Page 7 of Anti-Hero

Instantly, I regret the hasty admission of details he doesn’t need to know.

It never occurred to me that Kit might be here tonight, and knowing he was attending would have kept me from showing up. I haven’t told Lili I’m in town. Asking Kit not to mention seeing me to his sister will only pique his misplaced interest.

He surprises me by not pressing for more of an explanation about my change of address. “You should rinse that stain before you go unless you want that dress ruined.”

No shit, I think.

“Know a lot about women’s clothing, do you?” I say.

“About removing it? Yeah.”

I scoff and hobble faster.

Kit doesn’t fall a single inch behind as he continues talking. “My mother designs clothes, Monty. And you know Lili. Despite my bestefforts, I’ve absorbed some knowledge. Like that the longer a stain sits on fabric, especiallysilk, the harder it is to get out.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I snap. “Go strip in the women’s restroom? I don’t have anything else to change into, and even if I did?—”

I stop talking. Stare at the plastic rectangle Kit just pressed into my palm. His fingers curl around mine, closing my fist, and it feels like a pair of electric paddles were just pressed against my chest.

“I have a suite upstairs,” he tells me, oblivious to the cardiac event I’m experiencing. “You can use it to clean up.”

For the second time tonight, I pull away. Why does he keep touching me? Hasn’t he heard of personal space?

“Of courseyou do,” I drawl.

We’re at the Hamptons’ most exclusive hotel, located right on the shoreline, with enviable amenities. His parents and grandparents both own mansions nearby, yet he has asuiteupstairs. Probably reserved for tonight’s paramour.

Kit grins as he walks backward, not wasting any time returning to the ongoing party. “Top floor. Last door on the left. It’s called the Seashore Suite, or something ridiculous like that. You’re welcome.”

One final smirk, and he disappears back into the ballroom.

I stand, conflicted for a few seconds. My dress is likely ruined regardless. But I’m not really in a rush to return to my apartment and submit more résumés.

I sigh, then start toward the elevator. Kit is probably busy with a socialite—or several—by now and will never know I accepted his help. I’ll be long gone by the time he brings someone upstairs.

A silver-haired woman steps off when the shiny doors part. She spots the stain and gives me a sympathetic look. “I hope you packed anextra dress, dear.”

“I did.” The lie comes out as bright as the gleaming marble floor.

I’m sick of being pitied. The unanswered messages on my phone are mostly filled with sympathies. And most of that concern was fueled by guilt. Which shouldn’t makemefeel more pathetic, but it does.

When the elevator doors open again, I’m on the top floor. The hallway is even more luxurious than the lobby. A pristine white rug runs the length, so plush that I forget about my blister while walking. Each room has a nautical name.

The key card Kit handed me opens the door to the SeasideSuite with a soft click.

I kick my heels off as soon as I’m inside, breathing a sigh of relief when my soles sit flat on the floor again. My pinkie toe is bright red, but at least it’s not bleeding. The last thing I need is to ruin my shoes too.

I toss my clutch on the neatly made king-size bed and continue into the attached bathroom. The cold tiles aren’t as comforting against my sore feet as the carpet was.

Wrestling the zipper down my back takes a couple of minutes of contortions. Finally, my stained dress pools on the white-and-black hexagon in a silken heap, leaving me naked, aside from the tiny thong I wore to avoid panty lines.

As soon as I wet the stain on my dress under the tap, the damp spot spreads to cover most of the bodice. It also makes it impossible to tell whether the stain is still showing or not, although I’m guessingstill thereis the safer bet.

I huff a frustrated breath and drop the dress next to the sink with a wet slap, cursing tonight’s events all over again. Then lean a hip against the counter, contemplating my next move.

A firm knock raps against the suite door while I’m still deliberating, followed by, “Collins?”

I snatch up my damp dress and clutch it to my chest like Kit might be able to see through the wooden door and around the corner into the bathroom. “What?” I call back.

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