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)
But I don’t hear him say anything.
When Marcella returns, she’s carrying bottles of water to place by the bed.
Just as she finishes setting out the water, her radio bleeps. It only went off once yesterday and it meant we had to drop everything and head to another suite to service it immediately. “This will be the Avenue Suite again.” She lowers her voice to a near-whisper and continues, “He seems fine today. You finish the bed here and meet me in Avenue. Okay?”
I nod, suddenly aware of the pulse in my wrists beating against my skin.
Me and Bennett. In this room. Alone.
Bennett. Mysterious. Paranoid. But why? Who is he?
As quickly as I can, I smooth the sheets across the bed, tuck them, and try not to picture Bennett’s naked body wrapped in them. Is he a deep sleeper or restless? Does he sleep naked or in PJs?
Why am I so interested?
I’m not sure if it was the good sex or the fact he’s everywhere but so distant at the same time.
Every now and then I pause, but I can’t hear anything. Is he even still in the other room? Maybe he went into the dining room, a polite retreat to give me space to do my job.
I finish the bed and make sure the pillows and cushions are perfectly lined up. I round the end of the bed looking at it from all angles, making sure it’s exactly how it should be. Bennett is nothing if not thorough—I know that from personal experience. Plus, I want him to think I’m good at my job, even if that job is cleaning hotel rooms. From the little I know about him, I think he appreciates someone who cares about their work, who takes pride in it. He’s the opposite of slap-dash and sloppy, and I imagine a careless approach in any part of his life is abhorrent to him.
I cross my arms and admire my work. It’s only a bed, but it’s beautifully made. Perfect in fact. A part of me wants to slide off my knickers and slip them under his pillow.
But I don’t want to get myself fired.
I’m still smiling at my idea as I exit the bedroom and lock eyes with Bennett. It’s like he’s been waiting for me to appear. He’s sitting on the sofa, a laptop on his knees. His gaze flits back to the screen.
“Housekeeping is all finished in your suite. Anything else I can do for you… sir?”
His eyes cut back to mine, and I can’t help pushing down on my bottom lip with my teeth.
We still, staring at each other for what seems like forever.
His eyes snake down my body, from my eyes, to my collarbones, my breasts, my waist, hips, legs. He maps me thoroughly before meeting my eyes again.
“Nothing, thank you,” he says, and for a moment I’m confused. Then I realize what he’s saying—there’s nothing else he needs. From housekeeping? From me? Both, I guess.
“But I want you to know that I believe you,” he says.
My heart lifts. I don’t know why I care, but apparently, I do.
“Good,” I say. “I was telling you the truth. I have nothing to hide.” I glance around the room. “Unlike you.” I shouldn’t have said it. Honestly, my mouth is going to get me in real trouble one day.
But he doesn’t respond, and the devil on my shoulder can’t resist an extra prod. “There’s nothing personal of you here at all.”
“So?” he asks, his tone slightly defensive.
“So, it’s like you’re trying to disappear. There’s no scribbled note by the side of your bed. No business papers on the coffee table. Nothing in your pockets that would give away who you are or where you go every day. It’s like you’re a shadow. A shadow of a man.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You’ve gone through my pockets?”
I groan. Of course he’d pick up on the one thing I shouldn’t have done. “Yeah, probably not in my job description, it’s just… I slept with you the night before last and I don’t know anything about you.”
“We had a one-night stand. We’re not planning a wedding. You don’t need to know me.”
“Right. It’s normal to not know someone if you have a one-night stand with them, I guess. I don’t have access to the rule book on that, and I don’t have much experience, but I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, what I’m saying is, I’ve cleaned your hotel room from top to bottom and I feel like I know you less than I did the night I saw you naked. Not knowing is one thing, but it’s like you’re purposely hiding who you are.”
“Why didn’t you say you did computer science in college?” he asks.
“Because—wait, how do you know I did computer science at university?”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Efa?”