Page 69 of The New Guy
But the message is not from Eustace. It’s from Hudson.Baby, what’s wrong? Is there an emergency?
I look up suddenly and spot him on the other side of the giant room. He’s leaning against the bar and watching me with worried eyes.
Then he breaks eye contact to tap something new into his phone, and my screen lights up again.Meet me out front. You can tell me in the cab.
TWENTY-FOUR
Gavin
The hotel isn’t eventen minutes away by cab. So my rant isn’t over when we get out on the sidewalk.
“Hold that thought,” Hudson says as he taps his credit card to pay the driver. “I need you to check in. Then swing by your room to get your bag.”
“Why?” I look up at the brightly lit hotel tower. I’d been so excited to come here. But now I have only anger in my veins.
“Because you’re coming up to my room. Trust me. Now come on.”
We go inside, and I stop fuming long enough to get my room key and glower up the elevator to the fourth floor.
Hudson was correct to assume that my suitcase would be waiting. I grab it and follow him back into the elevator, where he presses the button for the top floor.
“They’re threatening me,” I growl as the elevator climbs. “They know cash is tight. They’re counting on the fact that I can’t afford to hire a lawyer. But if I give in and do what they want, this will just happen again next year.”
“Yeah, I hear you. I really hate this for you. But it’s going to be okay.”
The doors part, and he beckons me out into a quiet hallway, where he unlocks a door with his key card.
“Is it? Because I honestly don’t know how we come back from this. They’re…” My rant ends midstream as I take in the room. It’s a suite—a big one. There’s a giant, sleekly modern four-poster bed visible in the adjacent bedroom. In front of me there’s a sunken living space with low couches surrounding a candle-lit square table.
There’s a meal for two laid out on that table. I see salads, plus other dishes on a warmer in the center. The table shimmers with candlelight, which makes the bottle of wine glisten in its ice bucket.
“Wow,” I say stupidly. “All that’s for us?”
Hudson lets out an awkward laugh, and then he tosses his suit jacket onto a coatrack. “I don’t ever take you out to dinner. And you’ve cooked for me. So I was trying to treat you right, here.”
“Oh.” I watch the candles flicker for a moment, and my heart rate drops a few crucial beats per second. “You’re…Thank you.”
His smile is wry. “I know my timing sucks. As usual. But is there anything I can do for you? You probably need to do a little custody law research, if it would make you feel calmer. Or google some lawyers to call in the morning. I could help you. Or at least feed you.” He unbuttons his cuffs and rolls his shirt sleeves up, revealing strong forearms.
And all I want is for him to wrap them around me for a minute. So I cross the room and lean into his chest. I press my face into the starchy collar of his dress shirt and breathe in.
“Hey,” he says quietly. Those arms wrap around me firmly. “It really will be okay.”
“I know,” I mumble. “Probably.”
“No, really.” He runs a firm hand up my back, and it feels so good.
“I was having so much fun tonight. I thought—look at me, living a little. And now this. It’s like I can’t ever take my eye off the ball. I’m sorry.”
He gives me a squeeze. “Don’t apologize, unless you’re only sorry for using a baseball reference on a hockey trip. Now come on. Let’s eat a little something, and then we’ll come up with a game plan.”
“Okay, whatever you say.”
“Good boy. Now open that wine while I take off this suit. And figure out what’s in those covered dishes.”
When he releases me, I step down into the seating area and plop down on one of the sofas. I smell garlic, and my stomach rumbles on cue. I lift the lid of one of the dishes, and see two pieces of seared salmon in butter sauce, with green beans. The other dish contains some kind of whipped potato with paprika on top.
My mouth waters aggressively.
