about in these novels are the standard by which all mortal men should be judged in real life. It’s why I keep insisting that you get Jackson’s best.”
Nope, I wasn’t touching that.
“Besides, I spend my days telling kids what they should expect during the course of their cancer treatment. I’m not exactly in the mood to read NPR’s retelling of the world’s horrors when I get home. You of all the people would benefit from a good sexy book. A little wish fulfillment, a reminder that happy endings exist, would do you a world of good. Especially since Jackson never seems to be where you are.”
“Next subject.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The . . . St. Regis?”
“Are you serious?” Her question was breathless.
“Yep. In the Tiffany suite. It’s all done up in Tiffany blue. And get this. I have butler service.”
“Shut up!”
“I’m serious. I don’t usually drink coffee or tea, but I let him set up the tea service just because.”
“Is there a bidet?” Her voice dropped an octave. “Have you raided the room for everything you can steal? I mean, bring home as rightfully yours?”
I laughed. “I haven’t had a chance, I just barely got in the room.”
“Okay, tell me everything. I want to know all the details. What amenities do you have?”
“I’m here to work—”
“The amenities!”
We switched to FaceTime so I could take her on a tour of the decadent suite. I showed off the highly-glossed surfaces of the bathroom, the shower large enough to comfortably fit an elephant, and the sleek sitting room furniture.
“Get this,” I said, loping over to pick up the small red box on a credenza. “The room came with a ‘romance kit.’”
Onscreen, her mouth fell open. “Shut up! What’s in it?”
I read off the contents of the box. “Let’s see . . . condoms, lube, towelettes, massage oil, breath mints. Huh. Even a ‘lover’s game.’”
She let out dreamy sigh. “So that’s how the rich do it. You gonna save the kit for when you see Jackson?”
I hesitated, caught. Leigh turned her to ear to the camera, a shit-eating grin on her face. “What’s that? What do you have to say?”
“I don’t want to talk about Jackson.”
“I agree, he’s not worth discussing. Not if he’s not going to at least make a guest appearance in New York while you spend intimate alone time with your old—”
“It won’t be intimate or alone.”
“Not if you can help it, huh? Thinking about spreading some of that massage oil all over Nick’s fine, cheating ass, aren’t you?”
Just that quick, my traitorous mind imagined peeling off the black sweater I’d last seen him in and discovering what delicious surprises awaited underneath. Nick was more solid, substantial now. Bigger. I wouldn’t mind smoothing a little massage oil all along firm terrain, letting my tongue follow where—
ALERT!
“Definitely not.” I fanned myself. Great. Now I was hot. “And I don’t need Jackson here. Even if he didn’t have to work, I’m more than capable of—”
“Hey, what’s that?”
I laughed. She had the attention span of a gnat. Her face filled the screen. I was treated to a close-up of her nostrils. “Behind you? Are those flowers?”
I walked her over to the desk where a massive profusion of tropical blooms took up fully one quarter of the desk.
“There’s an empty floral shop somewhere.”
“It’s huge,” I acknowledged.
“What did the card say?”
“It’s a thank you from his company, Rocket Enterprises. Standard, boilerplate language on the card.”
“Uh-huh. And what’s that other thing?”
I turned the phone to face the direction of her craned neck. “It’s a basket.”
“Of what?” I hesitated again and one of her brows went up. “What are you hiding, Z?”