I blink one more time, letting my eyes scan the area.
No town car. Definitely not my parents’ house.
I’m in a swanky hotel room in L.A. and I ache all over.
Thankfully, I’m still sane because I definitely did not let Magnus flipping Heron put his lips anywhere near my skin.
Right.
Brina, get a grip. He’s your boss, and he’s a swinging dick. You can do much better.
I scoff at myself.
Yeah, no. I probably can’t do better than an uptight billionaire, but personality-wise, I think a horned toad would beat Magnus hands down.
“Last call, madame! If you don’t answer, I have to move on,” the mystery voice calls.
It’s real. Oh.
“I’ll be right there,” I say, stumbling out of bed.
I realize I’m in a tank top, and I don’t know who wants me. Grabbing the big white bathrobe with the gold hotel crest across the chest, I throw it on and cinch the belt.
Then I pad over, opening the door, unsure what I’m expecting to find. But whoever it is knows me. She called me by name...sort of.
I swing open the door to find a tall blond lady in a grey hotel outfit.
“I’m from the spa. It’s time for your massage,” she says matter-of-factly in a thick accent. “Massage” comes out more like “massaszh.”
“I’m sorry, you must have the wrong room. I didn’t order any massage,” I tell her.
“No, no. Magnus Heron ordered for you. He booked one hour for all of his employees staying here, and right now, it’s your turn.”
“Awesome.” I think?
I’m not turning down a free massaszh, anyway.
“Open the door very wide for me, please,” she says. “I’m going to bring in my table.”
My eyes drift beside her. Sure enough, she has a full-sized massage table with her. I open the door as wide as it’ll go and wave her in.
She drags the huge padded slab in and sets it up next to my bed.
“I’m Verena. I’ll be doing your massaszh,” she says with a smile and more of that thick accent I can’t quite place. “Since you’re already in a bathrobe, leave any clothes in the bathroom. I have a blanket you can cover with.”
I force myself into the bathroom to discard the tank top. I’m leaving my underwear on. I don’t care what she is. I always thought I didn’t do massages because they were too expensive.
Maybe I’ve never tried because it’s a little weird.
I walk back into the main room in just the fluffy bathrobe. A folded blanket sits on the end of the table now.
“Where’d you get the blanket from?” I ask.
It’s not from the bed, because they’re all still there.
Grinning, she holds up a huge black bag with a wide strap I didn’t see before.
Wow. What else does she have in that thing? Heron’s soul?
I still can’t believe he actually did something nice for the team, for me.
But he did it with the surprise Sweeter Grind stuff on the plane, too.
So what if he’s only eighty-percent Mr. Hyde?
“Please lie down and pull the blanket up. Then you can pass the robe to me from under the blanket,” Verena tells me, stretching her hands, getting ready for action.
At least she has a system.
Maybe this won’t be as mortifying as I thought.
She pulls a black box from her bag and moves to the counter where she plugs the box into her phone. “Woodlands or waterfalls?”
“Come again?”
“Soothing sounds for the session. You have a choice,” she tells me very seriously, her brows pulled together, like it’s a life or death decision.
“Hmm,” I ponder, climbing up on the table. I pull the blanket over me, loosen the robe, and settle down on my stomach.
“I like water. Let’s go with that,” I say. It’s true. It relaxes me...or makes me have to pee.
The rush of a waterfall going down a mountain fills the room as Verena steps away and returns a moment later.
“Are you ready to give me the robe?”
I slide my hand, grasping the robe and holding it out, and she takes it.
“Any problem areas?” she asks.
“Umm—my whole body? Mostly because my boss works me to death.” I hold up my hands. “Fair warning, Verena, I’ve never had a massage. I might be ticklish.”
“Where do you feel the tensest?” she asks without missing a beat.
“I don’t know. Everything kinda aches.” I sigh. “Not really unbearable pain or anything. I’m just sore and tired and worn out.”
“I see. Close your eyes. Focus on your body. Live in the moment,” she commands softly.
It’s not bad advice, even if this entire moment of my life belongs to Mr. Heron for dragging me to L.A. and putting me under a massage therapist he hired.
I do as she says. The soreness isn’t all over, and some areas are definitely worse than others.
“The soles of my feet hurt, and my calves burn from the heels I wear like sixteen hours a day,” I tell her. Whenever the bossman tyrant’s gone, I take them off, but it hasn’t helped much. “Oh, and my neck feels stiff, and my shoulders—”