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)
“Just that she hated making the movie, and I hated seeing her so surrounded by people who wanted something from her. Some of them would have sold their soul for a moment with her. To get to hold her hand or sign an autograph.”
“Wow,” she says, as if I’ve said something that means something important. “So that’s why you changed your name. Because you didn’t want people to want something from you. You don’t want to be a commodity. But then you became wildly successful on your own merits and you’re on the run again.”
“On the run?”
“Hiding out in hotels,” she says. “Lurking in corridors.”
“I wouldn’t describe it as hiding. Or lurking.”
“Wouldn’t you?” She cocks her head.
“No. I mean, I normally have an apartment. I’m only staying in the hotel because… I think I might have a stalker. I think someone might have made the connection between me and Ben Fort.”
“Right. And you don’t want to be discovered. So you’re hiding.”
“But it’s not a permanent thing. This situation is temporary.”
“But you’re permanently not on the internet. I mean, everyone in tech has heard of Ben Fort, but no one can put a face to that name.”
“My five closest friends can. People I went to business school with.”
“People you went to business school with have seen you and know you’re Ben Fort? Did you have to pay them all off not to shop you to the media?”
I laugh at how she cuts right to the heart of everything. “I’d trust them with my life. And rightly so. Nothing’s ever come out.”
She leans her elbow on the back of the sofa and stares at me, watching me like I’m some kind of exhibition.
“What?” I ask her.
“Just admiring the view. It’s pretty unforgettable.”
For a split second, I think she’s talking about the New York skyline, but when our eyes meet, I realize she’s paying me another compliment.
She knows who I am. She wants something from me—a job. But I don’t sense anything but genuine interest from her in this moment.
She frowns and the moment is broken. “Do they know the hotel owner is staying at the hotel?”
I shake my head. “Gretel knows Fort Industries own the hotel.”
“Right,” she says. “And you’re Bennett Fordham, nothing to do with Ben Fort. So the website is back up. The booking systems too?”
I nod. “Yeah, I just wish Gretel or Samantha had told me about the problem. I could have sorted it sooner. In fact, if you hadn’t told me, I still might not know.”
“See? If you gave me a job, I would be an asset.” The sentiment is heartfelt, but her smile is teasing.
I sigh. I’m not sure if I can resolve that issue between us. She’s always going to want a job from me. And I’m always going to wonder if that’s why she’s sleeping with me. I let out a growl of frustration. “I’m not giving you a job,” I say.
She presses out her lips in an exaggerated pout. “Maybe not yet.”
“Not ever. I should go.”
“Because I asked for a job?” she asks.
“Because I’m here because…” I promised her honestly. “Because I want to be here. But did you let me in because you want a job?”
She pulls back. “No,” she says, locking eyes with me deliberately. “I’m not sleeping with you to get a job.” She leans in and kisses me, and I feel it inside and out. “I’m sleeping with you because the sex is phenomenal, and I like spending time with you—enigmas and all.”
Another compliment. Two, in fact. I reach for her and slide her towards me.
“Wait,” she says. “What was that when you were asking about restaurants at reception? Are you trying to tell me you’re married or have a girlfriend or something?”
I laugh. Is that how it looked? “Absolutely not.”
“Then what was with all the questions? You know I’m not a New Yorker.”
I’m such a huge idiot. “Honestly?”
“I demand nothing but,” she says with a smile.
“I was… trying to figure out if there’s somewhere I could take you to dinner.”
Her face brightens and she grins at me. “You were?”
I shrug. “But Tribeca Grill? I’m trying to lie low. That’s not the place to do it.” Her smile dissolves, and I can feel her disappointment in my chest, low and heavy. “I’m sorry. I’ll try and think of something.”
“I know a place.”
“A place?” I ask.
“A place where you can take me on a date. Because I can tell you’re desperate to.”
I chuckle. It’s like she’s set fire to any filter she might have been born with. “Where?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m not telling.”
I go to object, but she presses her fingers against her lips. “Nope. But I know you’re trying to lie low. So nowhere fancy, I promise. Tomorrow lunch. Does that work?”
“Lunch?” I ask. The time of day should be the last thing I’m worried about, but I had a vision of us dressing up and me flying her to Paris or something, followed by a soak in a tub full of rose petals and a night exploring each other’s bodies.