She scoffs. “Barely. I was more of an arm accessory at his father’s business dinners than anything else.”
Clara smirks. “Did you two ever fuck?”
I wince. “Please don’t answer that, Mom...”
“What? We’re both thinking it.”
“I really wasn’t.”
My mother leans forward an inch. “No,” she answers. “We were never… physically intimate.”
“Thank God,” I whisper.
She chortles. “Anyway, after bidding Jensen adieu, I went to sleep. When I woke up the next morning to go to class, I opened my door... and he was still there. Standing in my hallway with those flowers. He stayed there all night hoping I’d change my mind and talk to him.” She shrugs. “We went to breakfast together that morning and I never saw Kingston again.”
Clara pouts. “Poor Kingston,” she jokes.
“Eh, it all worked out in the end,” my mother says. “We got the two of you girls and Kingston got his boys. Not to mention he and Fiona were practically made for each other. The stars aligned somewhere out there in the universe for them, that’s for sure.”
I shake my head, thinking back. “No wonder Daddy was always so weird about me working here.”
“But he couldn’t argue that it wasn’t a great opportunity for you, so he kept his mouth shut. Well...” She snorts. “Mostly.”
I laugh. “Right.”
“When you started sneaking off to see Graham, he got really nervous,” she continues. “Kingston always had a bit of a reputation before Fiona leashed him for good. He was a heartbreaker through and through and your father didn’t want to see the same thing happen to you that he saw happen to a dozen other girls at Stanford.”
Never fall for a Botsford boy.
He’ll break your heart.
“Why didn’t he ever tell me about this?” I ask.
“You know your father, hun,” she says. “As much as he’d like to dictate every aspect of your lives, he knows he can only do so much. Also, he’s big into personal responsibility. It was always better to let you girls experience some skinned knees than it was to always catch you when you fell.”
I nod. “Then, why didn’t you ever tell me about this?”
“I thought I did.” She cringes. “Sorry, honey.”
“There.”
My father plunks a plate onto his place setting and takes his seat. “Now, I have my omelet,” he says as he drapes his napkin back over his lap again.
Clara finishes her slice of toast. “You sure showed them, Daddy,” she goads.
“Damn right, I did,” he says.
I smile. How can I not?
He can be an ass but he’s a lovable ass.
If what my mother says is true then there’s a lot more to love about my father than I thought. If my mother had dug her heels in and rejected him, I wouldn’t be here now. Life would have been extremely different. Mom might have even married Kingston and had a bunch of other babies with him instead. Clara wouldn’t be getting married this weekend. Graham and I would have never happened at all.
And last night… fuck, last night. That definitely wouldn’t have happened.
And I wouldn’t be considering going back upstairs, finding Graham again, and—
No.
No.
No.
No, Jen. Remember? We’re saying no.
It was just a one-time thing. An epic epilogue tacked onto the end of our long cliffhanger.
It’s finally over.
I take my last sip of orange juice and wipe my lips. “We should get going, right, Clara?” I ask her.
She glances at her phone and twitches. “Crap, yeah. We need to get to the dress shop.”
“You girls have fun,” my mother says. “I’ll stay here and watch your father consume his victory meal.”
He glares at her but his lips curl.
I stand, pausing over my father’s shoulder to lean in and kiss his cheek. “Thanks for breakfast, Daddy,” I say.
He pats my arm. “Yeah, you take care, honey.”
I follow Clara from the dining hall toward the lobby, purposefully fiddling with my now dry, but very frizzy, hair. “You mind if I run upstairs real quick?” I ask, making her pause. “Need to do something about this mane…”
“Sure,” she says, twisting toward the elevators. “I gotta round up the other girls anyway. I’m pretty sure they were still passed out when I left for breakfast.”
I laugh and we make our way over to the golden boxes as my mind strays back to Graham once again. Will he still be there; waiting in the hallway where I left him, hoping I’ll change my mind and talk to him? Or did he move on, just like I wanted him to an hour ago?
Clara hops off on the sixth floor and I hang back, hitting 25. “I’ll only be a few minutes. I’ll meet you guys in the lobby,” I tell her as the doors close.
I clutch the railing behind me as the golden box ascends into the sky, my heart thumping harder with each floor I pass. By the time I reach 25, a layer of sweat teases my brow and my fingers shake from gripping the rail too hard.
What do I want, Graham?
The doors slide open and I step off, turning my head to the left to see my door.
The blue and gold hall is empty. Graham didn’t wait for me.
My stomach twists in disappointment.
Well, I know the answer to that question now.
Twelve
Graham
The win her back plan.
The plan to win her back.
It’s got a nice ring to it.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t exist.
I have no plan. I spent my entire shower banging my head against the tile but I have no idea how I’m supposed to win Jen back after this morning.
So, I’m turning back to the basics.
Throw on a nice suit, a clean-shaven face, and a smile, my father used to say. The rest falls into your lap.
It’s good advice if you conveniently forget about the multi-million dollar trust fund you’ll always have to fall back on but money isn’t going to win over Jen. She didn’t care about it before and she won’t care about it now. I have my doubts about how effective the rest will be but it’s a good a place as any to start.
Breakfast with her parents.
Then, a dress fitting.
Then, the wedding rehearsal at the chapel.
There are about a dozen bridal shops within a few miles of the hotel. I could probably track them down with a few phone calls but even I know how creepy that sounds just considering it.
No, the chapel is the safer option. It’s right across the street from the hotel. I can get there, sneak up to the balcony, find a dark corner, and watch Jen as she…
Okay, this one sounds just as creepy.
But it’s all I’ve got.
I hear voices the moment I step through the thick, wooden doors of the chapel and tap my shoes on the welcome mat to dry them. There’s a short entryway between here and the sanctuary. A large group lingers in the back, laughing and making small talk while a casually-dressed quartet preps their instruments near the altar. Mostly young, early 20s… except Jen.
My heart skips. Jen.
The hottest lady in the group.
I shift forward, easing behind the large, potted plants sitting on either side of the entryway. A girl with bright, brown hair walks back and forth with a clipboard, trying to corral the group into two straight lines. Bridesmaids on the left. Groomsmen on the right. Brad, you stand here. Lacy, you’re with him. Where’s Trig? Oh, that’s right. Jen, you’re in front of Tyra…
The rest fades off in my ears. I just watch Jen as she steps forward, her hips gently swaying in that blue sundress. She definitely stands out with her Snow White skin and deep, black hair and those gorgeous eyes and fuck…
What I wouldn’t give to tear that dress off and bend her over that altar like—
“Graham?”
I spin around, wincing at my failed attempt at snooping. C
lara strolls in through the wooden doors behind me along with the hotel building manager, Oliver. He’s in business-mode with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a clipboard in his hands while she dons a bright yellow dress and a long braid that hangs down over her right shoulder. Seems like just yesterday that used to be pigtails and red sneakers.
“Hey, Baby C,” I say.
She cringes with feigned annoyance and hangs her dripping umbrella on the hook by the door. “God, no one’s called me that in years!” she says.
“Hey, you’ll always be Baby C to me.”
“Oh, stop!” Clara tilts her head as her cheeks melt, looking genuinely happy to see me. “I thought I saw Jen talking to you at the bar last night!” She playfully punches my arm. “I honestly wasn’t sure if that actually happened or not, if you know what I mean.”
I laugh. “Yeah, it looked like you guys were having a good time.”
She nods. “What are you doing here?”
“Yeah,” Oliver says, crossing his arms with suspicion. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh...” I think fast and gesture around. “I’m just stopping by on behalf of the hotel. Making sure all the arrangements are settled and in place so tomorrow goes off without a hitch. It’s basic party planning protocol.”
Oliver holds up his clipboard. “No, I’m here on behalf of the hotel,” he says, cocking his head. “That’s my job. You making a move on my job, Botsford?”
He’s kidding, of course, but you wouldn’t know that unless you’ve known the guy for fifteen years like I have and can recognize the twinkle behind his bright blue eyes.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Oli,” I answer.
“Good,” he says, flashing a smirk that can only be described as cocky. “Because we both know I’m more qualified for yours than you are for mine.”
Oliver Black started working at the Plaza in Vegas a few years before I did. Just like me and my brothers, he started at the bottom and climbed up from there — but he did it out of necessity and not because of my father’s strict requirements. Obviously, Oliver quickly caught the attention of the big guy himself. My father took Oliver under his wing and he’s been considered the fifth Botsford brother for most of my life, so his claims of being more qualified than me certainly ring more true than false.
I laugh. “Well, you’re not wrong,” I say.
Oliver drops his stiff posture and slaps my shoulder with his clipboard. “It’s nice to see you. Let’s grab a drink at the mixer tonight.”
“There’s a mixer tonight?” I ask.
“At the hotel bar.” He nods. “Kingston didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“Guess we know who the favorite really is now, don’t we?” he says, smirking.
I laugh. “Like it wasn’t obvious already?”
Oliver passes a business card to Clara. “Call me if you need anything, all right?” He winks at her before glaring at me. “I take the satisfaction of our guests very seriously. Nothing would make me happier than to make your special day as perfect as possible.”
I shake my head with a smile.
“Will do,” Clara says. “Thanks again, Oli.”
“Have a nice day, Ms. Parker,” he says.
He walks off and Clara lets out a thick sigh.
“Anyway,” she says, “need to get this show on the road. The fitting ran late because somebody gained two pounds since the last one and had to have her dress altered and it wasn’t me!” she shouts across the chapel, targeting one poor bridesmaid in-particular.
I clear my throat and take a step back, eying the two lines in the back. Jen once again stands out, her face showing a feigned politeness toward the man she’s been paired up with but it doesn’t seem like she’s noticed me here yet.
This was a bad idea.
I should just talk to her later like a normal person.
Yeah, that sounds best.
“Well,” I say, backing away toward the door, “it was good to see you, Baby C, but I should be getting back—”
“Wait.” She latches onto my elbow. “Will you stand-in for Trig?”
“Will I do what for who?”
“One of my groomsmen isn’t here yet,” she says, squeezing my arm tighter. “I don’t want it to look all wonky and uneven up there.”
I ease back even more, wanting very much to bolt out into the street. “Well... it’s just a rehearsal, so I don’t think that mat—”
“Cool! Then, you’ll do it!” She drags me with her, giving me no choice. “Come on, it won’t take long.”
I exhale, giving in and letting her lead me toward the line of groomsmen. She plants me fourth in line next to a girl with lightning blonde hair, directly behind Jen and the mystery chatterbox slinking closer to her ear.
“Graham,” Clara says. “This is Tyra. Tyra, this is your stand-in, Graham.”
Tyra shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
I nod. “Yeah. You, too.”
Jen turns her head back, officially noticing me standing over her shoulder. She manages a completely blank face, so I can’t tell if she’s happy to see me or not. Judging by the way she kicked me out this morning, I’d say not.
The young guy beside her leans in closer to whisper and a sharp twinge takes over my gut.
Back off, asshole. She’s taken.
Taken?
Is she, though?
Technically not but I’m sure as fuck not losing her to this fucking college brat.
I step forward and tap him on the shoulder. “Hey, switch spots with me.”
Jen furrows her brow.
The kid turns and breathes a laugh behind his unkempt, valley boy haircut. “I’m sorry?” he asks.
“Switch spots with me,” I say again, not asking.
He hesitates and looks at Jen. “We really shouldn’t break formation—”
“You walk in a straight line and veer right, guy. It’s not hard. Piss off.”
I step forward, overtaking his spot and nudging him back to stand next to Tyra. He opens his mouth to argue but the quartet in the corner erupts with the first few notes of a wedding march and he settles into place with Tyra instead.
Jen gawks at me, ignoring my arm as I hold it out to her. “Wow,” she says.
“You’re welcome,” I say.
“You’re welcome?”
“Yeah.”
“And what exactly am I thanking you for?”
I scoff. “Don’t tell me you liked how that guy was looking at you.”
“How was he looking at me?”
“Like a boob burrito.”
She rolls her eyes. “There’s that emotional maturity again.”
The line starts forward and I forcibly link my arm with hers. She exhales hard but doesn’t fight it, moving slowly with me one step at a time toward the front of the chapel.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re interested,” I say. “He’ll have no time for you between taking naps and practicing his ABCs.”
Jen sighs. “Again, I say, wow.”
“If he’s the type you packed condoms for, then—”
She jabs my ribs, her eyes shifting wild for eavesdroppers. “Can you not talk about the very real details of my private sex life around my very real family members, please?”
“You’re right.” I nod. “I apologize.”
“Thank you.” She glances backward, keeping her voice low. “But yeah. He’s kinda young.”
“Too young.”
She side-eyes me. “He’s older than we were when we got married.”
I cringe. “Well, that’s awkward.”
“And very true.”
“Yikes. What were we thinking?”
Her lips curl. “And no, to correct your very rude assumption. I’m not interested in my little sister’s future husband’s childhood friends.”
“Good,” I say.
“Good?” she repeats.
“I’m just saying good.”
“Why is that good?”
> “Why is that not good?” I ask. “It’s good that you’re keeping your options open for certain other eligible men. More age-appropriate men. Men with similar experiences and interests that you’ve got good chemistry with. That’s good.”
She closes her eyes. “Graham...”
“Jen...”
“Please don’t.”
“Please don’t what?” I ask.
“You always do this.”
“Always do what?”
“We draw a line. You cross it,” she says. “We draw another line and you strut right over it. You can’t keep moving the goalposts on me.”
I shake my head. “I don’t move the goalposts.”
“We said one night, Graham. One night.”
“One weekend isn’t all that unreasonable after one good night.”
“There!” She points a finger at me. “That right there. One night is now a weekend. How long before you start suggesting a week? A month?”
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask. “I enjoyed your company. You enjoyed mine.”
“I never said that.”
My jaw drops. “Yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t,” she says, staring forward.
“No, you’re right, Jenny. It wasn’t something you said. It was more something you moaned at my ceiling until 4 AM—”
“Hey, Daddy. You remember Graham.”
I freeze as Jen ditches my arm. She veers left and stops at her place by the altar, leaving me face-to-face with Jensen Parker, a man who very much curses my existence, and judging by the smug smile on her lips, she did it very much on purpose.
What a bitch.
“Hello, Mr. Parker,” I greet quickly. “You’re looking well today. How’s the wife?” I glance over his shoulder, locking eyes with her in the pew as she waves at me. “Oh, hi, Claire.”
She grins. “Good to see you, Graham,” she says, bowing her head. “How’s your mother?”
“She’s great,” I answer. “I’ll tell her you said hi...”
I go silent as Jensen’s eyes narrow into deep, dark slits.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” he asks me.
“Oh, I was just stopping in to check things out. On behalf of the hotel, of course. Baby C asked me to fill in for some groomsman that didn’t show up,” I say, casually shrugging. “Pretty rude of him, if you ask me.”
Just a Touch: A Heartthrob Hotel Novella Page 9
