Quick, Find a Ring!

by Jo Leigh

  The someone in the office walked toward him. He could make out footsteps, but only barely with the thick carpet. Then he caught sight of some legs, and he let out a mighty sigh of relief. Shelli. He’d recognize those legs anywhere.

  He started to leave his cubbyhole, when the door opened and closed for a second time. Keeping still as a mouse, he waited, praying for Visitor number two to get the hell out. Instead, another pair of legs joined Shelli. Man’s legs.

  “I couldn’t wait to get you alone,” the man said.

  Then the legs got very close together. Front to front. And the sounds followed shortly thereafter. Kissing sounds. Moans. Gasps. The full gamut in the making-out series of noises, so popular these days with the young people.

  He closed his eyes and tried to block out their voices, but it was no good. He could hear them really well. It didn’t take long, however, for the noise issue to become secondary to the pain-in-the-back issue.

  He was in a hunched-up little ball, and he hadn’t done that since early childhood. It wasn’t comfy. The pains had started out dull, but now they were moving up several notches to burning. Soon, they would be agonizing.

  All this, and he’d only gotten up to the Ds.

  “Mr. Marshall is out for lunch,” Shelli said. “He won’t be back for another half hour.”

  “I locked the door,” the man said between slurping noises.

  “Take me,” Shelli said breathlessly. “Take me now.”

  Mitch moaned. Quietly. Shelli’s friend clearly was taking her at her word, because her legs went up in the air, and he heard her perch on the edge of the desk. Then, her legs spread.

  Mitch closed his eyes. And wished like hell that he knew the words to “This Old Man.”

  Chapter Ten

  Bentley tried very hard to concentrate on Darren Colker. More specifically, what she was going to do with him once she got to the sixteenth floor. She needed this time to figure out her strategy, to have a plan and a fallback position.

  Instead, she just kept thinking about Mitch.

  At least she’d been granted a small grace period. The elevator seemed to stop at every floor, and someone inevitably cried, “Hold that elevator,” so the wait was even longer.

  The chatter inside was all about Hurricane Bonnie, of course. From what Bentley gathered, the winds were classified as moderate, with sustained gusts of about ninety miles per hour at the heart of the storm, but only about sixty miles here. Several men, meteorologists, she gathered from their confidence and knowledge, said the only way to get through a hurricane like this was to get completely soused, concentrating on rum drinks. Damn, there were no rum drinks in her emergency packet. What had she been thinking?

  She smiled as the weathermen went on about being prepared, but the distraction only lasted another moment. Soon enough she was thinking about Mitch. Mostly about the look on his face when he’d said, “Because it makes you unhappy.”

  She’d been dwelling on that for a while, trying to see if she’d misinterpreted his words. Or if he’d only acted concerned, the way he’d acted interested in Babs’s catering dilemmas.

  The truth was, she had no idea. None. He’d sounded sincere. Looked earnest. But with Mitch, could she trust her instincts?

  They stopped at the fourteenth floor, and she prayed that none of her family would board. Luck was with her, and she stayed among strangers.

  What if his feelings were genuine? That he really did give a damn about her, and not just because of the story? Surprisingly, she wasn’t totally sickened by the idea. He did know how to kiss. A very important attribute, that. Many flaws could be overlooked for excellent kissing. Many, but not all.

  First, she had set her life goals, her road to success. Mitch was not in that scenario. Even if she was to veer off the straight and narrow, he would be the last person in the world she’d do it for. She needed a Carter. Not a Mitch. Carter was stable, solid, reliable. Slater was a disaster waiting to happen.

  So why the angst? More important, why was her body so damned perky whenever she was in his arms? Maybe she had a split personality. Yeah, right She should be so lucky.

  The elevator stopped, and she noticed that not only was she alone, but she’d reached the sixteenth floor and she had absolutely no idea what she was going to do.

  She could take another round trip, but that seemed cowardly. Instead, she stepped into the hallway.

  It was different up here. Not just the decor. The air seemed purer, the dust shamed away from this high-income bracket. The carpet was also more plush, she realized as she walked toward room 1602 and the maid’s cart parked by the door.

  It occurred to her that the wallpaper, a stunning, elegant flower print, would look fabulous in her bedroom. Of course, her furniture would then look like Salvation Army rejects, but it would be worth it to wake up to this every morning.

  The sound of a vacuum cleaner caught her attention. Taking it slow, she walked toward it, praying that her journalistic instincts would burst out in a fit of brilliance to make up for her lack of strategy.

  She found 1602, and across the hall 1600. If she was a betting woman, she would have wagered that 1600 belonged to Darren Colker, mystery billionaire.

  Both doors were closed, and the cart was stationed closer to 1600 than its twin. She listened for the vacuum but heard nothing. Either someone had opened a door briefly or they’d finished with the carpets.

  Summoning her courage, she knocked on 1602. The wait seemed interminable, but she didn’t knock again. She took the time to berate herself for being yellow. If she had any guts at all, she’d bang on the door until someone answered, bully her way in and find out once and for all who lived up here. Clearly, guts were not listed in her personal inventory.

  Just as she was about to leave, the door swung open. It wasn’t a maid standing there. It was a man. Not Darren Colker. This was a younger man, and considerably better looking. Blond, tan, athletic, he reminded her of one of those boys in old movies who tied sweaters around their necks and asked, “Anyone for tennis?”

  “It’s about time,” Golden Boy said, but not impatiently. He stepped back and gestured for her to come inside.

  Bentley did, and she was immediately drawn toward the windows. She heard the door click shut behind her, but she couldn’t turn away from the view. The walls on two sides were glass, and the view she got of the wild skies was simply overwhelming. It was dark and light, and clouds raced by in fast forward. It was weather like she’d never seen it before. She could watch it for hours and never lose interest.

  When Golden Boy’s hand grabbed her behind, however, she did lose interest. Fast. She twirled on him, shocked out of her mind. Who the hell had he been expecting?

  “The bedroom’s over there,” he said. You want a drink first?”

  Bentley shook her head while she measured the distance between her and the door.

  He gave her a critical once-over and nodded after he’d reached her feet. “Not bad,” he said. “Classy. I like that. We can do headmaster and the tardy schoolgirl.”

  “We can what?”

  He smiled. “I like that, too. Innocence itself.”

  Bentley started toward the door. This was way too weird, even for her. “I’m not who you think I am,” she said. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I’ll just be going now.”

  He went for her wrist and she darted behind a wing chair.

  “I’m not her. I swear. I just made a mistake in room numbers. I’m looking for Mr. Colker.”

  “I’ll be anyone you want, baby. Mr. Colker it is.”

  She made it halfway to the door before he intercepted from the right. She deflected, moving as quickly as she could, and placed herself between the couch and the man.

  He just laughed and started to undo his belt.

  “I’m going to call the police if you don’t let me out of here this instant.”

  “Honey, I paid for you to struggle, but not this much. Wait till we’re in the bedroom, okay?”

>   “No, no, no. I’m not a call girl. I’m a reporter. If you’ll just wait a second, I’ll prove it. I’ve got a press I.D.”

  “You want to change the game, huh? Okay, I’ll be the editor and you can be the naughty copy boy. Girl. That’s a new one. I like it.”

  Bentley thought about screaming, but something about Golden Boy told her he was telling the truth, that he’d mistaken her for a call girl. “Look, Mr.—”

  “The name’s Peter.”

  “Of course. Look, Peter. There really has been a mistake here. I don’t know how you hired your…friend, but if you call and check, you’ll see I’m not her.”

  Instead of doing that, he unzipped his pants, pulled them down and stepped out of them. He was wearing leopard-skin briefs. His legs were actually quite good.

  “I’m a guest at this hotel,” she said, backing away, trying to get around him to the front door. “I even have a key. I’m here for my sister’s wedding. Call the front desk, they’ll tell you.”

  Peter smiled as he unbuttoned his shirt. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  “Bentley. Bentley Brewster. Out of Boston. Currently living in Los Angeles. I’m a reporter for the Times.”

  “Yeah, uh-huh. Look here, Bentley. I’m up for however you want to play this, but it can’t take all day, you know? I’ve got some people to meet in about an hour. So can we speed this along?” He took off his shirt and let it fall where he stood.

  “I’m not playing, dammit. I’m not your hooker. And I’m leaving right now. If you try and stop me, I’ll have you arrested for assault. Got it? This is not a joke.”

  He looked her over once more. “You’re not one of Sam’s girls?”

  Bentley sighed, grateful that her instincts had served her well. “No. I’m not.”

  “So what do you say we go for it anyway? I’ll pay you double.”

  She made a beeline for the exit. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “No? I like that editor thing. You’d have a good time. I swear.”

  “I’m sure you’re just dynamite in the sack, Peter, but I’ve got some things to do.” She took one final glance at the gorgeous sky, then opened the front door. Before she left, she turned to him. “Peter?”

  He looked at her hopefully.

  “Who lives across the way?”

  His hopes dashed, he just shrugged. “Some old guy. Small. Doesn’t say much. I’ve only seen him once or twice.”

  “Thank you.” She walked into the hallway but stuck her head in one more time. “Peter?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Just exactly how much is double?”

  “A cool grand, Bentley Brewster. Care to reconsider?”

  “Wow. How come you need to, you know…? You’re quite a good-looking fellow.”

  He smiled a little sadly. “I’m also a rich fellow, and you’d be surprised how complicated that makes things.”

  “No, actually I wouldn’t be surprised at all. Good luck.”

  “You, too.”

  She shut the door behind her.

  MITCH HOBBLED OUT out of the manager’s office exactly forty-five minutes after he’d entered. The most excruciating forty-five minutes of his life. Not only was his back killing him, but it had been pure torture listening to Shelli and Tiger have at it. He thought about leaving a note for the manager, telling him to be sure and lock his door when he was at meetings, but it was far more important to get the hell out of there.

  Of course, he’d taken five minutes to continue perusing the database. He’d found a Mr. “C” in the penthouse. Room 1600. He was a permanent resident, and Mitch figured he’d found Colker. Although frankly, by the time he’d found Colker, he didn’t give a damn. He just kept thinking about that big old Jacuzzi tub in the room.

  He got to the elevator without moaning too loudly and silently cursed every person who pressed a number lower than fourteen. He survived the ride and made it to the room, sorry that Bentley wasn’t inside. Kvetching was always better with an audience.

  After turning on the water in the tub, he went to the window and stared at the sky. He wanted to be out there. To feel that wind on his face. After the bath, he just might go for a walk. That would clear out the cobwebs.

  He needed something to shake him up. Get him back on track. The whole time Shelli and Tiger were boinking, he had been thinking about Bentley. Not about the story, like he should have, not about the sex being practiced above him, which also would have made sense. No. He was thinking about his partner. Then about his aching body then right back to Bentley.

  She was a surprise. So was her family. Sure, they were dysfunctional. It wouldn’t be normal if they weren’t. But they were really a family. He liked the way they talked to him like one of their own. That was something new, something he’d not thought much about because he never expected it to happen.

  Aunt Tildy was maybe his favorite. What an old trooper. She told him what she thought without any sugar coating. She’d also warned him to be good to Bentley. She even threatened to come back and haunt him after she died if he didn’t treat her favorite niece right. Thatta girl, Tildy.

  It wasn’t hard for him to understand why Bentley was her favorite. He’d never met Bentley’s sister, and he was sure she was very nice indeed, but she was no Bentley. No way there could be two.

  Mitch went to the bar and pulled out a beer, then went in to check on the tub. It was a big tub, and only halfway full. Too bad. He shucked his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor, and eased himself into the hot water. He moaned happily, then laughed when he realized he sounded just like Tiger. About five minutes into this afternoon’s entertainment, he’d decided that if any woman ever called him Tiger at a critical moment, he’d deflate like a popped balloon.

  He settled himself advantageously in front of a well placed jet, took a long slug of beer and closed his eyes.

  Bentley sitting next to him would have made everything perfect. If he couldn’t have her in person, he’d settle for a dream.

  BENTLEY OPENED THE DOOR to her room, half expecting Mitch to be waiting. When she found herself alone, she felt more than a little disappointed, which was crazy, as she most decidedly wanted him out of her life.

  She tossed her purse on the bed. She wanted to jot down some notes about her experience upstairs. It was too funny, and she had the feeling it would make a great column. But more than that, she wanted to tell Mitch. She wanted to casually repeat the amount of money she’d been offered and see his reaction. He would make jokes, but it would also sink in that she was not an off-the-rack item.

  As she looked for some paper, she wondered how he was doing with Shelli. Was he hoping to get information from her in a less-than-honorable fashion? Probably. Bentley didn’t want to think about how many stories Mitch had gotten in the bedroom. She’d seen the pen he always carried. The one that wrote upside down. Bet that came in handy.

  The only paper she could find was the hotel stationery. It would do. She sat at the desk and started writing, but her concentration wasn’t so hot. She needed to freshen up, throw a little cold water on her face.

  Something slammed against the window, and she jumped, but nothing was there when she went to investigate. Probably a tree limb or something. Her view, wonderful as it was, was dwarfed by good old Peter’s. Maybe later she could…No. She was not going up there again, unless it was to interview Colker.

  Sighing with sudden melancholy, she kicked off her shoes and headed for the bathroom. If only Mitch was here now. She would tell him about her adventures, and he’d say something horrible that would secretly tickle her to no end.

  She opened the door and went to the sink. Using only cold water, and letting it run a second to get even cooler, she bent down and splashed her face. Once wasn’t enough, but after three dashes, she felt better. Dripping wet, she turned and reached for a towel. It was fresh from the laundry, and it smelled surprisingly good for a hotel—

  “Hi there, snookems.”

  Bentley dropp
ed the towel, jumped back, hit her head against the shower door, tried to scream, couldn’t do it, turned around twice until she found Mitch in the tub.

  Naked.

  She turned away, her face crimson. There hadn’t been bubbles. It was a Jacuzzi, wasn’t it? So where were the damn bubbles?

  “Care to join me?” he said. “I can rev up the old motor in a hot second. It feels real good.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know…I didn’t realize…”

  “It’s no big deal. I’m sure you’ve seen a naked guy before. Or didn’t Peter take off his clothes?”

  She swung around. “I’ll have you know he offered me a thousand dollars.”

  “Wow. No wonder he joined the military academy. He couldn’t afford a second shot at you.”

  “Not that Peter.”

  “There’s another Peter?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t have accepted money from my Peter.”

  “But you would from the other Peter.”

  “Of course not. What kind of a woman do you think I am?”

  “Confused.”

  “I’m not the one talking about the wrong Peter.”

  “Bentley. Sweetie. I think you should just get out of those clothes and climb in next to me. You’ll feel a lot better, and maybe you’ll even make sense.”

  “Oh, sure. I suppose you wouldn’t offer me double. No, not you. Not Mitch Slater. You would probably offer half.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, as much fun as this has been, I’m getting a little chilly. I think I’ll just get out of the tub now.”

  Bentley, still steamed that he’d scared her like that, and more steamed that she’d told him about her adventure and all he’d done was get it wrong, tried to think of something snappy to say.

  “Well?” he said.

  “I’m thinking! Wait.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  The sound of the water splashing against the sides of the tub jerked her attention that way, and then she saw that Mitch hadn’t waited at all. He was standing in the middle of the tub, dripping from every possible surface, smiling as if this were a normal way to spend an afternoon.