Once I'm ready I leave the apartment—or suite; I'm really not sure how to refer to it—and take the private elevator to the fourth floor. Rhys gave me a keycard yesterday that opens his apartment door and accesses the private elevator. He also showed me where the private elevator opens on four so I wouldn't be lost today. I guess he knew he'd be going in to work earlier than me. Which is fine, it's not like I expected him to take the same elevator with me to work. We're not carpooling or anything, just living together and having sex. And getting along well and enjoying each other’s company. That's it. I'm absolutely not falling for him. There's only maybe a solid fifty-five percent chance that is happening.
Once I get to work I drop my handbag at my desk. I still brought it to work because it felt weird to leave it upstairs, but it sorta felt unnecessary to bring it when I don't need my car keys or wallet and I already have a spare Chapstick in my desk drawer. This hotel living thing really does come with its own set of complications. Then I head for the break room to fuel up before I start work. Early, like the productive employee I am.
My boss Bethany is productive too because she's already in the break room using the fancy latte machine when I arrive. She smiles and says good morning and comments about how early I am this morning, which I appreciate because verbal acknowledgment is almost as good as a badge.
"Did you have a good weekend?"
I did. I so did.
"Yes, thank you." I mentally pat myself on the back because I'm positive I said that in a normal I-did-not-have-sex tone.
"You look different," she comments idly as she grabs a granola bar from the stash of free snacks arranged in open glass jars on the countertop.
Oh, my God. I have a glow. I have the I-had-the-sex glow. I knew I did. I knew it was going to be super-obvious and now people are going to picture what I look like naked.
"Did you get some sun?"
Or they might just think I got a tan.
"Um, not this weekend, no. But I have gotten some color since moving here. That's probably it." I slide my cup under the coffee dispenser as Bethany removes hers and hit the buttons to select a latte. "What about you?" I ask her as the machine hums and the first drips of coffee sputter into my cup. "Did you do anything fun this weekend?"
"I got a haircut," she answers with a shrug. "Not exactly life-changing. Just a trim," she notes, holding up the ends of a lock of hair.
"Fun," I say for lack of anything better to say. Bethany waits until my drink is ready and then we walk back to our workspaces together. She's got an office at the far end of my row so she leaves me at my cube, telling me to have a good day as she continues down to her office.
I do. I complete an entire list of background checks for a group of food and beverage employees starting this week then dive into preparing a specialized orientation for the spa staff starting tomorrow. I'm having the best day ever until my computer pings with a meeting alert I wasn't aware I had scheduled.
A meeting alert that begins in five minutes.
In Rhys' office.
I'd suspect he was requesting me for some kind of kinky desk sex except that when I click open the meeting icon I see we're not the only meeting attendees. Also he's never been anything but professional towards me at the office—even after I propositioned him in the break room before I knew who he was.
Which, come to think of it, wasn't nearly as bad as hookering myself to him after I knew who he was.
So.
That's that.
I'm getting fired.
Bethany is listed as a meeting attendee. As is her boss, Harrison, the vice-president of human resources. And finally, Lawson McCall, head of the legal department at the Windsor—and witness to my sale at Double Diamonds.
I blow out a giant exhale and remind myself about the number of jobs available in my field in Las Vegas. Or I could waitress, like Payton said. I'd probably make more money and have really toned legs from all that running around. This is just so messed up. I thought—I thought I was getting through to Rhys. That he was feeling some of these feelings that I'm feeling, too.
Maybe his fetish is breaking hearts, in which case screw him. I square my shoulders and stand, pushing my desk chair neatly up to my desk because there's no need to be disorderly in times of duress.
I'm wondering which Goodwill I should visit on my way home when Bethany appears at my desk and says she'll walk with me. She's not that much older than me and I wonder if she's ever had to fire someone before. Then I wonder if firing someone is like sex and you always remember your first. And then I wonder if she's not walking with me but escorting me to the meeting and then I stop caring about how hard this might be for her.
We're the last to arrive. I've never been in Rhys' office before. I've never been to any of the executive offices before. I knew where they were, close to my desk in the human resources department, but down a hallway I've never had a need to go down. We pass the private elevator I took to work this morning, located in an alcove just outside the executive hallway, and I give it a sad glance.
Rhys's office is expectedly huge. There's a desk, a seating area with a sofa and coffee table and a conference table positioned in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows with a Las Vegas Boulevard view. Lawson and Harrison are at the conference table, their postures relaxed. I think I overhear something about a golf score. Par? I don't know, but it sounds like they're talking about golf. Rhys is behind his desk, ignoring both of them, reviewing something or other on a monitor on his desk. He must see us enter the room because he flicks a glance our way with instructions to close the door, then he rises and moves to the conference table, sitting at the head.
Work Rhys isn't that great, actually. He's kinda focused and cold and I decide I'm going to remember him as bar Rhys. Or Del Taco Rhys. Or Goodwill Rhys. The Rhys who watched a home renovation show with me. The Rhys I gave my virginity to and the one I'll never be sorry I went to so much trouble for.
Bethany sits and I take the seat beside her. We're directly across from Lawson and Harrison, the view of the Strip behind their backs.
Then Rhys starts talking.
Twenty-Five
LYDIA
"Per company policy, I need to notify you that Miss Clark and I have recently become involved in a romantic relationship. Due to my position, the board has also been notified."
Oh, holy Jesus.
I turn red, no one says a word and Bethany's eyes widen as she turns her head a fraction to look at me, her expression one of surprise which she quickly tries to mask. Her eyes flicker to Rhys and then back to me and for sure she is thinking about us having sex. Now she knows I don't have a tan glow, I have a sex glow. I bet everyone is thinking about us having sex. Everyone except Rhys because this is still work Rhys and not loves-to-go-down-on-me Rhys.
Oh, God. Now I'm picturing that. Everyone is picturing that.
"We're not dating!" I blurt out. "We're just—"
Rhys raises one eyebrow across the conference table, his expression impassive, save for the tick in his jaw. Right, right. This is our cover and I'm blowing it. He doesn't mean any of this, he's speaking in his work Rhys voice. This is what he meant by taking care of it and I'm blowing it.