The Lover’s Secret (No Exceptions #1)(16)
Author: J.C. Reed

His grin widened until dimples appeared. “Yes, ma’am.”

I closed the door behind me. It had been so much fun to bind him like that, when he was unsuspecting and trusting. The image of leaving Jett waiting the whole night and facing his wrath in the morning was so amusing that I snorted with laughter. I should have done something like this a long time ago.

I retrieved the phone from my handbag and the keycard from the coffee table, then hurried down to the reception area, where I was sure Jett wouldn’t look for me, even if he somehow managed to untie himself because he couldn’t bear not being in control.

The night-shift receptionist barely looked up as I passed him. Time to move to the next step in my plan. I hid in the corner and dialed the number I had memorized. As I waited, my heart slammed hard against my ribs, so hard I was sure it was going to give out on me.

“Damn,” I murmured under my breath when the call went straight to voicemail. Sighing, I tried one more time, still without success.

Maybe their battery was dead? Or maybe they switched their phone off, because they were sleeping, which was understandable, since it was eleven p.m. Either way, I decided to call them one last time and leave a short message, a request to call me back during office hours. It wasn’t ideal, but I could rest in the knowledge that I had done all I could for the time being.

Eventually, I returned to the receptionist, an older man. He eyed me in a friendly way as I explained that I had no idea how the ice machine upstairs worked. He just nodded patiently, obviously used to being bombarded with strange requests at night. I waited patiently as he brought me a champagne bucket filled with ice cubes.

“Anything else I can help you with?” he asked, flashing those unnaturally bright teeth that were typical of New York City employees.

“No, that will be all. Thank you.” Giving him my best smile, I took the bucket and headed back to the elevators, ready to commence my torture on Jett.

The elevator doors had almost closed when a hand slid in to stop them. When they opened again, a man stepped inside. He was dressed in an old-fashioned suit, and his hair was combed back. I realized he was the same man I’d seen lurking around the lobby earlier that day, and he was still carrying a newspaper.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he mumbled, barely looking at me as the doors closed.

Alarm bells began to ring in my head, and my heart thudded impossibly hard, hammering against my rib cage the way it always did when I found myself alone in a closed space, with someone I didn’t trust.

“What floor?” I asked, trying not to sound too uneasy.

“Twelfth, please.” Rather than looking up at me, he nonchalantly unfolded his newspaper and began to read it again.

I pressed the elevator buttons a few times too many, and stepped back, holding my breath.

The guy cleared his throat, but his gaze remained glued to the newspaper.

Please go faster, I urged the lift. I wasn’t sure what made me think that, but there was something about the man that scared me. Maybe it was the way he dressed, austere and old-fashioned. I had no idea.

It was then that my glance fell on the newspaper. There was nothing special about the article he was reading, something related to sports, but it was the date that caught my attention.

The newspaper was three days old.

How odd!

My pulse doubled in speed and began beating a furious staccato. Naturally, I tried to slow down my heart’s frantic pounding, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

The lift finally stopped on the twelfth floor with a ding, and without saying another word or glancing back at me, the man left.

When the door closed behind him, I was able to relax. It wasn’t in my nature to judge other people’s behavior, but the guy was just creepy. I shrugged inwardly. So what if he read an outdated paper? Many people did, didn’t they? It had probably been lying around and he had picked it up, reading out of boredom. Maybe he was an avid reader, eager to devour each word he came across, or maybe he’d been out of town a few days and wanted to catch up. They were all perfectly reasonable and rational explanations. But for some reason, my heart continued to slam hard within me. It was only after I returned to the safety of our penthouse that I could calm down, and my thoughts returned to Jett, who was still bound to our bed, the email long forgotten.

Chapter 11

The next morning, I woke up alone. Soft sunrays streamed through the high bay windows, illuminating the gold and cashew hues of the bedroom. I turned to peer at Jett’s empty side, my fingers touching the soft material of the bed sheets. The silk still smelled of him.

Of us.

Of our lovemaking.

Stroking the smooth surface conjured memories of him touching me, and my whole body began to ache again. I smiled. Only Jett could take me the way he had, and set my world on fire.

While I loved his enthusiasm when we were together and loved everything about him in general, I wasn’t so keen on his whole early-dawn routine, and he knew it. For the umpteenth time, I wished he’d taken the time to wake me up before taking off, instead of leaving me alone in a huge, empty bed.

I was vaguely aware of what had happened between us, of that promise he had asked for. It didn’t take me long to realize that my refusal to give it to him might have been the very reason why he had left. Maybe he was trying to piss me off by keeping me waiting, or maybe he intended to punish me by making me think he could sneak out whenever he wanted. He wouldn’t do that, though, would he? Surely he wouldn’t be so conniving. Or maybe he was off somewhere, checking my email.

“Right,” I murmured to myself as a pang of anger shot through me. I wasn’t going to give him that promise, at least not yet. He had to earn my trust, and if he could be stubborn, so could I, if not more so. I was going to find out the truth soon enough anyway.

Rubbing my eyes to get rid of the tiredness, I sat up and turned to grab my phone from the nightstand, ready to dial the legal firm, when I noticed it was gone.

I frowned, immediately forcing my mind into action.

I had left a message on the Wighton & Harley’s answering machine with a request to call me back in the hope they would bother to get in touch with me. That was the reason why I’d wanted to keep my phone near me in case they tried to reach me. Then there was Sylvie. She had texted me the day before, and I had meant to read her message. I distinctly remembered leaving my phone on the nightstand, right before I joined Jett in the bedroom.

So, where was my phone?

Wrapping the sheets to cover my naked body in a makeshift toga, I stood and walked over to rummage through my handbag, near the windows on Jett’s side. When I heard steps in the hall, I stopped in my tracks.