Hotel O

He was so in tune with what I needed. What we both needed. It felt … special. Like something that shouldn’t be waved aside and dumped, ready for the next anonymous fuck.

What if this is it? The end?

I take a large sip of my wine.

Fuck no.

I can’t let it end here. Not when we were both just starting to enjoy it. And I could tell he definitely was.

I open the folder where I keep all my naughty pics and find his. When I open one of them, I keep staring at the window behind him, and at Hotel Davies, realizing I could pinpoint his exact location with this.

Whether he works there or stays there often, what’s the chance he might be there again? And if he will be there at some point in time, could I possibly see him? Is it worth the risk?

Maybe not … but what’s the worst that can happen? He might rat me out to the website and get me banned from there. Worst-case scenario, he thinks I’m a stalker, and things get ugly.

Best-case scenario? We fuck again … and again … and again.

A devious grin spreads on my lips. Nothing but my conscience is stopping me from going there, and right now, my conscience is on the losing end. Because the devil in me is winning by a long shot.

I’m right in front of the building. It’s another hotel, one I don’t recognize. Maybe I never really paid attention to this part of town. Or maybe I’m oblivious. And completely out of my mind.

My feet are already walking toward the doors before my mind decides. I can’t stop myself from going inside and marveling at the beautiful marble on the floors and walls, the vibrant colors of the big flower pots scattered across the hall, and the thick palm trees in every corner. The whole thing looks expensive as fuck. A place where I normally wouldn’t even dream of booking a room.

People are walking around; mostly men donning suits with young girls on their arms, but a lot of staff too. It’s very busy, like there’s an event happening soon.

My eyes are instinctively drawn toward the large staircase in the back and the red velvety carpet that lies on top, welcoming guests. I wonder if D is up there. It sure looks magnificent.

Hotel O … I wish I knew it existed. I would’ve come here sooner and tried to haggle off the price of a room.

They must be expensive. Far beyond my budget.

And D … works here?

All kinds of questions run through my mind, but I’m distracted by a man clearing his throat to my right. The bellhop.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

With parted lips, I stare at him, blinking a couple of times before I make my way over to his desk. “Uh … yes.” My face flushes because I feel caught. Like I’m not supposed to be here. “I’m looking for, uh …”

Shit. I forgot, I don’t even know his real name. What am I supposed to tell this man?

What the hell are you doing, Kat?

“Can I speak to the manager, please?” I say, making it up on the spot.

The man frowns, narrows his eyes, and stares at me for a few seconds. Sweat drops form on the back of my neck as I try not to panic. Please, just go and get him so I can run and pretend I never did this.

“We have several, ma’am. Which one are you referring to, or does it not matter?”

“Oh, uh … someone whose name starts with a D?” I say it like it’s a question, but I’m just fishing for information now. I’m hoping D is part of his real name. If not, this may be the end of the line.

“May I ask what the reason is?” the man says.

Well, fuck. I don’t know.

“My … uh …” I mumble. “No, in fact, that’s for his ears to hear only,” I say resolutely. “Now please, just get him. I have to speak with him.” I don’t even know why I’m pretending to be classy when I’m not, but if I can convince him I’m a disgruntled guest, he might step away for a moment so I can finally go.

However, as he turns around to pick up the phone on the desk next to him, a man walks past me wearing a familiar scent. It’s the same cologne I smelled when I was in the hotel room … with D.

My head instinctively turns to take it in.

Thick, dark hair and a tight black suit.

It’s him all right, and he’s walking toward the stairs.

I gotta go after him.

Without thinking, I follow, and the bellhop yells at me, “Ma’am, where are you going?”

“I’ll talk to the manager later,” I say. “It can wait.”

“Ma’am, please, can you wait?” he asks, but I’m long lost to the handsome stranger going up the stairs while I’m fighting my way through what feels like a crowd of people. He’s right there, only a few steps away. If I could reach out, if I could only—