Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
I go round and round in my head about why I’m so disappointed that I’ve not laid eyes on him for just a few days. Is it the sex? That’s got to be part of it. It’s like the man invented my body, so he knows his way around it with his eyes closed. It’s probably something to do with the fact that I haven’t had the opportunity to give him my résumé. It’s both those things, but it’s something else too. Something I haven’t quite figured out.
“Good evening, sir, are you checking in?” I ask the elderly man who comes up to the desk.
“No,” he snaps. “Just tell me how to get to the bar.”
“The hotel bar?” I clarify.
“Of course the hotel bar, you silly girl.”
I pull in a breath, trying to calm myself, when I hear a familiar growl. I look up and my heart inches higher in my chest as I lock eyes with Bennett.
Bennett.
Bennett.
My entire body softens slightly in his presence. I no longer care about the rude man in front of me or the fact that I’m having to keep my eyes open by digging my nails into my palm.
“The sign for the bar is just there, sir,” Bennett says. “Why don’t I take you?”
Bennett doesn’t strike me as someone who helps old men down to bars, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s not swooping in like a knight in shining armor, saving me from a rude guest. But it sure feels like that.
I can’t help hoping I’m right.
Still, I’m disappointed that I only caught a glimpse of him. And as I’m on reception, that’s probably all I’ll catch of him from now on. Until he checks out.
A woman in her thirties who I’ve seen before comes over to the desk. “I’ve lost my room key. Can I get a new one?”
“Certainly. Let me just ask you some security questions.” When I’m able to bring up her email confirmation, I go through the questions about her stay, trying to surreptitiously glance toward the lobby to see if Bennett has come back up from the bar. Maybe he headed out.
To dinner perhaps? With his wife? Or girlfriend?
I really don’t know anything about him. Apart from the fact he’s a billionaire and owns one of the greatest minds ever known. Oh, and that he’s Ben Fort. No big deal.
I hand the woman in front of me a new room key and she heads off.
I struggle to pull my glance from the corridor, checking for Bennett, as the next person approaches my desk.
Finally, I smile and look up—and realize I’m looking right at Bennett. By his expression, he totally knows what I was doing.
“Hi,” I say, trying not to laugh at being completely caught out.
“Looking for someone?” he asks.
I smile up at him, and for the first time today, the expression is completely genuine. “Absolutely not,” I say. “Not now. How may I help you this evening, sir?”
He pulls in a breath and his chest seems to grow bigger. “I want to book a table at a restaurant.”
My stomach dips slightly and I’m not sure why. “My colleagues on the concierge desk can help you with that.”
“But is there anywhere specific you recommend?” he asks, ignoring my implied suggestion that I can’t help him.
My smile falters a little. I don’t know how to read him. What is he asking me? “Sir, I’m new to New York. I’ve not had much experience dining in the city. But my colleagues would be happy to help you.”
He nods. “I’m sure. And when you’re in London, what’s your favorite restaurant?”
I’m still flummoxed. Is he such an awkward billionaire that he doesn’t know how normal conversation works? “I’m not fussy. Rules is…” Rules was where our parents used to take us for our birthdays. It’s comical really, because it’s such a weird restaurant to take a kid to. All the waiters wear morning coats like they’re in church for a wedding, and it’s so old-fashioned. But I have happy memories from there—some of my only memories of my parents, actually, from when I was really young.
“Rules,” he repeats.
“Yeah, it’s a—”
“I know it,” he says.
I cock my head. “You do? Do you spend a lot of time in London?” Somehow the idea of Bennett in London makes my stomach flip. He’s so… American. I can’t imagine him there.
“Of course,” he says. “But that choice has thrown me a little. You like it there, huh?”
“Honestly, I’m not the best person to ask about restaurants on either side of the pond,” I say. “Geoff on concierge seems to know every restaurant in New York.”
Is Bennett… not familiar with the city? Even though Fort Inc.’s offices are right in Manhattan? Does he never eat out? Surely he must know where’s good.
He holds my gaze, and I know I should look away but I can’t. I miss the moments of private time we had when I was cleaning his suite.