Once in the city, he drives toward Union Square. The Drescott is a high-end boutique hotel just blocks from the shopping district comprising Neiman Marcus, Burberry and Tiffany’s—stores I don’t even go inside to gawk.
Pulling up in front of the Drescott, he hands the keys to the valet, who opens my door and gets my duffel bag. Taking my elbow, he guides me into the well-appointed lobby. This is not a place one rents by the hour, but that’s what we’re going to do. As he goes up to the check-in, I hang back because Tony and I do not look like we go together.
“Just one night, Mr. Lee?” the receptionist asks.
“Yes,” Tony responds.
“Ricardo here can get your bags for you.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Card key in hand, Tony approaches me and we walk together to the elevator.
“I didn’t mean for you to have to book a hotel room,” I say with guilt as the elevator climbs to the top floor. Maybe I should be offering to pay for the room, or at least half of it? But I don’t have the twenty thousand dollars yet.
“Where else is this supposed to happen?”
I guess we could have gone back to Eric’s place, but by then, Tony might change his mind.
“My best friend from high school did it in the back of her boyfriend’s pickup truck,” I tell him.
“I don’t want a mess in the back of the Porsche.”
Oh. It’s not the most romantic response, but it’s practical.
We step out of the elevator, and he opens the door to a suite. It’s not as fancy as the penthouse in The Montclair, but it’s more luxury than I could ever afford.
He drops my duffel bag on the sofa and puts his sunglasses on an end table. Staring at me, he takes out his cigarette case.
Remembering the sign by the door, I say, “I don’t think this is a smoking room.”
I regret ruining his fun, but billionaires should follow the same rules as everyone else. He presses his lips together and puts away the cigarette case.
We stand several feet apart, staring at each other. Suddenly, I remember I never did work out the condom issue. “Um...”
How do I say this?
“About protection...” I manage.
He narrows his eyes. “You’re not on birth control?”
“I tried pills once, but they gave me terrible headaches. I didn’t get around to exploring other options. And most of them don’t protect against STDs anyway. I’m not suggesting that you have an STD, just that I don’t know
you that well—”
He picks up his sunglasses. “I’ll be back in about twenty minutes. Relax. Order room service.”
He leaves without telling me where he’s going.
I sit down and contemplate what I should do next. Should I change into something more appropriate for the occasion? But what would that be? I don’t have any sexy lingerie, and it’s not like this is my wedding night.
I find the leather-bound room service menu. My eyes widen at the prices. I put the menu back.
Holy crap. This is happening. I’m going to have sex. For the first time in my life. With Tony Lee. Never in a million years would I have thought my first time would be with an international billionaire.
I don’t move from the sofa the entire time he’s gone. He returns with a bag from the local drugstore.
“Protection,” he says, setting the bag down. “What did you order?”