Hotel O

by Clarissa Wild

  “Only you can put coffee and sex on the same scale.”

  “What? They’re both just as addictive,” I say, snorting.

  “Then try a different blend.”

  “A what?” I frown, confused.

  “A different man. C’mon, Kat. You’re not stuck with him. There are plenty more fish in the sea.”

  “Oh, I know, but this fucker has my picture now. What if he spreads it all over the internet? It’d ruin me.”

  “What?” His voice gets louder. “What picture?”

  I don’t like admitting this, but I know I have to. “Um … dirty ones.”

  “How dirty?” he asks.

  I close my eyes while speaking. “Naked … ass crack … and my face.”

  “Kat …” There he goes again. “Really?”

  “What? I didn’t know he was going to do that!” I grab a pillow and shove it in my face, groaning into it so Flynn doesn’t hear. When I move it away, I say, “I know I fucked up.”

  “Big time,” he adds. “And you can’t get him to delete them?”

  “No, I don’t think so. He’s keeping them in case I talk about him.”

  “That’s messed up, babe,” he replies.

  “That’s what I told him, but he wouldn’t budge!”

  “Tell me where he lives or works. I’ll bust him up for you.”

  I laugh. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, I’m serious all right,” he says. “No one messes with my Kat.”

  “Aww …” I sit up again and take another sip from my wine. “That’s sweet of you. But don’t.”

  “Why not? The bastard deserves it.”

  “No, it wouldn’t be right. We’d be stooping to his level.”

  “Fine,” he grumbles. “But not because I couldn’t because I definitely would. Fuckers like that always take advantage of beautiful girls.”

  “Aww …” Now I’m blushing from the compliment. “Thanks, dude. I needed that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If you need a little pick-me-up, we can go out tomorrow. I have to work tonight, unfortunately.”

  “Sure, that’d be fun,” I reply.

  “Before I go, if you could just give me his name, then I can at least try to find out more about him,” he asks.

  “Why?”

  “In case someone mentions his name, I’ll know where to go when we need to get that picture back.”

  “You honestly think that’ll work?” I grin. I don’t know about that, but I like how persistent Flynn is.

  “Maybe. Doesn’t hurt to at least try. Now c’mon … what is it?”

  “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” I say.

  “Fine.” He sighs again.

  “Okay. I trust you. Just don’t do anything rash,” I add. “His name is Declan Porter.”

  No reply. Not for a whole minute.

  “Flynn?” I mumble.

  He’s still not responding.

  Suddenly, the line cuts off, and I stare at my phone as if that’s going to fix it. Did he just end the call, or did something happen?

  Declan

  I’m working on the next event when an employee comes busting into my office.

  “You’re the one fucking her?” Flynn, one of the part-time male workers, marches toward my desk.

  I look up from my laptop, completely befuddled, and close it immediately when I notice he’s right in front of my face.

  “Kat,” he growls.

  “What?” My eyes widen. “How do you—”

  “I’m her friend,” he interrupts. “She just told me Declan Porter is the asshole who’s been using her all this time.”

  I raise a brow, leaning back in my chair. “Asshole? That’s funny, considering she willingly participated.”

  Flynn slams his fist on the desk. “This is not a joke.”

  “Be careful there, dude,” I say.

  Is he just a friend or a boyfriend? I’m starting to wonder.

  “I don’t care,” he yells. “You hurt her.”

  “No, she got hurt because she was looking for it,” I reply, tapping my fingers on the desk.

  “By trusting you with her feelings, yeah!” he yells.

  I’m momentarily taken aback. Feelings? No way. We had an agreement that it would be a physical thing only.

  “And you took pictures?” he growls.

  “She gave several to me willingly,” I say. I can back it up if I need to, but this is getting embarrassing.

  “Not with her face showing!” He’s turning temperamental on me now, and I don’t like it one bit. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “What I do in my free time is none of your business,” I say, cutting it off as short as I can. I don’t want to fuel the fire any further.

  “If I’d known she was seeing you, I would’ve told her not to get involved,” he snaps.

  I narrow my eyes. “Do you really think I’m that bad for her?”

  “Yes! Goddammit!” His face is red, and he can barely keep his anger in check.

  But I doubt he’ll come at me. I’m his boss, after all, and that would mean he’d get fired.

  “I swear to God, if you weren’t my boss … I’d … I’d …”

  “You’d what?” I dare him to answer that.

  He growls out loud. “Just stay the fuck away from her.”

  Before I can say another word, he’s already turned his back to me and rushed off, slamming the door shut behind him.

  So … Flynn’s friends with Kat, and he hates me now because she told him everything, apparently. Should I fire him for busting in like that and screaming his lungs out? Maybe. It was inappropriate and bad. But then again, I get that he’s upset. If the roles were reversed, I’d probably do the same.

  Plus, if I fire him now, there’s no way in hell Kat would ever forgive me. And one way or another, she will find out that he works for me, whether it be through him or through me.

  And she’s probably not going to like it.

  Do I care? Maybe. Maybe a little too much.

  Especially considering he might be more than just a “friend.” Fuck. I don’t want anyone else to touch her. Although I don’t even know why I’m this possessive over her.

  I don’t want to admit it, but she is on my mind for at least half the day, if not more. Every time she leaves, I think about when I’m going to see her again. That alone makes me question what it is that makes me so infatuated with her … and why I can’t seem to stop thinking about her.

  One thing’s for sure, though. It’s too late to turn back now.

  Flynn may want me to quit her, but I definitely don’t.

  Chapter 21

  Kat

  A few days later, I’ve begun typing out my story from beginning to end while at work. Everything about where I met the mystery man, to when I sneak into his office, to the sex event, and even the hookups between. Nothing’s left unmentioned except for the actual location and names.

  I don’t want to name and shame anyone. For now.

  I just know this story has to be out there. And for that to happen, I need to type out something interesting to read. Juicy and gossipy but not too damaging.

  Though, as I’m nearing the middle, I realize I don’t really have an end to write.

  At least not one remotely interesting.

  Should I make something up or stick with facts?

  There’s no way anyone can verify what I write. I don’t want to show any literal records or proof. For now, anyway.

  But something about lying makes me all itchy. I can’t do it. No matter how hard I try.

  So I sigh, lean back, and stare at my story, wondering how the hell I should continue it.

  I was hoping this one would be the big one for the magazine, but I know my boss would never accept a half-finished story. Let alone an erotically charged one.

  I need to let this simmer for a while. So I close the page and check the time. Not yet quitting time. Then I remember today’s also the day I get paid �
�� and a smile immediately forms on my lips.

  Not because I’m happy to get some cash. It just means I get to do something I can only do once every month.

  I go to the site that has a list of all the charities looking for donations, and I pick one that I haven’t sent anything to before. Then I go to the donate form, fill in all my info, and pay directly.

  No ifs, no buts. I give them all I can spare right now. Without it, I can still live, pay rent, buy food, etcetera. It’s the minimal amount I need to survive, and that’s enough.

  These people need it more than I do. And giving it away means they get to do something good with it, which makes me happy. It makes me feel good about myself, so what more could you want?

  Besides, I’ve had my fair share of living the rich lifestyle when I lived with my mom and dad. It wasn’t exactly as picture perfect as it’s often portrayed. I’d honestly rather live how I live right now than spend one more minute in that toxic environment where the only thing that seems to matter is how others view you.

  I don’t care about what other people think of me. I don’t need money, or a husband, or a big house to feel like I have something worth giving. To feel like my life matters.

  This—giving my salary away so these people can do something good with it—is what matters.

  Suddenly, my phone rings.

  It’s not the one I use for work … or anything else important.

  It’s the one Declan has the number for.

  Without picking it up, I stare at the screen, frowning. Should I take the call? He was such an asshole last time. How much worse can it get? Then again, he has my picture. Maybe he wants to negotiate.

  However, Dad always said never to negotiate with people who are only out to make you crumple. I shouldn’t even attempt to talk to him as long as he still has them. At least, that’s what I think my dad would say. I’d never actually go to him for advice on these things. No way. I’d rather die than have him know about all my failed attempts at romance and sex.

  No, I have to decide this on my own. And without Declan providing me with proof that he’s not keeping the one that shows my face, it’s not worth going any further. I can’t risk him exposing me publicly like that.

  So I ignore the call and turn off that phone, hoping he won’t try again.

  I need some time away from him so I can think about what to do next, and talking to him isn’t going to make that any easier.

  My phone rings again, and for a second there, I almost get pissed off before I realize it’s the other one that’s ringing now. It’s Mom, so I pick it up.

  “Kat, where are you?” she asks.

  “At work.”

  “Did you forget we had an appointment today?”

  Appointment? What is she …?

  “Fuck!”

  “Kat!” She always hates it when I swear out loud. Oops.

  “Sorry!” I say, checking my calendar, which indeed shows I penned down that my mom was coming over to dinner early today. “I completely forgot.”

  “Should I go back home?” she asks.

  “No, no,” I say, quickly packing up my things. “I’m coming.”

  “How long is it going to take?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute, I promise,” I say.

  “Okay … don’t make me wait too long,” she says, before hanging up the phone.

  Great. Just what I needed. Forgetting an actual dinner date with my mom at my place because I was so obsessed with work … and someone else.

  Oh well, better get there quick before she loses her temper and calls my dad. I don’t want to give them another reason to fight.

  As I hurry out the door, I bump into Crystal, who immediately opens her mouth. “Kat, I was just looking for you. Do you—”

  “Sorry, can’t!” I yell back to her as I run through the hallway. “Forgot my dinner date with Mom!”

  “Oh, okay,” she replies. “Have fun!”

  “Thanks.” I quickly run out before she asks me anything else.

  I really do not have the time right now to worry about what article she’s working on or the advice she usually asks me for. I quickly run to my car, drive home, and rummage in my pocket, looking for the keys to my house so I can get in and call Mom to ask if she’s still in the neighborhood. Because she’s definitely not here anymore. Knowing her, she’s probably already had her driver take her back home, and I don’t blame her. I would’ve done the same if someone stood me up like that. God, I’m such an idiot for not keeping track of my schedule.

  After I’ve finally pried the door open, I throw my purse on the floor and take off my coat, then immediately fish my phone from my pocket.

  “Hey, honey!”

  My mom’s sudden voice makes me drop my phone.

  “Mom?”

  She walks out of the kitchen. “Oh, did I scare you?” she asks.

  “Just a little,” I reply, laughing awkwardly.

  “Sorry, I just let myself in. Figured I’d make some teas since you weren’t here yet.”

  She still has a key? Crap. Why did I give that to her again? I completely forgot about that too.

  When she attempts to hug me, she inches back and winces. “What’s that smell? Ugh.”

  I sniff my armpits. A bit of sweat but nothing extreme. “I’ll go shower,” I say.

  “Good,” she says, making me roll my eyes.

  “Don’t burn down the house while I’m in the bathroom,” I retort.

  “Why would I do that?” she yells as I close the door behind me and snort.

  “Just don’t start cooking, please,” I say. Knowing her, she’ll attempt it anyway, regardless of what I say or ask her. She’ll never fully admit she can’t actually cook.

  “I’ll just go sit here on the couch then,” she says while I take off my clothes.

  “Feel free to turn on the TV,” I reply as I turn on the shower and step under it.

  I let out a sigh of relief as the warm water rolls down my skin. The solitude that comes with the heat feels amazing. It allows me to think about what’s been happening in my life recently and how I’m going to deal with things from now on.

  I should be more careful with who I choose to trust. Who I want to spend my time with. Because you never know when your heart will decide to slowly fall for the wrong person. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

  Suddenly, I hear my phone ring, and I turn my head only to realize I left it in my purse. Well, shit. Guess I’m not going to pick it up then. No way am I going to rush out the bathroom naked with my mom sitting on the couch.

  So I shrug it off and wait for the noise to stop. It’s hard to tell with all this water rushing into my ears, though. Instead, I focus on lathering my body with soap, and then washing my hair, making sure I’m squeaky clean before turning off the shower and grabbing a towel to dry off with.

  I wrap it around my body and walk out of the bathroom while my mom’s still sitting on the couch. She’s constantly flipping through the channels like she doesn’t find any of them remotely interesting.

  “So how’s Dad?” I ask, trying to casually stir up a conversation.

  “Fine, I guess,” she snaps.

  Well, this is going great.

  “Still not slowing down with all the work?” I ask.

  “No, and I don’t want him to.”

  I slam my lips shut. Right. Okay. Awkward.

  “Fred and I haven’t actually spoken in days.”

  “Really?” I say as I go into my bedroom and put on a comfy light blue shirt along with a pair of white sweatpants. “Not even during dinner?”

  “He’s never home for dinner!” she squawks. “Let alone the rest of the day. I don’t know what it is that he’s doing at work, but I’m getting sick and tired of it, and I’ve had enough.”

  I suck in a breath and brush my hair out while thinking of what to say. I was hoping this would be a casual dinner date, nice and quiet, but I don’t think Mom’s doing so great right now.
/>   “Have you talked to him about it?” I ask as I tuck my hair into a bun.

  “Like he’s ever available,” she says, taking a sip of her tea. “With whatever it is he’s doing.” She makes a “tsk” sound with her lips.

  Why would she not know what he’s doing? Is Dad really that secretive? Or does Mom just not care about the business?

  “I don’t even wanna know at this point,” she adds. “I just want him to be there, you know?”

  “I get it,” I say, smiling. “Maybe I could ask him …?”

  “No, that’s all right,” she says, giving me that fake smile again that she always gives me when she doesn’t want me to see any weakness. In that light, we’re the same. Small moments of shared feelings and traits are where I find solace with her, so I have to treasure it. And I need to pull her out of that negativity right now. So I sit down on the couch beside her and place my hand on her knee.

  “So what would you like to eat?” I ask, trying to shift the conversation.

  She puts down the tea she made herself. “Oh, well, I’ve already taken care of that.”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, this nice gentleman on the phone who said he was your friend wanted to bring takeout, so I gave him your address.”

  My eyes widen, and I immediately jump up from the couch. “You did what?”

  “Well, you weren’t going to still cook for us, were you? He sounded so nice, and he wanted to stop by. Why not?” she says.

  But I’m already panicking, pacing back and forth while sweating profusely.

  “No, Mom, what was his name?” I ask.

  “I don’t know, something with a D ... Daniel … no that wasn’t it,” she mumbles.

  “Declan! It was him, wasn’t it?” I say.

  “Yes, that’s it,” she replies.

  “No!”

  “Why are you yelling at me?” She grabs her tea and takes a sip.

  “You invited someone into my home!” And not to mention who. Oh my God, Declan. He’s coming over, and I am not prepared.

  “So?”

  “It’s my house!” I say, groaning. “Fuck.” Of course, he’d ask her for my address. I should’ve known he’d apply some shady tactics to find out where I live.