Her eyes lock on mine in the reflection of the large mirror above the sink. "I'm cleaning. He likes it clean when he leaves."
I knew I should have gone straight home after he left. It was my intention until I stepped into the washroom and saw the spacious marble shower. I felt an uncontrollable desire to wash last night off of my body and out of my mind. I'd tied my hair up with an elastic band I kept in my purse and then just as the hot water hit my back, I'd heard the door of the washroom open.
For a split second my heart stalled, believing it was Gabriel coming back to apologize for… for not fucking me? For rejecting me? For whatever it is that is making me feel so humiliated right now.
It didn't matter though. It was this, quiet, demure and adorable woman who didn't bat one single eyelash when I stepped out of the shower completely stark naked before she handed me a towel.
"Can you come back later?" I plead with her. "I'd like to get ready before I leave."
"He sometimes comes back at a lunch with… he has meetings here at lunch sometimes, sometimes earlier than that." She nods towards the other room. "He likes it cleaned before that. I have to do it now."
Christ, he's a hard ass. He doesn't cut this woman a break.
She won't even give me ten minutes to
pull myself together for fear that he'll come back home before she's had a chance to rearrange his toiletries. Wait. Those bottles of shampoo and moisturizer she's replenishing are small. They're so small.
I bolt out of the washroom with the towel still wrapped haphazardly around me. I walk through the attached bedroom and back into the large living room. My eyes scan the area, taking in everything I didn't see last night when the lights were dim and my interest was focused solely on Gabriel.
I turn to the left in search of the other rooms. I walk down a hallway but all that I find is a closed door that leads to a compact washer and dryer.
I march back through the main room, right past the woman who is now dusting the counter. I spot my purse there, with the birthday card and envelope sitting atop it. The hallway at the opposite end of the room leads to a small alcove with a television and an armchair.
"Where's the kitchen?" I ask without thinking, a knot forming in my stomach. "Where is Mr. Foster's kitchen?"
She half-shrugs without looking up at me. "This suite doesn't have a kitchen. Mr. Foster doesn't eat here. I mean he doesn't cook here."
I swear I hear her giggle under her breath. That steals every chance I may have had to ask her the obvious question. I can already imagine her reaction.
I turn back towards the bedroom, slamming the heavy door behind me. I drop the towel as I head straight for the closet. I push both of the doors aside to reveal two white dress shirts, one suit and a single pair of black shoes.
I pull in a deep breath as I approach a chest of drawers. I tug on the first drawer but it doesn't budge. I'm met with the same resistance when I try to open the second drawer. It's locked. I try them all, knowing as I yank on each that I'll be offered the same result.
I turn then, my eye catching on the phone atop the night stand. I walk slowly towards it, studying the various labeled buttons. I pick up the receiver and press '0'.
"Good morning, Mr. Foster."
"This isn't Mr. Foster," I whisper into the air. "I'm not Mr. Foster."
"Of course." The woman on the other end of the call is cheery, too cheery for so early in the morning. "Are you ordering breakfast for the two of you? I'll have room service send up his usual. What would you like?"
I stand silently as I slide open the drawer of the night stand. I don't feel anything as my eyes scan the boxes of condoms and tubes of lubricant, that are next to a pad of paper and a pen, both bearing a hotel's logo.
It now makes total sense why we pulled up to the back of the building last night and entered through a private door before stepping into the elevator. I didn't see anyone. I wasn't paying close enough attention to realize where I was.
"Miss, are you still there?" The voice on the phone startles me. "What can I get you?"
"My pride. I'd like to have my pride back," I whisper into my hand as I cover the mouthpiece before I hang up.
My wish came true. I wanted my birthday to be memorable. I'm pretty sure that I'll never forget that I spent my twenty-first birthday in Gabriel Foster's fuck pad, or in my case, non-fuck pad.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Gabriel
"You know this is complete bullshit, Gabriel," Caleb hisses the words out as he slams both his fists onto my desk. "Why the fuck are you doing this?"
I've asked myself the same question repeatedly since I walked out of the hotel suite and into the elevator, leaving Isla behind. The only difference is that Caleb's focused solely on business right now, and I can't get the image of Isla, freshly woken, out of my mind.