A knock at the door made him drop the phone. The hotel employee handed him several paper messages, sealed in an envelope. He tipped the guy and closed the door. Going through them, he saw three more of them were from Alicia. And two more were from unknown females who had left their names, room numbers and a room key for him.
He shook his head and tossed the wad of paper in the trash. The extra keys he put on the table, and would ask housekeeping to return them. Evidently, the rumors he was at the hotel had started.
The Blackberry rang.
He picked it up, grimacing as he did. “Yeah.”
“Oh, thank God, Hadrian, you had me so worried. I didn’t know if something happened to you.”
Hadrian rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“I turned it off.”
“What for? There could have been an emergency.”
“Alicia,” Hadrian began. “There wasn’t. I’m fine, you’re fine, and all is good.” A knock sounded at the door. “Look, I have to go, I’m expecting a call, and there’s someone at the door.”
“Who are you expecting a call from? What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said as he opened the door. He stood off to the side, rolling his eyes at the room service guy and gesturing to the phone.
The waiter smiled as he brought the tray in and set it out on the dining table.
“It’s my job to worry about you, Hadrian. That’s what you pay me for. What is going on?”
“Look,” he said, fishing his wallet out of his pocket. “It’s nothing that should concern you.” He handed the guy a tip and signed for the meal, and the attendant slipped out of the room.
“I’m your personal assistant. Everything you do concerns me.”
“Fine,” he said, dropping into the seat where his food set out. “I’m waiting for my hooker to show up. Happy?” He hung up the phone.
He settled in to his massive omelet, the cheese dripping off it and he picked up his fork. There were very few things in the world Hadrian truly loved, and one of them was a perfect omelet.
The phone started to ring again.
He growled at his assistant’s persistence. “Really, Alicia, you don’t need to know what my hooker charges do you?”
“Uh, is this Hadrian?”
He froze. “Yeah.”
“This is Sydney.”
Shit. “Syd, I’m sorry.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind, just for reference knowing what a hooker charges, but, uh if you really need one, I’ll be letting you go about now.”
“No! My assistant. She called and was being a pain. I hung up on her.”
“I think you had better start over.”
He let out a sigh, and quickly relayed the high points of Alicia’s call, including what he said hanging up on her. He looked at his watch. It was only ten thirty. “Are you out for lunch already?”
“No. I have another class and wouldn’t get out of it until about twelve thirty. I had a break and wanted to, uh, see if you still wanted to meet for lunch.”
“Sure. Do you want me to meet you downstairs?”
“That would be great. How about where the walkway starts? The one connecting the Luxor to the Mandalay bay?”
“Sounds good.”
“I’ll see you then.”
He smiled as he hung up his phone. Maybe he’d bring Syd up here for lunch. They could have a private meal. He looked around the suite.
Maybe not. If he brought her up here today, he may not let her go back to her classes.
His thoughts started to ramble. He wanted to take her somewhere interesting for dinner, and he considered some of his options. There was one place, however, he always had fun at when he went.
He smiled as he considered what she’d think of drinking Romulan Ale.
Chapter Seven
I insisted on something low-key for lunch. I didn’t want to spend all my money on one meal, and I was going to go back to my classes.
I was.
Regardless that Hadrian was staring at me like I was lunch.
Be still my beating heart.
The McDonald’s at the Luxor was really busy, a lot of the women who’d been in the classes had come back to the Luxor to eat, hoping to avoid the crowds, I guess.
Not that it seemed to work.
However, McDonald’s could always be counted on for its constant menu in every location. I normally got a kid’s meal, because I…
Because Jim told me I shouldn’t eat that much. Otherwise I’d get fat.
A shiver ran through me again, and I couldn’t help looking around. I blew off the thought—thinking about Jim was making me paranoid.
He wasn’t here. He couldn’t be.
And even if he were, what would he do? Nothing. The divorce was final. And I don’t have to do anything he told me to do anymore.
When the lady behind McDonald’s asked me for my order, I ordered a Big Mac.
“Hungry?” Hadrian asked.
I smiled. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to eat the whole thing, but it didn’t matter. “An affirmation of life.”
He raised an eyebrow. “To order a Big Mac?”
“Something like that.”
We got our food and sat down on a small table, barely the size of the tray. After getting situated, we settled into conversation.
“Are the classes what you expected?”
“Yes. Learning new techniques, new ways to use old product, fun stuff like that.”
“You mean there’s more than one way to use gel?”
“No.” I snorted a little when I spoke. Damn, I hate that. “More like different ways to use color products. Like adjusting the formulation in order to get a different kind of use out of it.”
He nodded. “Kinda like what I do on my show, then. Showing people there’s more than spaghetti and meatballs when they think of pasta.”
“And what’s some different things you do with pasta?”
“Pasta’s such an easy item to cook with, you can add it to about anything. It’s a great filler when you have limited food in the house, and it’s inexpensive.” He popped a fry in his mouth. “You’d be amazed at what I can do with pasta and some butter.”
I shrugged. “I guess if I cooked. The three steps for macaroni are about the extent of my culinary ability.”
“What do you eat?”
“Toast.”
“Toast? You eat toast?”
“I eat a lot of toast. It’s fast. It’s easy. There’re very few steps, and I don’t have leftovers.”
He rubbed his chin. “You don’t like leftovers?”
“Not really. They usually go to waste, so I don’t like to make large meals.”
He rubbed his chin again, another faraway look in his eyes.
“What’s the matter?” I asked him.
“I’m getting an idea for a series on my show.” He pulled out his cell phone and started sending a text. Well, it looked like he was sending a text. He had a Blackberry. He could have been writing a blog for all I knew.
“And the idea is?”
It took him a second to answer because he finished what he was doing, then brought his head up to look at me. “Cooking for one, in three steps or less.”
I let out a laugh. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
His phone started to buzz on the table. He tapped the front of it, smiled and glanced at me. “Not sure really, but I’ll figure it out. My producer likes it, though.” He held up the phone for me to see, and I saw in big letters, LOVE IT! Now figure it out.
“So what does the figuring it out part mean?”
“When I get home, I’ll sequester myself in my kitchen and figure out how to do meals for one in three steps or less.”
I imagined him in one of those fancy kitchens with two ovens, two fridges, a cooktop as long as my leg and pots hanging from the ceiling, all copper. He’d be up to his elbows in pas
ta, marinara sauce and rampant parsley.
“Bet you have one of those super kitchens.”
He shrugged. “I did grow up around large kitchens.”
“Your mom’s a cook too?”
“Sort of. Mostly it was my dad’s influence.”
“He into cooking?”
“No. His cook was. She would let me play in the kitchen when I would visit. To this day, I love the smell of olive oil and the taste of a good, ripe lemon, freshly peeled.”
“You eat raw lemons?”
“Sure.”
“That’s just sick and wrong.”
He laughed. “They’re sweet, like an orange. They’re not what we get here in the states.”
“Here in the states? Where in the heck does your dad live?”
“He lived in Koros.” When the name didn’t register at first, his brow narrowed. “The island country in the middle of the Mediterranean sea? By Italy? Has a monarchy?”
“Yeah, I know it. I just didn’t remember the name. Your dad lived there, then?”
“He was the Duke of Bouzio.”
I snorted. “Your dad is the Bozo Duke?”
“Bo-ze-oh, and yes, he was.”
I blinked. “Was? Did he pass away?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Hadrian, I’m sorry.” I reached across the table and touched his hand. He laced his fingers through mine. “How long ago did he die?”
“About nine years ago, he and my step-mom were in a car accident.”
“Oh how terrible.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Yeah, well, what are you going to do, right?”
“Miss him, I suppose.”
“I do that…” He ate one more French fry. “At least now I’m the Duke of Bouzio.”
I had to repress a snort. “Bouzio, eh? I get to eat lunch with the clown of the Duke world.”
“You are not right,” he said with a laugh.
“You’re the fool who had to sit with me.”
“Touché.”
Classes were good, and I took a lot of good notes, but I kept thinking about Hadrian. I even went so far as to draw those high-school hearts and arrows on the borders of my notes with his initials in them…
I know. I’m quite sad for a twenty-nine year old.
Didn’t matter he was incredibly hot and I could spend all night looking at him.
Hadrian’s smile. His laugh. How his hair always seemed to fall in his face as he talked about things that excited him. The way he tilted his head slightly to the left as he took a puff off a cigarette.
He was walking sex on a stick, and with any luck, I’d get to lick that popsicle tonight.
We’d agreed to meet in the lobby at six-thirty, so I had plenty of time to clean up and get dressed. Not that I brought many more fancy clothes than T-shirts and jeans. Well, I brought one sweater.
I pulled out the black pullover I’d gotten for a steal at Old Navy and looked it over.
Not exactly the super sexy look of the season, I thought. I liked how it made my curves, or more so since the separation, my lack of curves, look good. The low-cut front gave a really good cleavage shot if I didn’t wear a tank top underneath it.
Unfortunately, between working in the shop, the second job I’d had to take to help pay for the lawyer’s bills and generally hating the world, I’d quit eating, some days the only thing I put in my body was nicotine. My elbows had gotten bony, and my hips jutted out of my sides like some damn cadaver. It had gotten really sick to see. Even my co-workers had complained I’d been losing too much weight.
I picked up the sweater, the black seeming to be somehow appropriate, and I tossed it on. Between it and the low-rise jeans, I actually looked like I had curves.
Stretching my arms, I checked my belly ring to make sure the chain didn’t get caught in my jeans—always a pain in the butt. The chain tended to hook on the jeans if the belt line rested in the wrong place, tangling with it. If I were sitting and stood suddenly, it could be very painful.
I leaned over in the mirror of the bathroom after adjusting my makeup to check out the front of my shirt. Just enough cleavage to be sexy, and he could almost get a glimmer of my fuchsia pink bra under the sweater.
And hopefully he wanted a glimpse of that bra. My stomach swam at the prospect of doing more than sleeping next to Hadrian tonight. With any luck, he’ll get to see the bra, and my cute little thong as well.
The thong itself should get him to giggle. I couldn’t help laughing at the idea as I frittered around my room. I started packing up the rest of my stuff, putting everything in the suitcases so I wouldn’t have to do it all tomorrow—I had to be out by ten in the morning.
Man, this was my last night in Vegas. It totally brought down my excited high about my date. This would be my last night with Hadrian, and no matter what happened, I would never see him again. At least not in person.
Those eyes wouldn’t be staring at me, those lips won’t be speaking to me. They’ll be talking to a camera, about the joys of…
What’s his show? The Pasta Prince? He’ll be talking about pasta. His hands will be filling manicotti, and I’ll be wishing he was touching me again.
And what would I be? Jim’s ex-wife again. Jim’s ex that he cheated on with God only knew how many women.
Right now, I was Sydney, and I really liked that. No extra baggage about my past. Everything was about right now.
My cell phone started to ring, and I glanced at the clock. It was only six, and it wasn’t Hadrian on the phone.
“Hello?” I said as I pulled a cigarette from my pack on the counter and proceeded to light it.
“Hey, girl, are you all educated yet?” Bella Fillion’s voice came through the phone. Bella had started out being a client and slowly became a good friend. She knew about my divorce and the drama there. I knew about her breakup with her ex, Stuart.
“I’m getting there.”
“So how’s Vegas? Win any money?”
“Well, a little.” I almost started to spill about playing poker with Hadrian, but I stopped myself. I wasn’t sure why, but I did.
“Cool. Hope you learn some really cool techniques. I need something different done to my hair. I’m bored with it.”
“Well, I’m sure we’ll think of something. There were a few cool tricks they showed. I still have classes tomorrow, though.”
“That’s cool. You’ll never believe the latest that’s been going on around here.” Bella launched into a story about the latest family drama. I did the hair of almost all of her family, and she kept me well informed of what the latest was—who did what, who was in trouble, and what to ask about in the shop, what not to ask, etc.
“Wow, I would have never guessed that about your cousin,” I said when she finished the story.
“Me either. My mom is so infuriated.”
“I bet. Hey, sorry to change the subject, but you’ll never guess who I’ve met out here.”
“A famous hairdresser who will hire you into his salon as a top colorist?”
“No.”
“Madonna?”
“No.”
“Hugh Jackman?”
“Guess again.”
“I don’t know, just tell me.”
“Hadrian Drake.”
“Oh my God! You’ve met Hadrian Drake?” Bella swooned on the phone.
“Yeah.”
“And you probably didn’t even know who the Hell he was, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“That’s so not right. So is he nice? How’d you meet him? Did he give you an autograph? Did you get one for me?”
“I met him by a fountain. Yes, he’s really nice. And yes, I got you an autograph, but no picture. I’ll get one, okay?”
“What do you mean you’ll get one? What, are you two buddies now?”
“Well, he’s taking me to dinner.”
Bella screamed. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“No, I’m not.”
/> “This is insane.” Bella sounded like she was hyperventilating over the phone. “You’re going out with my boyfriend.” Bella had a list of fantasy boyfriends—Orlando Bloom, Ben Afflack, Hadrian Drake and comic artist John Cassidy, to name a few.
“Well, your boyfriend is a good kisser,” I said.
“Oh my God, I’m so jealous.”
We both crumbled into fits of laughter.
“Are you messing with me?” Bella finally said.
“No, seriously I’m not. We met yesterday, played some poker, watched Signs, then today we had lunch and now we’re having dinner.”
“Wow, so, uh, what’s he like?”
“Well, he’s very sweet, and incredibly, delectably hot.”
“So what are you wearing?”
“My new black pullover and my new Old Navy jeans.”
“The extra low riders?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’ll be okay. Don’t put a shirt under that sweater. And wear a push-up bra.”
“I don’t have a pushup bra.”
“Well, stuff the one you have, on the outside edge, to pump your cleavage up a bit.”
I looked down at my chest. Might not be a bad idea. “I’ll give it a shot.” I walked into the bathroom and started stuffing the bra with the scratchy version of tissue every hotel stocks.
“What shoes?”
“My clogs.”
“The white ones? Are you nuts?”
“Well, it’s either those or my black flip-flops.”
“How dirty are the flip-flops?”
“Kinda dirty.”
“They’re rubber, right? Wash them off in the sink. But they’re black, so they’ll look better than those God-awful white wooden things.”
“I like my clogs.”
“But not with a black sweater, you nit wit,” Bella laughed. “Trust me, I picked that stuff out for you.”
And she helped me pack my clothes to make sure I didn’t pack anything stupid. I dress myself just fine at home, but when it came to packing for a trip and planning out clothes in advance, I was horribly screwed.
Come to find out Bella seems to do this with all her girlfriends.
I teased her the entire time about being a control freak, but she said she can’t stand the thought of friends in bad wardrobe choices.
The Reluctant Prince Page 7
