Page 12 of Riot Reunion
“I don’t see why we need to do both. A lunchandan opening event in the same day seems like overkill, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think. The man’s been there for me through thick and thin. Giving him one full day of my time doesn’t seem like overkill at all.”
Dash’s stony expression gives away very little. “Yes. He has been good to you. I admire and respect the guy. You should definitely be there to commemorate his new venture. But the man hates me, Carrie. Straight up fuckinghatesme. Aren’t you even a little worried that he might try and murder me once the appetizers have gone out?”
“Come on. Michael’s a teddy bear. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Dash’s eyebrows inch higher. “Normally, I trust your judgment, but you’re way off base this time. That manhasmurdered people before. The corpses of his victims are buried all over the State of Washington. I’d put money on it.”
The melodrama, I swear to God. “Don’t waste your cash, Lord Lovett. I know Michael. He’s a hard ass, yeah, but what do you think will make him madder. Coming to his lunch and the restaurant opening, or staying at the hotel so you can practice for an audition? Did you miss the part where I said tomorrow’s lunch is forfamily and friends? Michael told me specifically that he wanted you to come. Thatmeanssomething.”
“That he wants to torture and humiliate me in front of his buddies?”
I could kick him. “It means that he considers you part of the family, dumbass. Michael isn’t the kind of guy who extends that type of invitation twice. Shun him now, and he’ll never offer out an olive branch again.”
The tips of Dash’s ears turn bright red; the first time I saw this happen, I thought it was due to embarrassment, but I know better now. He’s frustrated because he’s not going to get his way and he knows it. Huffing, he crosses his arms over his chest, back ramrod straight, staring ahead as the flight attendant moves down the aisle, retrieving people’s luggage for them from the overhead bins. “I guess we’ll talk about this when we get to the hotel,” he says stiffly.
“I guess we will.”
The Creston is an unassuming establishment.From the outside, you’d be hard-pressed to guess that it evenisa hotel. The red brick façade looks brand new, the pointing fresh. There are sculpted topiary bushes on either side of an entrance that bears no signage or indicators that this is one of the most luxurious hotels in the entire country. In the heart of Downtown Seattle, the building stands at a modest twenty-three stories tall. The large windows are impossible to see into, the glass smoked, casting off a subtle gold hue that, during the daytime, reflects the sky, gilding the ever-present mantle of clouds overhead.
At nighttime, The Creston is brought to life by countless up-lights that cast dramatic shadows up the building’s façade, making the place look like something from a nineteen forties-era propaganda poster. Before I moved out to New Hampshire, I’d walk past The Creston and wonder what happened behind the closed doors of such a secretive, high-end establishment. I never dreamed I’d end up staying here. To gain access to their reservation site, you need to possess the kind of titanium credit card Ineverthought I’d qualify for. Being with Dash has changed all of that.
Don’t get me wrong; Dash’s money is the least interesting thing about him. I would have fallen in love with him if he was penniless and never once cared that we weren’t rich. That isn’t the case, though. He’s aLord, for crying out loud. His father threatened to cut him off when he found out he was heading back to England to study music, but after a while, the miserable fucker calmed down and agreed to reinstate his son’s accounts. And those accounts? Let’s just say Dash could decide to sit on his ass and do nothing for the rest of his life and he’d never have to worry about money. He has more cash than a person could reasonably hope to spend in one lifetime, even if they were actively trying to waste it.
The woman at the front desk is breathtakingly beautiful; there’s a hint of Eva Green to her. Her black hair is swept back into a low bun, not a strand out of place. Her pouty, full mouth, painted matte blood-red, curves up into a distinguished smile as she comes around the desk to greet us.
“Lord Lovett. We’re so honored to have you staying with us for the next four days. Welcome.” She turns that radiant smile on me. She’s the epitome of chic. Her black silk suit hangs from her body perfectly, accentuating the lines of her frame so elegantly that I immediately feel like a hobo in my airplane sweats. “And you, Ms. Ashford—”
“Ahh, actually it’s Mendoza,” Dash says, correcting her. “That’s my fault. I made these reservations back when Carrie was considering reverting to her legal name. She’s since decided to stick with Carina Mendoza.”
Well, this feels awfully convoluted. Using a second name might be a red flag to a normal hotel, but not at The Creston. I bet half of the people who check in here do so under a fake name. Even so. It’s strange, and having to explain this feels a little weird. Dash called me Hannah for a month before I asked if he’d mind going back to Carrie. It isn’t as if I hated the name. I just couldn’t get used to it. Hannah was the girl I used to be, before Michael found me and took me in. My life has changed so much since then. Trying to step back into Hannah Rose Ashford’s shoes felt unnatural. They didn’t fit anymore. And besides, everybody I care about knows me as Carrie these days; it made more sense to stay true to who I’ve become.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Carina. Welcome to you both.” Warmth radiates from the woman’s words, her clear, forest-green eyes echoing her welcome, and a small stab of surprise catches me off guard. I’ve met beautiful women in this type of situation before. In my experience, they lord their power over you. Look down their noses at you. They’re frosty bitches with major attitude problems most of the time, but this could not be further from the truth with…
“My name is Genesis,” she says, as if reading my mind. “I’ll be your personal concierge during your stay here at The Creston. If you require assistance, you can call me, day or night. I’ll happily oblige you with…anythingyou might need.”
Whoa.
Whoa, whoa,whoa.
There’s a suggestive note to this. More than suggestive. The way she says ‘anything’ is downright sexual. She purred the word, smooth as silk. If she’d been looking at Dash when she said it, I might have been mad, but she wasn’t. She was looking atme. “I—uh—we—I’m sure we’ll be fine. Thank you.”
Her smile broadens, a dimple forming in her cheek. “It would be my pleasure to be of service to you,” she says in a husky tone. “Andrew will show you to your room now. He’ll take care of your bags. I know you requested access to the hotel’s piano, Lord Lovett—"
“It’s just Dash,” he says.
Genesis inclines her head. “Dash. We took the liberty of securing the penthouse for you, since there is a baby grand already in that suite. It will afford you all of the privacy you need while you practice. Our rooms are also perfectly soundproofed, so please, feel free to make as much noise as you like.”
For some reason, Genesis’s encouragement in the noise department doesn’t feel like it relates to Dash’s piano playing. She means sex. It feels like she’s encouraging us to have very loud, very aggressivesex. And it sounds like she very much wants to be part of it.
Dash doesn’t look fazed in the slightest by this overt flirting. I suppose he’s used to this kind of treatment from women. He’s insanely hot, not to mention incredibly rich and in line for the English throne. Women throw themselves at him every day. I, on the other hand, feel like my face is on fire. My whole body. I can’t even fucking think straight. What the hell is wrong with me?
“That’s very thoughtful. I’ve heard how accommodating The Creston is,” Dash says.
“That’s very kind. We always make sure our guests are well satisfied. Is there anything I can do foryouright now Ms. Mendoza?”
My blood sings in my ears. “Oh. No, I’m good. I’m so good. I’m already satisfied. Thank—thank you.”
