The questions make me smile, mainly because Aidan has no real interest in hotels or anything that doesn’t have to do with performing arts. “Yes, everything went fine.”
“Well, congratulations.”
“Thanks, but that’s not why I called. I need to know more about the girl you sent over to my apartment.”
There’s a pause. “What girl?”
What girl indeed. “On my birthday,” I clarify. “The hooker.”
“Umm…I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I snort impatiently. “Aidan, the hooker y
ou sent to my apartment as a birthday present.”
“Landon, you told me you weren’t interested, remember?”
“Since when have you ever listened to me? Stop playing around, Aidan. I need her number.”
“I’m not playing around,” he insists.
He sounds sincere, and I got enough practice when he was a teenager to know for sure when he’s lying. “So…you didn’t send a hooker to my apartment.”
“No!”
Then who did?
“Let me see if I’m getting this,” Aidan says. “Some girl showed up at your apartment, and you had sex with her because you thought she was the hooker I promised?”
“Yes.” I grind out the word.
“Woohoo!” he crows, making me want to pull his ears. “I don’t even know if that’s funny or scary. Was she cute? Did you use protection?”
“Oh, shut up,” I growl.
“She could have been a thief…or an assassin.” He laughs, his imagination on overdrive, as usual. “This is precious.” He laughs some more. “Why do you want to find her, anyway?”
Because I can’t stop thinking about her. I catch myself before I say the words. “I have no idea,” I grumble. “Why don’t you go back to your Broadway princess and show her who’s the director?”
He’s still laughing when I cut the connection, but I’m not. If Aidan didn’t send her, who is she, and why the fuck was she at my apartment?
It’s late in the evening when I get back to New York. I spent most of the five-hour flight trying to work while constantly distracted by thoughts of Rachel. Who is she? Why was she in the elevator? Why didn’t she take the money, and why didn’t she leave her number?
My mind is churning with possibilities. Was she a thief? Unlikely. Apart from a few paintings and accessories, there aren’t many items of immense value in the apartment that can be moved by a single person, and since I didn’t notice any pieces missing, I can rule that out.
A corporate spy sent by a competitor to steal information about my business? It’s possible, but then her effort would have been in vain. I don’t keep sensitive information lying around, and the level of protection on my computer ensures that nobody else can log in.
Now that I think about it, I realize how careless I was. If Aidan had sent her, someone would have called from the front desk to confirm that I was expecting a guest, but I was too intent on fucking her to consider things like that.
Could she have been lost? If she was, why she didn’t tell me instead of…instead of letting me think she was a whore and…
The images of that night fill my head. Her full breasts spilling out of her bra, the soft cloud of gold and red hair, how wet and tight she was around my cock, her response to my touch, her soft moans… As annoyed as I am by all the unexplained questions, my body reacts to the memories. My fingers clench, aching to touch her again, to relive the images in my head. I want to know who she is. I want to know why she was at my apartment, and yes, I want to fuck her again.
As Joe navigates the streets, I wrestle with my impatience to get back to the hotel and find out what really happened on Friday night. I’ve already called Jed Fray, my head of security, to review the footage from the elevators. I resist the urge to call him again. He’ll inform me as soon as he has something.
Almost as if I’ve communicated my thoughts telepathically, my phone vibrates. It’s him.
I take the call. “Yes.”