Holding Aces

by Nikki Groom

  He appears just minutes later and holds his hand up, showing me the key card to my new room. His smile is as wide as the ocean and it’s hard not to smile back. “Let’s get you settled,” he says, leading the way to the elevator.

  “Do you do this for all the girls that get hit on in your hotel?”

  He stops walking and his jaw drops open a little. “What do you mean by that?”

  My question has visibly changed his light mood and I feel instantly guilty. That was an insensitive question to ask. There he was, just minding his own business and then I come along and freak out when I thought the guy in the bar was going to be stalking me, just because he knew my room number. If I had been a little more assertive, he wouldn’t have felt like he had to come to my rescue. Now I feel I’ve been ungrateful and it frustrates me that I don’t have the ability to see the good in people anymore.

  “Nothing, I … it’s just … well, this is a lot of trouble for you to go to, you know?” I’m trying to gesture with my hands, but the jacket is making it rather difficult, frustrating me further. You’re changing my room because a guy hit on me and I didn’t deal with it like I should have been able to … It’s not even like I’m a VIP that deserves the special treatment, I have a basic room and only for a week. You don’t know me from Adam, and I don’t even know your name. Do you work here or something?” The tone of my voice gradually gets higher and my words come out fast until I’ve run out of breath.

  I hear a low rumble bubble up from his stomach, and he presses his lips together to stop the laughter escaping but he is failing miserably. It’s infectious and I join him when I realize just how neurotic my little rant was.

  “Okay.” He holds my shoulders and bends a little at the waist to look directly into my eyes while trying to keep his laughter under control. “Do you know how funny and adorable you look trying to move your arms around in my jacket while your mouth is running away with you?”

  I laugh. “No, I guess that makes me look pretty crazy huh?”

  He nods and smiles gently.

  “That’s a lot of questions, so here goes. Firstly, my name is Denham King. I would offer to shake your hand, but … you know ...” He tilts his head and smirks to himself, reminding me that I’m still unable to free my arms. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself before. I hadn’t even noticed that we had skipped that part. Secondly ...” He takes a deep breath. “I own this hotel, so who I give rooms to is my business, and thirdly, please let me assure you that this is the first and probably the only time I’ve felt compelled to accommodate a guest so willingly. You looked like you needed to catch a break, and I wanted to be the one to help you.” He looks down at the marble flooring and finishes his sentence with a shrug and a shy smile.

  I stand there a little taken aback and silenced by his explanation while I try to take in all the information. He seems so genuine, and I want to accept his kind gesture as nothing more than that, a kind gesture, but the realist in me makes me skeptical of anyone being so thoughtful just because they want to and not because there’s an ulterior motive. Maybe there are people in this world who do things to make others happy or to help them out.

  “Come on.” He starts to walk toward the elevator. “I’ll have the concierge stop at 144 and bring your belongings to your new room.”

  “I would really like to pack up my own things and make sure I don’t leave anything behind … if you don’t mind?”

  “Of course, I’m sorry, I should have thought. Would you like to stop by there on the way up or ...?”

  “It’s fine. I’ll pack everything up in a while. You don’t have to show me to my room, really, you’ve gone to enough trouble for me, I am so grateful and—”

  “We can stop at your room along the way, and then I will show you to your new room. It will give me peace of mind that you haven’t gotten lost or hit on by a middle aged sleazeball with questionable dress sense.” He looks at me with a quirked eyebrow. “Besides, you’ll need a special code for the elevator.” He says the last words with a wink and I scrunch my brows at him. Nonetheless, I put my trust in him, perhaps more than I should given my circumstances.

  We stop at my old room and collect my belongings. Ever the gentleman, he waits outside while I get everything together. When I open the door to the room I haven’t even spent more than a few hours in, he is leaning across the doorway, one leg propped against the wall behind him.

  He is hot.

  Not good looking.

  Not nice to look at.

  Off. The. Chart. HOT!

  My negative feelings toward the opposite sex go to the dogs when I look at him. I watch him for several long seconds, taking in the shape of his strong jaw and containing the urge to draw my finger along his day old stubble.

  “Will you let me take your case for you?” He smiles and holds out a hand. I look down at my case, all that I have. Denham holds his hands up in mock surrender.

  “Relax, I’m not going to steal it, just carry it to your room.”

  Once again I feel my tension slip away and I hand him my case. He should make me nervous but, strangely enough, he puts me at ease.

  The elevator ride seems to take forever as we stand beside one another facing the door, close but not touching. It feels like there is an electricity bouncing back and forth between our bodies. I feel his gaze on me, and when I give in to the craving to turn toward him, he snaps his head around to look at the elevator doors like a naughty child who has been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

  The doors slide open and we step out onto the landing. There’s another huge vase of flowers directly in front of me like the ones in the foyer, and a plush cream carpet that looks deep enough to sink your toes in. I look at him in confusion when I see there are only two doors—one to my left and one to my right. Huge, imposing, heavy, dark wood doors with gleaming gold handles, but neither has a room number.

  “Yours is to the left.” He walks ahead, slipping the key card into the door and pushing it open. I walk over the threshold and let out an audible gasp. This isn’t a room. It’s a beautifully, elaborate suite filled with opulent details and spectacular views of the fountains.

  Luxury in its finest.

  “What’s this?” I ask, a tone of astonishment mixed with annoyance in my voice.

  “It’s your replacement room. It was the only one available, so I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “But I can’t afford this room.” Although I could stretch my money toward this kind of grandeur, I don’t want to.

  “It’s a complimentary room, Miss Jamesson. You didn’t ask to be upgraded, I upgraded you.”

  “Yes, but I’m not a charity case, I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, and I don’t need to upgrade to the penthouse just because someone hit on me.”

  “I think we had this conversation downstairs, and your mouth is starting to run away with you ... again.”

  He strides past me, taking my case through another door, and I break into a half run to keep up with him which isn’t easy when I’m still buttoned into this damn blazer. I stop just before I slam into his back. When he puts my case down and steps to the side, I’m stunned at what I see.

  “Whoa.”

  The room is exquisite. A king size bed draped in ruby-red silk sheets and sumptuous bedding is the centerpiece of the room—a masterpiece in intricately, hand-carved dark wood. Off to the side is an en suite bathroom with a sunken marble bath.

  He turns to face me with a sincere look in his eyes. “Now, I would really like it if you were to stay here, but if you would like to go back to 144 I will understand.” I open my mouth to speak, but he hushes me by holding a finger up. “I’m not trying to hit on you, win you over, get in your panties or make you feel inferior in any way. I’m just trying to do something nice for you because, well, because I can.” He works the buttons open on the jacket I’ve been wrapped in but leaves it draped over my shoulders.

  “Finished?” I say with a smile.

  He
grins. “For now.”

  “Thank you for being kind, not hitting on me, not trying to win me over or … get in my panties.” Even as a joke that was hard for me to say. I breathe and continue, “I would really like to stay in this room, but I cannot afford it, and I feel uncomfortable with your offer.”

  He shakes his head and rubs at his temples. “Fine, how about we make a deal? You pay the same price for this room as you did for the other. Then I’m not giving it away and you don’t feel uncomfortable. What do you say?”

  I shake my head at him. He’s an insistent man and he makes it very difficult to say no. It’s a good job I’m only here for a few days. I smile at him, and now that I can, I hold my hand out to him to shake on it. “Deal.”

  Our hands lock and electricity travels up my arm, setting the hairs on end. His hand encases mine with confidence and gentleness as his thumb moves slightly to rub the back of mine, sending tingles across my skin. I pull back and rub my hands together nervously, realizing that our handshake lingered just a fraction too long.

  “Right, I had better get unpacked. It’s been a long day.”

  “Of course.” He reaches into his back pocket and hands me a card. “This is my personal number. If you need anything, just call. The concierge is at your disposal and the facilities are free for you to use whenever you wish.”

  “That’s very kind, thank you, but I’m sure it won’t be necessary.” I take his card, giving him a smile, and he steps past me to leave.

  “Wait.” I spin around to catch him. “Your jacket ...” I slip it off my shoulders, handing it to him. “Thank you, you are very chivalrous.”

  I’m awarded by a flash of those beautiful, straight white teeth and a nod before he turns on his heel. I watch his long fluid strides, and as he moves through the apartment I can’t help but let my eyes drift to his ass.

  Those pants.

  That butt.

  I almost let out an audible groan but stifle it just in time for him to turn and give me a knowing look before he leaves, closing the door behind him. I let out the deep breath I was holding and smile to myself.

  For a day that started with so much uncertainty, it hasn’t ended so badly.

  WAKING UP IN A DIFFERENT place for the third time in as many days is unsettling. I haven’t ever been truly settled, never staying in the same place for more than a few years at a time and not really having any place that makes me feel like I belong anywhere in particular, but that hasn’t stopped me from wishing for it one day. Confusion prickles my senses as I wake enough to recall where I am and when I glance at my watch I notice it’s nearly nine in the morning.

  The extravagance of this suite makes for a lighter feeling than the motel I slept at last night though, and I am truly grateful when I set my feet on the carpet and they sink into the plush fibers rather than sticking to threadbare backing. I pull on a bright-white robe, and relish in the soft feel of it, blanketing me in luxurious comfort.

  I make my way through to the living area, and jump when I hear a knock at my door. I cautiously walk over to peek through the spy hole, and my body relaxes when I see that it’s just room service with a breakfast trolley. I stand there for a minute, confused as to why he is there. I didn’t order anything.

  I open the door just a crack, and I’m greeted by a plump little man with a friendly face. “Mr. King requested breakfast for you, Miss Jamesson, where would you like it?”

  He what?

  It’s such a thoughtful thing to do but not for the first time, I question his generosity. I feel guilty for doing so, but experience has told me that you don’t get something for nothing and I don’t want to owe him. I don’t want to owe anyone.

  Anything.

  “Um, I don’t really know.” My voice is unsure as I pull the door open to allow him in.

  “How about I set it on the dining table for you, miss?”

  “Yes, that would be fine, thank you.”

  He nods and wheels the trolley inside with skill, then sets everything down on the table with practiced precision. When he has finished laying the lavish meal out, he turns to me and asks “Will there be anything else for you, Miss. Jamesson?”

  “Goodness, no, this is more than enough, thank you.” I shake my head to emphasize that I don’t think I could possibly want for anything else.

  “Very well. Please call room service if you require anything from the menu.” He leaves with a friendly smile and a small nod.

  The polished table seats six, but is set for one, and the cutlery is so well buffed you can see your reflection in it. The breakfast is fit for a king—pastries, fresh fruit, coffee, orange juice and a dish that is concealed with a silver cover. I lift it and I’m greeted with a plate of hot pancakes and bacon. Placed next to the feast is a gold embossed menu, listed with everything you could possibly imagine ordering for breakfast.

  How much do they think one person can eat?

  I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started to eat and now I’m not sure I can stop, but after devouring the pancakes and bacon, I grab a pain au chocolat and a mug of black coffee, and head for the balcony. I’m pleased when I find a sun lounger to relax on, so I sit and take in the most amazing view over the Strip, watching the rest of the world go by. The view reaches for miles as I watch the people going about their everyday life without a care in the world. Is this really the way it is? Or are they all running or hiding from something? I’m not naive enough to think that life is going to be a bunch of roses, but there must be an end to the constant stream of upheaval I seem to have dealt with all of my life. Surely it has to hit a plateau and run smoothly even for just a while?

  When I have finished eating, I lie back on the lounger and close my eyes; after consuming all that food I’m feeling tired and sluggish. The Las Vegas sunshine is warm, and the feel of it touching my skin is comforting, but nonetheless my mind races with all the events of the last few days.

  The shouting.

  The slap.

  The feeling of history repeating itself.

  Oh god, this is one big clusterfuck.

  I need to decide what’s going to happen long term. It would be much easier to leave, start afresh somewhere else with a new name and a new identity where no one knows anything about me. But I’m tired of running, I don’t want to leave my mom again. I don’t want to leave Lottie again, and I want somewhere to set down roots. I’m twenty-six years old. Time to face it head on and deal with it.

  After a scorching hot shower, I’m feeling a little more human. I know where I need to start in order to put my life back together, and I’m not looking forward to it, but it has to be done. Delaying the inevitable won’t help.

  I slip on a pink matching underwear set—nice underwear is essential in making you feel empowered—followed by a black shift dress that hugs my figure and makes my long legs look even longer. A pair of black wedge heels completes the outfit.

  I turn to look in the mirror. I’m not applying any makeup. The deep-purple bruising that has developed on my cheek only serves as a reminder of my past and I need to feel that anger and determination for the phone call I’m about to make.

  I delve into my purse and take out my cell. No more missed calls from Aaron. Just a text from Lottie, asking about my plans for today. I’ll call her later.

  I’m not sure if he’ll be awake yet, or even what state he’ll be in, but I dial the number and wait. My hands are shaking and the nails on my free hand have left indentations where they are digging into the palm. My heart rate picks up with every ring he doesn’t answer and I think it just about beats out of my chest when he eventually picks up.

  “Nat?”

  “Hello, Aaron.” My voice is flat, devoid of feeling, but it doesn’t take long for him to pull on my heartstrings and thaw my determination just a little.

  “Natalie! Where the hell are you? I’ve been so worried. Come home. Please, come home.”

  “Aaron—”

  “Nat, I’m sorry, I love you. Pleas
e just—”

  “Stop, Aaron.” I shake my head in frustration. “I’m not coming home. I’m not coming back,” I say softly.

  “What? What do you mean you’re not coming home? We had an argument, all married couples have arguments. We can go to counseling, and I’ll get help, whatever you want. We can work it out ...”

  Just an argument? Is he crazy?

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and screw my eyes tight shut in frustration. He doesn’t see it, but then he doesn’t know the full story so he wouldn’t have known how deeply something like this would have affected me.

  “Will you just stop? Please, Aaron … come back to the real world. We didn’t just have an argument. You hit me ...”

  “I’m sorry.” His voice drops to a whisper. “It’ll never happen again. I don’t know why … I … I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, and—”

  “You’re right, Aaron, it won’t happen again because I’m not coming back. I want a divorce.”

  “You want a divorce?”

  “Did you not hear me the first time? I’m not doing this, I’m not living a life going back and forth like this. If it means being on my own, then so be it, but I’m not going to be miserable any longer. Our marriage has been a disaster from the minute we said I do. And you hit me, Aaron. You hit me! You can’t come back from something like that. We can’t.”

  The silence stretches out between us as I listen to his soft restricted breaths on the other end of the line.

  “I really fucked up. Didn’t I, Nat?”

  I sit on the edge of the bed and my heart constricts at the defeated tone in his voice. I know I should hate him, but I don’t. I certainly don’t love him, but I don’t hate him either. We shared some good times, and our honeymoon was one of the happiest weeks of my life, but it’s all tainted with the twelve weeks that followed.

  “Yes, you did.” I swallow the lump that is forming in my throat and focus on the purpose of this phone call.

  “Can you just come back so we can talk?”

  “So you can convince me to give you another chance?”