by Linn, A. J.
“Donovan, may I ask you a personal question?”
“Of course.”
And sarcastic Scarlett just went back to serious Scarlett in .0002 seconds.
“Why are you single? I mean, you seem like such a good guy…” She smiles in that forgive-me-for-being-so-nosy kind of way.
“Fuck if I know, Scarlett,” I laugh, then continue, “honestly, I want more now. ‘Back in the day’ I wanted a hot body and a pretty face. But things have changed, and I have become rather picky these days.” I shrug my shoulders, wondering if that was too much.
But, she did ask…and just because “back in the day” actually ended just a few months ago, well, that doesn’t make me any less serious about finding “the one”.
“I have to admit, I did peg you as a “playboy” Donovan. I mean, look at this hotel, not to mention Pisa. You are charming and handsome…you are the ultimate playboy. You could have any girl you want.” She looks down, and her cheeks suddenly turn a light shade of pink.
Cassidy arrives with her pancakes and not a moment too soon. Saved by the pancakes… phew.
“No comment,” I say with a smirk. “Eat your pancakes.”
“I’m eating,” she laughs, then smothers her pancakes with syrup.
“So, tell me why it is that you are single, Scarlett.” Two can play at this game.
“I don’t know. Probably because men are stupid.” She says with a wink.
“That we are,” I laugh, nodding in agreement. “That we are…”
“Thank you for making me come with you. I feel so much better now.” And her plate is clean almost as fast as it was set down before her.
“Good, I’m glad.” I finish my last sip of coffee, watching her closely as she touches up her lipstick. Her lips are so full and deliciously inviting. I love that she has no idea just how incredibly sexy she is.
“So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?” I ask, wondering if, in fact, that was an invitation to spend it together.
“Donovan, I live an exciting life. Sunday is laundry day,” she replies with a giggle.
“Living on the edge, Scarlett?” I laugh as we both stand up, knowing that our breakfast date has come to an end. I drop a twenty on the table for Cassidy, and we leave the restaurant.
“Thank you, again…for everything, Donovan.” She flashes a sweet smile my way as we walk towards the entrance of the hotel.
“It was my pleasure, Scarlett. We will speak tomorrow.” I smile back at her as I push open the large glass door. She walks out and turns back with a last parting comment.
“Most definitely.” And with a wink, she is off.
To do laundry. But something tells me that she will be thinking about me, hopefully, as much as I will be thinking about her and how fucking adorable she is.
Chapter Seventeen
~Floored, in more ways than one~
Mondays. We all hate them, but they come four, sometimes five times a month. The past few months, Mondays have been like the sequel to Groundhog Day. The usual uneventful weekend, followed by work. Don’t get me wrong, I love my work. But fuck if I don’t desperately need a social life again…and soon.
A few months ago, I would wake up most mornings, Mondays included, to a hot random girl, or two, in my bed. Since swearing off the playboy lifestyle, my bedroom has been a virtual ghost town. The sound of crickets now replaces the sound of moans and screams of ecstasy. My bed is a sad, sad place these days.
Time for a change, I do believe.
So, Monday begins with a bang. And not the kind that I like. Patrice interrupts my breakfast with one of her 911 phone calls. But this time it is an actual emergency…a mild one, but an emergency all the same.
Lily and Christopher’s honeymoon has been cut short, due to Lily breaking her arm during a hike. It seems that she got into a fight with a mountain, and the mountain won. They were due back in three days anyway, but with her now injured and unable to work for a few weeks, we are short a chef. My sous-chef has been pulling double shifts while Lily was away, but he can’t do that alone for much longer.
I send Lily a quick text to not only wish her well, but to give her shit for being such a klutz. Already showered, I do a quick change into my Fitzgerald Saxxon suit and head downstairs to calm Patrice down.
I walk into the reception area to find Patrice flipping through the Rolodex with fury. I find it hilarious that she still goes by that old thing. That was Dad’s, and for some reason she likes the “personal” feel of it. I stopped trying to figure out that woman years ago.
“I see that you have blown the dust off of that old thing, again,” I chuckle, as she flashes a look of irritation at me.
“Hardy-har-har, Mr. Hart. Would you take this seriously, please?” She fishes out a card and asks, “Should I give this place a call?” She flips the card around so that I can read it.
“Monroe Temp Agency? Sure, knock yourself out, Patrice. I am going to check my emails, so I will be in my office if you need me.” I walk into my office and close the door. Patrice will know that something is up with me. I never close my door. I sit down behind my desk and call Scarlett.
“Hello?” Ahh, there it is, that sweet voice.
“Good morning, Scarlett. How is your head today?” I ask, teasing her, hoping to hear her giggle.
“Just fine, thank you for asking,” she giggles. “How are you this morning?”
“Never better, actually,” I lie. Well, not a complete lie. Aside from the small Lily emergency, I have never felt better. At least, not in a long while.
“Good, so continuing our search for draperies won’t darken your mood?” Another giggle. Nice.
“About that… we have a small emergency here, so will it be alright if we do that here and shop on the web? I just hate to leave Patrice until we have this situation figured out.”
“That’s not a problem. I can be there in about an hour…” she responds.
“Perfect. See you then, Scarlett.” I hang up and walk back out to the reception area to see if Patrice has had any luck.
“Well?” I ask, hoping to hear good news.
“No chefs at the agency right now,” she huffs. “Any thoughts, Einstein?”
“Possibly. Why don’t you call the chef that we had before Lily. What was his name? Ronnie?”
“Robbie?” she laughs, happy to correct me, I’m sure.
“That’s it. Call him. Tell him that I will double his salary if he is available.”
“Right away, sir,” she bites back, as she flips through her trusty Rolodex again.
“When you are through with that, will you have some sandwiches sent to my office? Scarlett is on her way here, and we will be working through lunch…and someone interrupted my breakfast.” I give her a wink and go back into my office.
“Right away, sir!” she shouts, in her snarkiest tone ever.
I see that I have a text from Lily, apologizing profusely for being such a klutz. I return her text with, “Yes, you are, but we still love you. Have a safe flight and hurry up and heal that arm. You are irreplaceable, it seems.” I press send and switch on my computer.
I try to get a jump-start on this drapery situation, looking at all of the samples in the emails that Scarlett sent last week, but they all look the same to me. Don’t get me wrong, I care very much how the hotel looks, but again, this is not my forté. I decide to wait for her to get here to make any decisions.
I respond to a few emails, watching the clock like an idiot. My favorite investor, Mike, has emailed an update regarding Pisa. Good news. The hotel is now topped out, and they are onto the exterior stone façade of the hotel. Mike and I email back and forth a few time over the details of the “topping out party” for the crew, choosing a date, menu, etc. I forward Patrice the details so that she can book my flight and set up a caterer. I only wish that my mom was here to see this. She would be proud.
Scarlett interrupts my wandering mind with a soft knock on my door. I look up and see her standi
ng there, a vision in a curve-hugging light blue dress and black heels. I will call this look, “sexy professional”. She always looks incredible. But I digress. Time to stop staring.
“Come in.” I grin at her as I stand, walking over to greet her with a handshake. More like a quick hand-holding session. Clearly we are past formalities, but I wanted to touch her, and for that, I make no apologies. Sue me.
“I like your suit. Very nice, Donovan.” She smiles as she sets down her briefcase.
“Thank you,” I smile back, liking the fact that she is obviously checking me out as well. “I took the liberty of viewing the samples that you had emailed last week, and I have to say…I don’t know the first thing about choosing drapes, anymore than I did the furniture.” I pick up the chair that sits in front of my desk and carry it around my desk, setting it next to my chair.
“And that’s what you hired me for.” She smiles and walks around to the chair, taking a seat. I sit down beside her and open up her email.
“That is true.” I smile, pointing to one of the photos on the screen. “So looking at all of these, I would have to say that these are my favorites so far.” But what do I know?
“Hmm, how did that get in there? Those are much too sheer, the sunlight will stream right through these.” She takes over the mouse and scrolls down the page, pointing out a few of the other choices. “This is what you need. These are called blackout curtains. They will keep the sun out.”
“Alright, I do like those,” I smile, sounding like the drapery novice that I am. Also, why are they called “blackout” drapes, when in fact they are beige? This is why I run the hotel.
“See, that wasn’t so hard,” she giggles.
Alright. I need to address this giggle of hers. I have mentioned it many times, and giggling is usually best left to eight-year-old girls with pig-tales. But let me tell you that when Scarlett does it, it is something of an art form. It is soft, sweet and rather sexy. Now that I have cleared that up, back to shopping.
“Not at all. So we will use these in every suite of the hotel?” I ask. “Correct?”
“Yes, all except for your penthouse.” She scrolls down the page to show me the ones that she has chosen for my place. “What do you think about these?”
“Those will work.” I guess? Can we just skip to the part where I kiss you? As if no one saw that coming…
“Good. So we all that we have left is the carpet. Did you still want hardwood for the lobby and restaurant?” she asks, all the while taking notes.
“Yes. In here, as well,” I add, sounding confident for a change.
“Right, you did tell me that.” She smiles, jotting down more notes. “Are you ready to look at carpet samples?”
“As ready as I will ever be.” I say with a wink.
“This will be painless. I promise.” She pulls two twelve inch by eight inch samples from her briefcase, both of which have sixteen small squares of different colors and textures of carpet attached to them. Alright let’s be honest, I don’t see any difference here. This was my mom’s area of expertise. I square my shoulders, take a deep breath and choose one of the samples.
“You like that one?” she asks, shocked.
“Yes. Why? Am I wrong?” I laugh.
“No,” she laughs. “That one is my favorite. I was hoping that you’d pick it, actually. Good choice.”
And before I can answer, Patrice comes in with a small tray of sandwiches and fruit. She says “Hello” to Scarlett, sets the tray on the desk, and excuses herself, allowing us to continue.
“Thank you, Patrice,” I say loud enough for her to hear without shouting. “Are you hungry, Scarlett?”
“Actually, I am. I skipped breakfast this morning. Thanks, Donovan.” She reaches for a sandwich and continues to make her notes.
I sit back quietly, not wanting to interrupt her creative process, and I eat. Thankful that we are done choosing furniture, drapes and carpets, but knowing that this means after the redecorating is complete, our time together will end. Or will it? I have thought about asking her to do the interior design for Pisa as well. But I will wait to mention that.
I check the time and see that it is already three thirty. Time seems to fly when we are together. She closes her notebook, gathers up the carpet samples, and looks over at me with a smile.
“So, we are all done for now. I will put the orders in for the draperies and carpet, and I expect the painters first thing Wednesday to start with the lobby.” She says, nodding.
“That sounds good, Scarlett. Thank you so much for all of your hard work and for putting up with me through this.” I nod with a smile.
“You were easy. I have some clients that fight with me over every single thing.” She laughs, takes her briefcase and starts to walk towards the door.
“Well, thank you then,” I laugh. “I was wondering if you had plans for dinner? Say around seven tonight. If you are free that is.”
“Oh…I uh, sort of have a date. Another time?” She looks down, now rushing to leave.
A date?
“Of course. Speak to you soon, then…” I try to hide my shock and disappointment with a smile as she leaves, but fail, feeling as though I have just been punched in the stomach. A date?
Where did this prick come from all of the sudden? She wasn’t seeing anyone just the other night. I guess that I misread some signals here. Fuck. I am at a loss for words.
Fuck.
Chapter Eighteen
~And the hits just keep on coming~
A date? Alright I need to pull it together. We are working together. No, she is working for me. That is all. Funny how easy it is to misread a wink here, a flirty smile there. So after spending all weekend with her, misreading signs, I am right back at square one. Base camp. Fucked.
Grateful for that trip to Vegas now more than ever, I ask Patrice to move my flight to tomorrow morning instead of Thursday. I need to go get drunk, gamble away a small fortune, something… anything to forget about what a huge asshole I just made of myself. Again, fuck!
I am finished with work for the day, and instead of sitting around crying in my Absinthe, I decide to go for a run. No need to worry about losing something that you never had. Right?
After changing out of my suit to a pair of running shorts—and not those ball-hugging spandex ones either—I leave the hotel and head down to the sand. The sun is just beginning to set, and the surf is low so I decide to run along the shoreline.
I won’t bore you with the details of what is going on in my head at the moment, but I will say that after my run, I am going to The Underground for a drink…or drinks. Seeing that I am flying in the morning and not working, I can and will get heavily intoxicated.
Showered, clean shaven, and dressed in jeans and a black button-down shirt, I make my way downstairs to the club. Time to drink that girl right out of my head.
I sit down on a stool at the bar and order my usual, Jack and Coke. Make mine a double, please. Jared notices that something seems “off” with me and in true bartender/good buddy fashion, begins asking questions.
“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he asks while pouring my second drink.
“ ‘Women’ is what’s wrong with me,” I respond in between sips. “I’m trying to figure out why I started this search in the beginning. What the fuck was I thinking?”
“You were thinking that you were sick of the game, if I remember correctly.”
“Oh, but this game is even harder to play. Life before was simple, man. This…this is just bullshit.” I say, finishing number two. “Give me another.”
“Slow down, dude,” he replies as he refills my glass.
I nod. I drink.
“So who was it this time?” he asks, snickering.
“No one you know.” Drinking.
“What happened to Lily’s sister? You two were all over each other at the wedding reception.”
“Yes we were, but you know how it is with long distance relationships. It was just
…I don’t know. It isn’t going to happen.” I finish three. “Don’t look at me like that. Give me another.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” He shakes his head as he refills my glass for the third time.
“Thank you…” I drink.
“Seriously, man, do I need to kick your ass or something? You don’t get weird over girls. Any girls.”
“You just might have to,” I say, nod…and drink.
“Just say the word. I’ll fuck you up, man,” he laughs.
But you have to know Jared to understand that this is his way of trying to help. Reminding me that I lead with my dick, not my heart. Well the “old” me did anyway.
“I hear you loud and clear, Jared. Thank you, man.” So…
A slight buzz has already set in, and I am now being told by an employee, who is only 23 by the way, to stop acting like a bitch or he will take away my man card. He does have a point. So I square my shoulders and puff out my chest as I man up. I suddenly hear my mom’s voice telling me to sit up straight…
“Alright, I have an early flight to catch in the morning, so I’m going to head upstairs.” I pull my wallet out of my back pocket and pull out a hundred dollar bill, handing it to Jared. I may sign his paychecks, but he still appreciates my big tips.
“Oh… no, man. You don’t have to do that.” He puts up his hands in protest.
“Take it,” I urge. “Please.” And I set it on the bar, knowing that he will eventually give in anyway.
“Thanks, boss. Hey, enjoy Vegas.” He nods as he scoops up the bill.
“Thank you.” I nod back before leaving the club.
Thankfully the flight to Vegas was pretty smooth. Turbulence and hangovers do not mix. Just a slight hangover, actually. Four doubles in twenty minutes can hit you pretty hard on an empty stomach.
But enough about that. I go straight from the airport to the site, excited to see an actual standing building instead of the metal frame that I saw the last time that I was here.
