Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
I wonder how Leo’s feeling this morning. Neither of us got much sleep last night. I crawled out of bed at five, showered, and left around six. He didn’t stir. I wasn’t sure if he was deliberately avoiding a conversation about the night before, so I didn’t wake him.
There will be plenty of time to talk, although my vote would be to skip right past conversation and put the entire episode behind us. That, or get naked again. Naked is definitely the more complicated of the two options, but I have evidence in my aching muscles that it would also be the more fun option.
“Should I start sweeping?” Bill, one of our maintenance team, asks, pulling me away from thoughts about Leo.
“Yes, please. The surveyor is coming at two.” At least it’s cloudy, so he won’t be cooked up here as he does… whatever he’s going to do. We’ll need shade up here if this is going to be a guest space. Umbrellas or a pergola. It’s just before twelve, so we’ve got time to clear the rest of the chairs and sweep up. The surveyor is going to tell me how much weight the roof can take, and any safety renovations needed before I engage an architect and a designer. I need to know the structural costs before I get excited about anything else. I’d really like to cover the place in decking. We also need to put electricity up here. At the very least we’ll need music and refrigeration, but I’m not opposed to a full bar. Maybe even a grill.
My phone rings and my heart splutters, as I immediately assume it’s going to be Leo.
But of course it isn’t. It’s just Joan.
“Are you up on the roof?” she asks.
“Yeah, just getting things ready before the surveyor gets here.”
“Well, you might want to come down here—”
She stops short. I pull the phone from my ear to check if she’s been cut off.
“Jules?”
“Oh, you’re back,” I reply. “I lost you—”
“Leo Hart is on his way up to the roof.”
“Leo is here?” Joan is one of the few people who actually knows Leo is the hotel owner. It’s not a secret, per se—people just don’t care. Joan found out because she was so pissed off with Louis, she wanted to know who to write to over his head.
What the actual fuck? Why’s he dropping in today of all days? He can’t want to have The Talk about last night while I’m at work. He’s too professional for that. Unless he’s throwing me out and calling off the fake engagement. Will last night go down in history as the mistake that blew up my whole life, just as things are falling into place?
“Shit,” I say. “Can you stop him?” I’m not mentally prepared to see Leo at all, but definitely not here and now. I wanted to present the roof terrace development idea as a no-brainer, so he’d have to invest. But he’s caught me on the fly.
“He’s gone already. Bruce is bringing him up.”
I groan and head toward the exit, hoping I can be halfway down the stairs as they come up and we can double back. That’s another cost I’ll need to factor in: renovating the stairs and access so guests don’t come through staff-only parts of the hotel.
I’m about five yards away from the exit when Leo appears at the door with a shit-eating grin all over his face. Bruce is nowhere to be seen.
“Jules, Jules, Jules. This roof terrace thing is an addiction, isn’t it?”
“You’re hilarious. What are you doing here?”
He shoves a brown paper bag at me and nods toward the group of chairs Jimmy hasn’t cleared yet.
I peer inside the bag. It’s a sandwich. “You brought me lunch?”
“I did. Thought you might be hungry this morning after…” He grins another shit-eating grin and it’s like he’s set fire to my cheeks. “After skipping breakfast this morning.” He sits, looking me over like I’m a painting in a museum, like he’s trying to take in every hue and stroke.
I’m not embarrassed because we had sex. More like… I feel like he’s seen too much of me, too much of what’s below the surface. But it was just… it was the kind of sex where I feel like he knows me better afterwards. Soul-baring sex. But now that he’s seen me that way, I’m not sure what his reaction might be.
I perch on a raised concrete wall by the railings and pull out the sandwich. I take a bite, staring at him right back. It feels like his presence here is some kind of dare, and I never back down from one of those. After I swallow, I say, “I didn’t skip breakfast. I ate yogurt with fruit. Some of us like a head start on our day.” I take another bite. The sandwich is good. Chicken salad—exactly what I’d usually order for myself.