“Call you sometime, maybe? If I’m ever in Florida, or wherever?”
Another long hesitation, and her eyes searching. Nearly a mirror of my feelings, but not perfectly. Because, instead of being torn about the sex last night, which she clearly wasn’t, she seemed torn about this.
About me. About our saying “goodbye.”
Biting her lower lip, she put a hand to my chest. She dry-swallowed and let out a sigh, before beginning. “Look, Morgan, I really don’t think that’s a good idea. You and I both travel constantly for work, and we both seem committed to our careers. If things did go any further than this, we’d just end up frustrated by not ever being in the same city at the same time, and then we’d still have to travel to see each other whenever we actually could take the time off…”
Continuing to search Carmen’s eyes as she trailed off, I had the sudden suspicion that she’d delivered this exact same speech more times than she could count. Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course. God knew I’d given my own version of this monologue plenty of mornings to women I’d met while on leave. But, partnered with that suspicion I felt, was another, complimentary one: that her heart really wasn’t in the fight this time.
Maybe just wishful thinking on my part, maybe not. Who knew?
“Well, I guess this really is it, then.” I smiled, shrugged. “Get a kiss for the road, at least?”
“For you?” she asked, throwing her arms around my neck. “Sure.”
Goddamn did she feel good in my arms. Perfect, even. Who cared that I’d never see her again? At least we’d had last night, and this morning.
Chapter Six
Ambyr
The elevator door closed behind me, and I brushed a strand of blonde hair back behind my ear as I smiled into the security camera installed in the upper corner of the car. “Hi,” I said with a little wave and a flash of green eyes, “I’m Yvette. Mr. Smolensky’s normal girl, Candy, is out with a stomach bug, so the agency sent me over instead. I hope that isn’t a problem.”
I’d never been a fan of these kinds of security measures on my jobs. They always required so many hoops to jump through.
Waiting for them to wave me through and summon the elevator to the top floor, I opened my clutch as I stood there in the hotel penthouse’s private elevator and began to touch up my makeup in the black glass of the digital readout. Just a bit of bright red lipstick I’d picked up special for this, my latest client. After a couple moments of touch up, my lips even more closely matched the strappy dress and heels I wore. All red cloth and leather, blonde hair, bare legs, and glittering white sapphires at my ears.
Don’t get me wrong, I understood the rationale of why such strenuous security measures were in place. The clients I’d dealt with, primarily men over the years (though, I won’t lie, there had been a few women), weren’t exactly the most morally pristine of individuals. They tended towards being wealthy, powerful, and more than just a little corrupt. And that kind of position, power, and corruption in life oftentimes made them a target for others.
You’d think, though, that with such strict security measures, they’d have done a better job on the implementation. For instance, the way the camera was positioned, there clearly was a blind spot in the corner just below where the device had been installed. Anyone could just step up right below the lens and avoid being seen. Of course, the security personnel wouldn’t actually approve the elevator coming up if they didn’t see anyone on camera, so I suppose the blind spot didn’t matter all that much as a true security hole.
But still, I mean, these security guys could be real finicky. What if I didn’t pass muster? Then I would have gone through the trouble of picking out this gorgeous red dress, doing my makeup, and even buying a brand-freaking-new blonde wig for nothing. Not to mention the whole flying into town just to see him.
Then, of course, there was turning down Morgan on the nightcap. Not that meeting him again was exactly a good idea, considering what I did for a living. But, turning him down had still stung a little. Because he’d reacted just fine when I sprang the whole belt and bathroom door thing on him, and all. And I’d felt the way his level of passion ratcheted up when I’d dipped into talking dirty about having more than one man in bed, so I knew he was kinky and kind of out there.
Maybe he’d get the kind of work I did? Maybe he’d understand how necessary my profession really was? He did have the military background, after all…
Nah. Probably not.
“Mr. Smolensky is excited to meet you,” a man’s Russian-accented voice said from a speaker hidden somewhere as the elevator car subtly lurched and began to climb. “And he regrets that Candy won’t be able to attend dinner this evening.”
Dinner. Sure. Right.
That’s what he regretted.
Knowing Grigori Smolensky, he was probably just regretting that I was here forty-five minutes earlier than he’d expected, and now he’d have to entertain me with his stunning wit while his little blue pill kicked in.
I put away my makeup and closed my clutch as the elevator drew nearer to the penthouse floor. Moments after my small bag had shut, the elevator doors were opening, and I was stepping out directly into the entry hall.
A spacious set of suites, Smolensky’s penthouse dwarfed my own room on the other side of downtown by a factor of ten. There was here, the entrance hall with its several hallways and doors that branched off to other parts of the penthouse, then a set of double doors opposite me. Heck, not only was this place ten times the size of mine, I could probably fit my entire room in just this one entryway.
Two dark-suited security guards greeted me as the doors closed at my back, both men fully equipped with glaring looks and a metal detector/EMF wand, and I almost drew up short as my eyes settled on the man on the left.
His eyes met mine for a second, held my gaze.
Lantern jaw, Neolithic forehead, shaved head, eerily discerning eyes.
I forced myself to swallow, to breathe, to shake off the feeling as I walked towards him.
