I remember his promise to take me clothes shopping, but I’d prefer the other promise he made, to be honest.
Promising to make me his all over again in the hotel bridal suite.
“You won’t enlighten us as to what any of this is all about?” Sebastian Hawke asks, sounding indignant, almost hurt as Jett moves to leave.
He pauses at the door, and opening his mouth slowly for effect, he gives his answer.
“No.” He smiles, and gripping my hand in his we leave both Karlee and Sebastian slack-jawed by not only Jett’s words but by his very public display of affection for me.
Without going on about it either, Jett drives us back to the hotel and walks me across to the mall joining it where we shop.
We shop like I’ve never shopped in my whole life.
Hours pass by, with anything and everything I want plus a ton of things Jett insists I have, all charged to his account and arranged to be sent up to our room.
“Ah! The bridal suite,” exclaims one shop assistant, beaming with congratulations for us.
I blush and don’t say anything, but it’s clear to me how much Jett enjoys hearing this type of thing.
He leaves me alone just once while I’m being fitted for some lingerie, and gives strict instructions for me to wait until he returns.
I peck his cheek and let him know I won’t be going anywhere. The pile of things to try on is so big I don’t know if I’ll have enough hours left today to do all the shopping for the ‘few things’ Jett suggested in the first place.
It feels like he’s only gone a few minutes, but almost an hour passes before I realize the time.
“I hope it’s not too much,” I wince, looking at the huge row of bags, boxes, and parcels waiting to be sent up once he returns.
“I hope you’ll model some of these for me in private before I fuck you senseless,” he growls in my ear, grinning wider when the shop assistant overhears him.
“I can’t wait,” I shiver, already dizzy from the past two days with him.
The thought of every day being like this is enough to make me want to squeal with delight.
“We can order dinner in, I think,” he mentions casually as we walk back to the hotel, the sunset already a memory over the horizon.
Stepping into the hotel lobby, Jett is careful not to be spotted, but the concierge calls him over, almost blowing what little cover we have.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jett
“I’m sorry to shout out like that, Mr. Masters,” The concierge murmurs, lowering his voice now as he glances around.
Fully aware of my irritation.
“But I thought you should know… Those other guests you asked us to keep an eye on? Well, they’re in the restaurant bar right now, all three have a table reserved for dinner at eight o’clock.”
I feel my eyes narrow.
Not because the guy basically just yelled at us, but because it’s the perfect time to execute my plan.
The truth is I wasn’t exactly sure what I was gonna do to catch these pricks red-handed.
But sometimes the best plan is not having one at all.
It’s probably a good time to share the same plan with Penelope, even though it’ll mean a slight delay in our own evening’s entertainment I’d already planned.
“Thanks,” I murmur to my informant, sliding a thin pile of crisp hundred dollar bills across to him. Tapping it as I remind him, “…for your discretion.”
He smiles knowingly, pocketing the money.
“Just one more thing,” I ask him. “I’ll need my friend here to be on the wait staff for that table… She comes highly recommended,” I add, letting a full wad of cash hit the counter this time.
“I’ll see that everything’s ready in twenty minutes,” the concierge says knowingly, discreetly.
Not even glancing at the money as he pockets it.
Just glad to be part of the show. But if he comes through, which I somehow know he will. It will be worth every penny.
With no time to lose, I whisk Penelope back up to our suite, and she’s more than curious as I outline what I need her to do.
“Simple stuff,” I tell her. “If you don’t mind waiting just one table for a little while?”
Her face furrows, reminding me I told her she didn’t have to do that anymore.
“But this table?” I explain. “This table is where our three little pigs are feeding, and I just need you to hover about, catching anything useful they might say on your phone.”
“On my phone?” she echoes, and I explain the voice-activated recording apps that are prolific these days.
Easy to use and perfectly suited for our purposes.
Both of us smile wide when she finally catches on to the plan.
“Isn’t it illegal to record private conversations?” she asks, thinking analytically for a moment.
“Not if you’re a part of that private conversation,” I suggest. “Being a waitress… ‘Get you another drink?’ ‘Nice night out?’ that sort of thing,” I suggest and she kisses me.