“Is it really stealing, if the breakfast bar is free?” I asked. “I mean, how can you even measure something like that on a day to day basis?”
“Okay.” He put his device away. “I’m calling security.”
The second the word “security” fell from his lips, I dropped my plate and headed toward the doors. Panicking, I pushed my way through the real guests and their designer luggage, but before I could taste fresh air, I collided face-first into another suit.
My body hit the floor with a loud thud, and I felt instant pain in my hands from failing to brace the fall. I stood up quickly—grabbing my bag and my phone.
I made a move for the doors again, but the suit I’d collided with stood in front of me—blocking me. Then he took my goddamn breath away.
Oh. My. GOD.
“I think you’re leaving something.” He picked up two of my condom packs and smiled. “I’m sure you’ll need these for whoever you’re running to. Don’t you think?”
Speechless, I snatched them away and stuffed them into my bag. Then I stood still, transfixed by the man’s stunning green and grey eyes. With his perfectly chiseled jawline and jet-black hair that I was tempted to run my fingers through, he was utter perfection.
As I stared, his lips curved into a slow, sexy smile—making him look like he’d stepped right off the front cover of GQ magazine.
I didn’t have to second guess that the tie he was wearing was a custom label and cost more than I would ever make in a week. His three-piece black suit gave away the fact that he was hiding well-toned muscles underneath, and I immediately recognized the silver, diamond plated watch he was wearing. I’d seen it twice in my life. Once, on the wrist of a Fortune 500 CEO during an interview, and once again on my Pinterest board called “Things I’ll Never Be Able to Afford.”
The suit was eyeing me just as intently as I was eyeing him, and I couldn’t snap out of it if I tried. I felt my nipples hardening beneath my dress, and I was certain that my panties were wet.
Before I could force myself to come to my senses and remember that I needed to be running and not staring, the grey-suited man from earlier rushed over.
“Mr. Parker!” He stepped between us, out of breath. “We weren’t expecting you until ten o’clock, sir. We’re still prepping our reports.”
“I’m sure you are,” he said, still staring at me. “I wanted to be here the second you finished, so I can make sure to fire whoever’s really responsible for all those unexplainable losses.”
“Well, you’re looking at the number one cause of all those losses right now, sir.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “The young lady in front of you has been stealing our gourmet breakfasts and coffee here for over two months now. She comes in three to four times a week—sometimes more than once a day, pretending to be a guest and she leaves before we can approach her. We’re pretty certain that she has a lost room key she keeps, and that she uses the side entrance from time to time. She waits for a guest to come in and shows her fake key, so she can slip in right after them.”
The suit tilted his head to the side, looking slightly amused, but his smile didn’t stay.
“Are you aware that stealing is a crime?” he asked, glaring at me. “That the total you’ve stolen from me now amounts to more than petty theft?”
I nodded. My voice was locked in my throat, and I couldn’t answer fast enough.
“I have the cops on line one, and the security team is on its way down, sir. I’d be glad to give my witness statement regarding this future felon who almost cost us our jobs.”
“Call them off,” the suit said. “Now.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” he said, looking at me. “I think we can talk about this like adults, don’t you think, Miss—” He paused. “What is your name?”
“Ashley Smith.”
“Your real name,” he said, knowing damn well I was lying. “The one you use when you’re not getting caught stealing. If you don’t want to give it to me, I can have you give it to the authorities.”
“Tara.” I relented. “Tara Lauren.”
“Miss Lauren, I’m Preston Parker,” he said. “I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I don’t appreciate people stealing from my hotels.”
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I take it that you’re like, the manager?”
“No, I’m like, the owner.” The way he said those words turned me on for some reason. “Let’s talk.” He gestured for me to follow him and led me past the disgruntled grey suit.
He glanced at the food I'd dropped on the floor and made his way to the breakfast bar. He picked up a plate and loaded it with fresh strawberries and croissants. Then he spread truffle butter on a gluten-free bagel before handing the plate to me.
He kept his eyes on me as we walked to the elevators—looking me up and down with every step, and I honestly wasn’t sure if he was leading me on to have me arrested in private.
I avoided his heated gaze as we went up, thankful that there were other guests between us. When we reached the thirtieth floor, the remaining guests stepped off and he held a key against the pad. Then he pressed the button labeled The Preston Suite.
The doors glided open seconds later, revealing a glittering gold floor that was even more stunning than the one downstairs.
“Good morning, Mr. Parker,” a woman behind the desk said. “Good to see you here today.”
“Good morning.” He spoke without looking in her direction, and everyone else on the floor scattered in different directions.
Why do they look so terrified?
“In here, Miss Lauren.” He opened the door to an office that was more than ten times the size of my apartment. As I stepped inside, the lights came on and the window shades slid up, revealing a dreamy and picturesque view of the city.
I bit my tongue to prevent myself from waxing poetic about it, to prevent myself from saying how lucky he must feel.
From up here, the falling rain didn’t seem so dreary. From here, New York still looked as magical as I once thought it was.
“Have a seat,” he said, pulling out a chair for me. He waited for me to sit down before moving behind his desk. Then he leaned back in his chair and stared at me with those stunning green eyes, making me even wetter against my will.
“So, Miss Lauren.” He tapped his fingers against the wood. “Is there any particular reason why you’ve been stealing from me?”
“Maybe.”
“Can you kindly tell me what that ‘maybe’ reason is?”
“I need to be assured that you’re not secretly taping this in hopes of turning me in to the authorities right after I confess.”
“If I wanted to call the authorities, I would’ve never invited you up to my office, Miss Lauren.” He kept his eyes on mine. “I would’ve called the precinct across the street, and you would’ve never made it past the corner.”
“Oh, right.” I cleared my throat, and he immediately picked up the pitcher of water on his desk, pouring me a glass.
“Now, where were we?” He waited until I took a few sips. “Oh, yes. You were about to stop stalling and answer my question about why you’ve been stealing from my hotel.”