Hate That I Love You (Castille Hotel Series Book 0)

by Alexis Winter

  The crowd of people move as a waif-like model of a woman comes into view. She’s tossing her head back and laughing, bouncy blonde curls moving in what looks like slow motion. Her eyes are bright and sparkling and her perfect pout a cherry red.

  Not wanting to embarrass myself, I quickly turn on my heels and make my way through the crowd to a quieter part of the party. I spy a few people I’ve become friendly with from accounting and make my way over to them. Once again, I smile and nod at their conversation, but I’m not really listening. I watch Nate and the mystery woman glide around the ballroom, laughing and bullshiting with everyone. I down a third glass of champagne and sulk at the pit that has formed in my stomach.

  Sure, Nate and I hadn’t had ‘the talk’ about our relationship yet, we hadn’t even discussed exclusivity, but I figured he had enough respect for me to tell me when it was over instead of showing up to the party with his new conquest. The more I think about it, the more livid I become. I can feel my blood boiling and the champagne starting to give me the courage to approach him.

  I see him break off from his date and make his way down the hallway towards the restrooms. Now is my chance. I practically toss my empty glass at a passing waiter and make my way down the hallway, lying in wait for Nate to emerge from the bathroom so I can attack. I pace a little, talking myself up and going over what I’m going to say to him.

  I turn just as he’s coming out of the restroom, a huge grin on his face as he sees me. “There you are, beautiful. Wow, you look fantastic!” he says, holding his arms out to me as if he’s about to pull me in for an embrace.

  “Excuse me?” I say with enough attitude to put a teenage girl to shame. I can see the confusion on his face as his hands drop to his sides.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” I don’t even try to hold back the volume of my voice as I jab a finger in his direction. “Showing up here with your next flavor of the month like I don’t even matter!”

  “Whoa, whoa, Elise, let me—” He tries interrupting me with an excuse, but I don’t stop.

  “No! You don’t get to stomp all over me and make me feel like shit and try to feed me some bullshit line. I’m not letting you do that to me again!” I can feel tears start to sting my eyes as flashbacks to my college disappointment come flooding back to me. “How? I don’t understand?”

  “Well, if you’d let me get a word in, I can explain.”

  “Oh, don’t you fu—” I roll my eyes and prepare to launch into my second diatribe when he raises his voice.

  “Elise! Jesus, woman, don’t you ever give it a rest? My god, you fly off the handle like you’re unhinged instead of letting me explain.” I stand back in shock; he’s never yelled at me before.

  “She’s my sister. It’s Shelly. I’ve told you about her.”

  “Hello?” I hear a woman’s voice behind me, and I turn to see Shelly standing behind me. She waves nervously as she approaches. “I’m so sorry for the confusion, Elise; I really am his sister. This whole thing is my fault. He told me about the party, and I was in town for barely two days so I asked if I could come with him. It was my only chance to get to spend any real time with him. I was really excited to meet you.”

  She’s sweet and genuine, and I feel like a complete asshole. I smile as I reach out a hand, wiping away the stray tear that has fallen down my cheek with my free hand. “Nice to meet you, Shelly.” I turn back to face a very unamused Nate.

  “I’m sorry I—” I start to speak but he holds up his hands.

  “I need a few minutes; I’m going to get some air,” he says before walking down the hall and pushing open a door.

  I let out a sigh and look up toward the ceiling. “I really fucked up this time.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about him,” she says, coming up beside me to rub my shoulders. “Listen, he’s an idiot for not telling you beforehand that he’d be showing up with a random woman, but I’m also sorry for taking this night away from you two. He told me he wanted to ask you tonight, as his girlfriend, and I’ve been dying to meet the woman who made my brother fall crazy in love.”

  My hand goes instinctively to my chest as I gasp, “Did you say—love? He loves me?” She covers her mouth before letting out a small laugh.

  “Oh my god, have you guys not said that yet? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. Honestly, with the way he goes on and on about you, I was shocked you weren’t living together when I arrived.” I can’t breathe. I feel like the room is spinning, and my heart is about to explode.

  I don’t even respond to Shelly. I just turn and run down the hall toward Nate. I throw the door open to see him standing on the edge of the sidewalk looking up at the stars.

  “I’m in love with you,” I say. He turns around slowly, his hands in his pocket.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Say it again.” A small smile breaks his stoic façade.

  “I love you, Nate Baldwin. You’re arrogant and condescending and infuriating—” He cuts me off when his lips land on mine, his hand darting to the back of my neck. I pull away a little as his wraps his other arm around my back.

  “You’re also kind and supportive and loving and wonderful, and you make me so happy.” I try to choke back the tears as he pulls me to him again, his soft lips caressing my own.

  He breaks the kiss and places a hand on either side of neck. “Elise, I have loved you from the moment you told me off in that elevator the first week you worked here. You try my patience like no other woman, but my god, you’re so worth it.”

  I link my arms together around his neck as we kiss, the world and everything else melting around us.

  Epilogue

  Elise

  One year later…

  * * *

  “I can’t believe it’s been over a year that you’ve been with Nate. You guys moving in together soon or what?” Tessa asks, taking a huge bite of the pizza we ordered.

  “Who knows. I swear he moves at a snail’s pace. We’ve talked about a future together, and he always says stuff like when we have kids or when we’re old, but he still hasn’t even hinted about ring shopping or maybe moving in together.” I get up to grab another slice.

  “A snail’s pace? Elise, it hasn’t even been two years, so calm down. Granted, I’ve never dated a guy, but in general, I think they are less apt than women to be jumping into engagement talk. It’s like a repellent for them.”

  “I’m in no rush to get married; I’d just like to have a ring on my finger, ya know?”

  “Okay, you say that, but I guaran-damn-tee you once you have that ring on, you’ll be a bridezilla, demanding to set a date and picking out flowers and whatever. It’s 2019, babe; who cares about tradition? Ask him already if you’re that anxious about it.”

  “Ask him? As in propose?” I’m a little shocked at the suggestion.

  “Yeah, why not? One of my friends at work just did. She got down on one knee and everything.” I let Tessa’s words roll around in my brain for a minute.

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea! I mean, why not? You’re right; it’s 2019, and we are strong, independent women who can do whatever the hell we want.”

  “Okay, calm down, Miss Suffragette; we still have a long way until we reach that status in this world.”

  I chew nervously on my pen cap as I reread the contract on my desk for the third time. It’s been a few days, and Tessa’s suggestion is still rolling around in my head. I tried prodding Nate this weekend, asking him questions about honeymoons or where his dream wedding would take place, but I couldn’t seem to get more than a few words out of him on the subject. I’m not one to sit around, so why not take things into my own hands?

  I know without a doubt that Nate is the man I want to marry and spend the rest of my life with. I always smile when I think about our kids running around the backyard with him. Him teaching them soccer and building a treehouse.

  After work, I slip into my workout clothes and throw on my running shoes, opting to h
it the trail on Lake Shore Drive to clear my head. I don’t even pay attention to the weather as large, dark storm clouds start to roll in. I continue pounding the pavement, one foot in front of the other as large, heavy raindrops start to pelt me.

  I don’t even think; I just run, letting my legs take me wherever, and soon I’m standing out front of Nate’s apartment, soaking wet. I hit the buzzer on his building, and he lets me up. I’m still amped from the run; I try to calm my breathing in the elevator.

  “Hey, babe, I wasn’t expecting you tonight. I thought you said you had plans?” he says, placing a quick kiss on my lips. I remove my shoes in silence as he shuts the door behind me. “You’re soaking wet; why in the world would you run in the rain?”

  He walks to his room and comes back a minute later with a towel and some fresh clothes. “Here, put on some of my sweats and a t-shirt.” I quickly change, tossing my wet clothes on the floor next to my shoes, and walk nervously behind him. In all of my thoughts about asking him to marry me, I never actually formulated what I was going to say.

  Before I can back out, I drop to one knee. “Nate, wait.”

  “Hmm?” He turns around, and his eyes drop to where I’m at on the floor. “What the hell?”

  “Nate Baldwin, I love you more than life itself. I never thought I would meet someone who ma—”

  “No, no, get up Elise,” he says, reaching down to pull me up by my elbows. “You’re not going to do this.”

  “Why not? I want to marry you, Nate.”

  “And I want to marry you, Elise.”

  “Then why haven’t you asked?” I wring my hands. I feel like a child being scolded, and I don’t know why. He isn’t angry, and he just told me he wants to marry me. I know I’m being childish, but tears start to form and tumble down my cheeks.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he says with a laugh and pulls me in for a hug. “Dammit, woman, you can never just leave well enough alone and let things happen, can you?” He pulls me back and places his finger under my chin, tilting it upward till my gaze meets his. “You know how hard it is to get you to think I’m not constantly thinking about convincing you to marry me?”

  I smile in relief, realizing that’s why he’s been avoiding any talk of marriage or moving in together. “I’m sorry. I just—I get myself worked up. I don’t want to lose you again, Nate.”

  “Stay right here.” He disappears for a minute before remerging with something in his hand.

  “Elise, you will never lose me again. I can promise you that, right here, right now. Nothing in this world will tear me from you. I certainly didn’t plan on doing this tonight but who cares.” He opens his hand to reveal a small black box. “Honestly, I’ve been struggling like crazy to figure out how to ask you to marry me. You’re a hard woman to hide stuff from.” We both giggle as he opens the box to reveal a beautiful round diamond surrounded by a halo of smaller diamonds in a platinum band. I gasp as the light catches it.

  Nate falls to one knee and takes the ring as he reaches for my hand. “Elise, there’s nobody else like you in the world. You are not only my lover, but you’re my best friend. Will you please also be my wife and the mother of my children?” All I can do is nod my head as tears stream down my face, and he slips the ring on my finger.

  I pull his hand, and he stands, taking me in his arms. I giggle to myself a little as I remember the words Tessa told me that day she found me crying over him in my bed over ten years ago. “You certainly won’t remember Nate fucking Baldwin. I can promise you that.”

  ***

  If you loved Hate That I Love You, don’t miss out on Business & Pleasure!

  * * *

  Rich. Arrogant. So drop dead sexy you’re ready to sell your kidney just to touch him.

  Did I mention he’s technically my new boss?

  * * *

  You know the type…

  Every man wants to be him and every woman wants him.

  Mr. Never-Goes-Home-With-The-Same-Woman-Twice guy.

  * * *

  I hate him but also...

  * * *

  GRAB BUSINESS & PLEASURE HERE!

  Business & Pleasure SNEAK PEEK

  Rich. Arrogant. So drop dead sexy you’re ready to sell your kidney just to touch him.

  Did I mention he’s technically my new boss?

  * * *

  You know the type…

  * * *

  Every man wants to be him and every woman wants him.

  * * *

  Mr. Never-Goes-Home-With-The-Same-Woman-Twice guy.

  * * *

  I hate him but also...

  * * *

  Why can’t I stop myself from seeing him on top of me every time I close my eyes?

  * * *

  Yeah…I’m screwed.

  * * *

  All I have to do is follow the rules.

  1. Don’t sleep with the sexy, arrogant prick.

  2. Don’t drool every time you look at his perfectly chiseled face and rock-hard body.

  3. But mostly…don’t let him know you want him just as bad.

  * * *

  Then again…rules are meant to be broken.

  * * *

  Can a no-strings-attached fling blossom into actual, head-over-heels love or will I ruin my career when I finally slap that smug grin off his panty-melting face?

  * * *

  GRAB BUSINESS & PLEASURE HERE!

  Chapter 1

  Allison

  Life has a funny way of not turning out the way you thought it would. Sometimes it’s irony, other times it’s a full-blown quarter-life crisis staring you in the face at twenty-five years old…in an airport bathroom.

  It’s crazy how one minute, you have your entire life planned out, and in a few short hours and a few impulsive, if not reckless, decisions later, your life has jumped the tracks and is now aimlessly barreling ahead at full speed.

  I splash cold water on my face and take in a few deep breaths, hoping it will calm the symphony of butterflies in my stomach. My knuckles have gone white as I grip the edge of the sink, willing myself to stay calm and pull it together. I hardly notice the endless stream of fellow travelers coming in and out.

  Once I’m calm enough, I reach into my purse and pull out a few makeup items to freshen myself up. What’s that stupid quote about giving a woman the right lipstick and she can conquer the world? Yeah, okay, show me that color, please. The woman who penned that never had a quarter-life crisis in a public restroom.

  After a little self-care and a mental pep talk, I feel good enough to emerge from my hideout, if only to make a beeline for the nearest bar. I feel a buzzing in my pocket as I exit the restroom and pull out my phone to check my messages.

  “Uggghhh, goddammit!” I groan petulantly as I read the ‘your flight is now delayed’ text from my airline. I even throw in a foot stomp for emphasis as I roll my eyes and grab my bag, heading off in search of that bar.

  Locating a decent-looking watering hole, I pull up my bag to a barstool and dramatically flop onto the seat. The bartender gives me a nod as if to say he sees me and will be over in a moment. I don’t even need to look at the menu to know what I want.

  I wasn’t a big drinker in college, despite a stressful double major and a demanding internship. I enjoy a nice glass of wine now and then, but when I need to calm my nerves or feel a buzz, I always go for a dirty vodka martini with extra olives. I rattle off my order to the bartender when he finally saunters over, barely giving him the chance to get out his pleasantries.

  The bar is dimly lit, even for an airport. It’s located in a more obscure part of the terminal and seems to be the bar people go to when they have a long layover or are stuck with a shitty delay like myself. I barely have the first sip of my very overpriced martini when I feel the familiar presence of a once-popular frat boy lingering near me. Why do they all feel the need to douse themselves in enough mediocre cologne to offend anyone within a fifty-yard radius?

  I set my drink back down when he lean
s himself against the bar, half-pressing himself against my arm as if personal space is a thing of the past.

  “Looks like you could use another,” he says as he sloppily points to my very full martini glass.

  “I haven’t even had a full drink of this one yet but thank you.” I smile politely but turn away quickly so as not to encourage him. This isn’t my first rodeo; I am very aware of the effect I have on men. I was blessed by the genetic gods with piercing blue eyes and naturally thick blonde hair. I’m not Barbie height, merely five-six, but I don’t have to do much to keep my hourglass figure and perky C-cups. I can’t complain, and I certainly don’t take it for granted, but it pretty much attracts douchebags like it’s their job. Sometimes I feel bad for them that they can’t seem to resist a full-breasted blonde woman. Very predictable, and very pathetic.

  My friends had given me the nickname Barbie since I was about thirteen years old. At the time, I had outgrown pretty much everyone in my grade and was the only middle schooler that stood head and shoulders above everyone else and had a full chest. Unfortunately, I stopped growing that same year. When I was younger, I was mortified by the attention my body got me; it was awkward as hell to be the only fifth grader wearing a sport’s bra at recess to play kickball.