Page 54 of The Player + The Pact = I Do

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.

“You didn’t run off?” he asks, his voice a little quieter than before.

“I came to work. I have a lot to do at this place you’ve been running into the ground.”

He nods and crosses the space between us to sit down next to me. He’s just far enough away that I’d have to reach out to touch him. “Right. Good.”

“You’re not going to make me have The Talk here, are you?” I ask.

“The Talk?”

“Yeah, you know, where you tell me how you were drunk and upset about Caroline Hammond or whatever, and last night was?—”

“Fucking epic. Wanna do it again?” He smiles but it’s less shit-eating and more… hopeful. I’ve seen Leo Hart work a room. He knows how to turn on the charm. But when he’s being awkward and a bit goofy? That’s when I like him best.

I can’t help but laugh and my nerves drift away. He doesn’t regret last night. Neither do I. The idea warms my muscles and relaxes me, like my entire body was gripping on to something I can now release.

“So why are you here?” I ask, avoiding his question.

“I told you, I brought you lunch.” He rolls back his shoulders, his white shirt sleeves clinging to his arm muscles. I wonder if he’s feeling the effects of last night, too. “I didn’t even know this was up here. It’s got railings and everything.” He pulls a bottle of water out of the bag and twists open the cap. He takes a sip. I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs under his warm skin. I want to press my lips to his heat.

My eyes flicker up to his. I’ve been caught staring.

He offers me the bottle.

I don’t want water. I want to make out with him, right here and right now. But I settle for the drink. Our fingers brush as I take the bottle from his hands. There’s something about the way he’s looking at me that sends my heart into free fall in my chest, a stone kicked off the edge of a bottomless well.

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