I shrug. “That’s okay. I think there’s another hotel down the street. We can try for a room there?”
He shakes his head. “That one is also full. As are the other hotels in the vicinity.”
I open and close my mouth in surprise, but I don’t panic. Living with my mother—a flighty artist who could neverseem to plan anything—has made meextremelyadaptable and easygoing.
“I’m fine staying anywhere. I can always take a taxi in every day?—”
Dr. Kincaid drops an arm at his side and takes a step closer. “I need you close by. You can share my room. I can sleep on the couch and you can take the bedroom,” he says, one hand curling into a fist. The expression on his face is authoritative and doesn’t leave any room for argument. “It’s not ideal, but it’s better than fighting downtown traffic every day.”
“I—um—” I shake my head, rejecting that this is my only choice. I deal with this kind of shit every day.For him.I’m a problem solver, and I will solve this. “One second. Let me go talk to them.”
I stomp away like a toddler about to melt down, because the very lastthing I want is to share a hotel room with Doctor Devil. Plus, my buzz is starting to burn into a sleepy hungover feeling; I’m tired, and I want to shower.
My heart is pounding as I walk up to one of the receptionists. “Hi, I wanted to inquire about if there were any more rooms?” I ask politely. “I think my boss mentioned my room was oversold,” I add, looking behind me.
“I apologize, miss. We don’t have any extra rooms for the duration of the conference, but if anything changes, I can add you to the wait list. Your boss already requested a rollaway bed, and the suite should be fine for two adults. Is that okay?” she asks, eyes imploring. “The conference is one of the largest ones we have in this area every year, so you’ll likely find the same thing at all the nearby hotels.”
Fuck.
“Okay, thank you.”
I slowly walk back to Doctor Devil, lips thin and heart galloping a mile a minute. Sharing a room with him—with myboss—for ten days…
Oh god. We’d have to share a bathroom.
“So?” he asks, voice dripping with condescension.
“No more rooms.”
He stands up straighter. “Hm. That’s too bad.” His tone is mocking.
Before I can respond, he walks away, and I contemplate how many times I’d stab him if I had a knife right this very moment.
I follow him reluctantly, barely keeping up with his quick stride.
“I promise I don’t bite, Francesca,” he says smoothly as we walk down a long hallway toward the welcome lunch.
I don’t respond, because what the hell am I supposed to say to that?
Once inside the large dining room, Dr. Kincaid collects our name tags and hands mine to me.Francesca Bristow.I make a mental note to crossFrancescaout and writeFrankie, just to spite him. I’m too distracted scheming to realize how we’re ushered to the VIP table, front and center. Swallowing, I quickly glance around. Everyone’s in suits and dresses, and then there’s me in sweatpants.
Annoyance claws through me. Why didn’t he tell me I should’ve changed?
Sitting down at one of the spots, Doctor Devil makes small talk with some of the others at our table before sitting to my immediate right. They all have an air of importance about them, and like Dr. Kincaid, they’re probably private psychiatrists that charge one thousand dollars for a consultation. Because I do his accounting, I know exactly how much he makes every year. He’s easily a millionaire, and I both resent and admire him for it. He does take insurance, but the majority of his income comesfrom people paying privately—usually an elite, privacy-seeking clientele who can afford the exorbitant fees. One of the reasons I took the job two years ago was because he also offered pro bono consultations for those who couldn’t afford his fees. It’s a nice thing to do, and if he weren’t such a dick, I might find him commendable, but alas… the vast majority of the time, he’s an asshole.
It’s such a juxtaposition that he’s willing to do nice things when he’s such an ass.
“You look cozy,” an older man says from across the table. His name tag says Alan Pierce with a bunch of titles behind it.
My cheeks heat. Just as I open my mouth to explain the situation, Dr. Kincaid glances over at the man.
“We had a bit of a mishap with our reservation,” he says. “Francesca didn’t have a chance to change.”
Well, I wasn’t given an opportunity to change, but okay.
“I see. So, Francesca, how is it dealing with Dante’s grumpy demeanor day in and day out?”
I clench my jaw to keep from laughing, and when I flick my eyes to Dr. Kincaid, he’s watching Dr. Pierce with narrowed eyes.
