with the conversation. I can understand why Ashley is worried, but I really don’t think she needs to be right now.
If my emotions get too invested, I’ll put an end to this.
But I’m not at that point yet, which means it’s safe to have another hot weekend with Richard.
THREE WEEKS LATER, I’ve flown into San Diego and taken a car to the resort hotel that Richard indicated in his package.
It’s strange not to be able to connect with him before the trip. To simply trust that he’ll be where he said he’d be. Part of me can’t believe I actually flew to Paris a month and a half ago based on one half-scrawled note from him. At least this time, if he doesn’t show up, I didn’t have to cross an ocean.
The weather is perfect. Every time I’ve been to San Diego—several times over the years for work—the weather has been perfect. I like the city a lot, but there’s not really a lot of sightseeing I want to do this weekend.
Mostly I want to see Richard. Not just have sex with him, although I’ll be very happy to do that. I’m also excited about talking with him. Laughing with him. Seeing what he has to say for himself and what expressions I’ll see in his eyes.
I’m trying to settle my excited jitters as I get out of the car, wave off the bellman who approaches, and head for the front desk. Richard made it easy for me at the hotel in Paris, so hopefully he did the same here.
“I’m Gillian Meadowbrook,” I tell the smiling clerk. “I’m supposed to meet Richard Steele.”
“Oh yes, Ms. Meadowbrook,” she says, checking her computer briefly as if to confirm that what she’s about to say is correct. “Would you mind waiting just a minute? I need to get my manager.”
“Oh. Yes. Sure.” My stomach drops slightly. What the hell does she need her manager for? I have a random visual of someone approaching to tell me that Richard is an international criminal and the target of an FBI sting and I’m expected to do my part in setting a trap for him.
It has crossed my mind that he might be some sort of criminal. Just like it’s crossed my mind that he’s a spy or an escort or in witness protection or a hundred other possibilities for why he’s so mysterious and vague about the details of his life.
The most likely explanation is that he’s serious about living with no strings and so he lives his life in a way to make it impossible for anyone to lay a claim on him.
He doesn’t need to worry about me. An invisible person like me learns very early to never try to lay a claim on someone who doesn’t want to be claimed.
All this goes through my mind in a rush as I stand waiting until a pleasant, middle-aged man approaches with the original clerk. “Ms. Meadowbrook. We’re glad to have you. Mr. Steele called earlier. He’s been delayed, but we got him checked in, so you can go on up to the room.”
“Oh. Okay.” I process a wave of relief at this news. Not an FBI sting. Not a cancellation. Just something that came up to make him late. “That’s no problem. Did he say when...?” These people must think I’m crazy for not being able to contact that man I’m planning to share a room with.
If they think it’s a bizarre situation, neither one of them shows it in their expression. The manager smiles kindly. “He wasn’t sure. Later this evening. He made arrangements for you, however. So we can help you if you’d like to do something this evening. There are a couple of shows and concerts we can get you tickets for. Or we can recommend some good restaurants. Or—”
“Oh, thank you. That sounds lovely. But I’ll probably just stay here.” A night by myself in San Diego certainly doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world, but it’s not what I’m here to do.
“Of course. Our room service is excellent. Just call down for anything you need. We also have an excellent spa, if you’d like to schedule any treatments.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your help.” I smile at the original clerk to include her in the thanks. “I think I’ll probably just want to relax for a while.”
“Excellent. Heather will take care of you, and if you need help with your luggage...”
I only have one roller bag, so I