Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

What I should do is let my friend Joshua Stanton take care of him instead. Joshua cage fights… for fun. That bastard is mean as shit.

“I’d like to see you alone.”

Her eyes hold mine. “I’d like that, too.”

“I can come to you. Tonight?” I offer.

She frowns again, her mind going into overdrive.

“Give me a key to your room, Charlotte. I’ll wait for your guards to leave and sneak in. They won’t even know I’ve been. We can have coffee and dessert.” I shrug. “We can just talk…”

Her chest rises and falls heavily.

I can almost hear her brain ticking.

She glances over to the side of the ballroom, and I follow her gaze, only to see Wyatt standing silently, his back against the wall. I hadn’t even noticed him, I was too preoccupied with York.

“They will see me give you the key,” she whispers. “And how will I get into my room when I get home?”

“Leave the key somewhere here for me to pick up without being seen, and then just ask them for another key at reception when you get there. Tell them you left it in the room.”

“Where?”

I think for a moment. “Go out the foyer. There’s a storeroom. Just

text me to tell me where you leave it.”

Her eyes hold mine as she swallows a lump in her throat.

I link our pinky fingers again. “I need to see you alone,” I whisper. “And this is the only way we will get any privacy.”

Charlotte licks her lips. “Okay?” She nods softly, not saying another word before she heads off in the direction of the foyer.

I turn and order my drink, elation filling me.

Finally.

* * *

I clutch the key in my pocket and casually stroll through the grand foyer of the Four Seasons. Charlotte left the function an hour ago, but she’s only just text me to give me the all clear.

Don’t get caught, don’t get caught, I remind myself.

I don’t really care if I get caught, but not getting to see her if I do has me worried.

I’m having trouble walking to her… I want to run.

Fast.

I get into the elevator and scan the key. The penthouse floor lights up, and I exhale heavily, my heart racing. Being nervous around a woman is new for me.

Don’t fuck it up. Don’t fuck it up.

The doors eventually open. I drop my shoulders, exhale heavily, and I walk out into the foyer. A large set of black double doors stand before me, and I tentatively turn the door handle.

It’s open, and I walk in.

Charlotte is in front of me, still in her ballgown and just as beautiful as I remember. My heart skips a beat at the sight of her.