Page 50 of Charming
“I’ll be back soon.”
“Take your time. I’ll see you when you get back.” He nods, gives me one more kiss, then stands from the bed. He’s almost to the door when I call, “Hey,” he spins around a smile on his face. He’s wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans with his ball cap. “I was thinking I would call the concierge and get us a few groceries and I could cook for us tonight. Would that be okay with you?”
His smile widens, “You would cook for me?”
“I would love to cook for you.”
“You know,” he begins resting a hip on the doorway, “in some cultures that means that a woman is going to accept a man into her bed. When she offers him food.”
“Does it now? Well, I guess we did this whole thing backwards then. But we already know that, don’t we?” I place a finger to my chin, “I guess we could role play. Pretend I haven’t already had you in my bed and I can feed you food and maybe fan you with a palm frond or something. Make my intentions clear.”
His eyes narrow, “And what are your intentions?”
“To get you back in my bed of course, duh.”
He smirks, “Of course it is.”
“Alright stud, see you later.”
“Bye, princess.” But instead he runs over to the bed and gives me one more kiss before he pulls away, looks at me intently, then walks out of the room.
Falling back onto the bed I sigh at how in love with him I am. It’s probably wrong that thoughts of handcuffing him to my bed and never letting him leave have crossed my mind. Laughing at myself, I’m startled when I hear a knock at the door and then laugh again. I run to the door wondering if he forgot his key, grab my robe on impulse and throw it on as I open the door, “Did you forget your key?” But it isn’t Asher at the door, it’s Hunter.
“Oh. Hi.”
“Is Asher here?” he practically snaps at me. So much for formalities.
“No, he-”
He cuts me off, “We’re supposed to meet for breakfast.” He sighs as if divulging even that is painful for him.
“Yeah, I know. He just left. Maybe he went to your room?”
Without a word, he turns and starts walking down the hallway. His attitude pisses me off and before I can think twice about it, I blurt, “What the hell is your problem?”
He spins around, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. But I’ll say it again. What the hell is your problem? I told you I have no ulterior motive here, and I don’t. I don’t get why you hate me so much.”
“I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you.”
“Oh, well that’s so much better.”
“Look, I think if you gave a damn about him, you’d let him do something about all of this bad press before it effects his career. He’s worked his ass off. And with the shit that hit the fan yesterday-” He stops and sighs putting the bridge of his nose in his hand as if he’s getting a headache. “Maybe you don’t care about the shit that’s being said, but I do. And he should. It matters.”
Shaking my head I stare at him, “What the hell are you talking about?”
He stares back, open-mouthed, “You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Your friend, the one I met before-”
“Katie.”
“Yeah, her. She hasn’t called you? Don’t you have an assistant or something?”
“Let me grab my phone.” Holding the door open, he steps into the room and I go to my purse and grab my phone. The last time I remember using it was when I took photos at the sky pool. Pulling it out, I push the home button but nothing happens, the screen remains dark. Walking back into the next room, I hold it up, “It’s dead. Maybe she’s tried. What the hell is going on?” Now he has the nerve to look hesitant and that infuriates me. “Oh hell no. You don’t get to make accusations and assume shit about me and then back down when you realize I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
