That might come across too desperate.
I don’t need the hotel job. I’m going to get paid twenty thousand dollars.
Oh, right.
But that’s only if I go through with it.
“Come on,” he says, returning and taking my elbow. His grasp is firm but a touch gentle. It’s probably the alcohol, but I feel like melting into him.
“What are you doing?” I ask warily as he guides me toward the double doors.
“I’m going to make sure you don’t fall down the stairs.”
“I don’t think I would—”
I stumble, and he catches me with both hands to steady me.
“I’m just naturally klutzy,” I mumble.
Why do his hands feel so good on me?
He walks me up to the third floor to my room. His is down the hall facing the ocean.
“Next time you might want to skip the Long Island Iced Tea,” he says, sitting me on the bed.
I nod in agreement as the room wavers more than ever. I watch him go down on one knee to slip off my sandals. My pulse skips as his fingers brush against me.
He rises. “Do you have night clothes you want to change into?”
“Um, I’ve got a T-shirt. It’s in my bag.”
He spots my duffel bag and goes over to find the shirt. He comes back with a faded light blue Carolina shirt. It’s old and the seams are coming out, but it’s comfortable because it’s worn. He sets it on the bed next to me. I stare at it. So he’s really not expecting anything tonight?
“What’s the matter?” he asks. “You need help getting undressed?”
My mind is still pondering my own question, and he interprets my non-answer as an affirmative to his question. He takes a knee on the bed behind me and gently pulls down the zipper of my dress. I can feel the air on my back and the faintest of heat from his body. With a difficult swallow, I slip my arms out of my dress and pull the shirt over me. I feel his weight come off the bed, and I maneuver my bra off underneath my shirt, before sliding the rest of my dress off.
By now, Tony has gone into
the bathroom and returned with a cup of water. My shirt isn’t that long and comes down to my upper thighs, and he seems to glance briefly at my bare legs. I feel practically naked in front of him.
“Drink,” he directs.
I do as he says. Honestly, I can’t imagine not doing what he tells me. I’m probably going to have to go to the bathroom half a dozen times tonight.
He pulls down the covers and nods for me to get in. He’s putting me to bed. I guess he doesn’t want to do it with a drunk girl. Maybe he’s worried that I’ll throw up on him.
After I crawl into bed, he pulls the covers over me. I watch him turn off the lights and close the door behind him as he leaves. No good night. Nada.
I lie in darkness, confused, a mixture of relief and concern. So what am I supposed to do now?
CHAPTER TEN
Because I hadn’t shut the blinds, light streams in, filling the bedroom. I block out the brightness by burying my head beneath a pillow. I have a headache, but the hangover could be worse. After lying in bed for several minutes without being able to sleep, I peek out from beneath the pillow and try to remember what happened last night.
Nothing. Nothing happened.
And part of me is disappointed. If I haven’t fulfilled my job, does it mean I won’t get paid? This concerns me. If I’m not going to get paid, I don’t want to lose my job at The Montclair.