Page 15 of Meant For Love
I stop at my door and see his door is literally right beside mine. “How long will you be?” he asks, and I look back at him. “Until you are ready for lunch.”
“I just have to fish out my purse, and I’ll be ready to go. Should I change? Are you changing?”
“I’m changing after lunch,” he tells me. I nod, scan the card, and hear the click of the lock. “Be out in a minute.” He walks into his room at the same time I walk into mine, and both doors close with a slam after us.
Luckily for me, lunch is interrupted by phone calls from Caine and a couple from his parents, all of whom are not coming to this summit but want to give their input. When we get back to our rooms, he looks over at me. “How long will it take you to change?”
“Ten minutes,” I reply, “maybe twelve if I have to iron my skirt.”
“Whoever is finished first knocks,” he says, “and then waits for them in the other room.”
I roll my eyes and push open the door, making sure I don’t dillydally, just to make sure when he knocks, I’m ready to go. I rush over to my bag, picking it up and tossing it on the bed. My outfit for today is on top as I bend to untie the ankle strap to my wedges before kicking them off. I grab the white linen, wide-legged pants, shaking them out and seeing they didn’t wrinkle, and then the silk top I folded in two also doesn’t look like it needs to be ironed. “Score,” I cheer to myself, going to the bathroom before undressing and then slipping into my outfit. The silk top has long sleeves and big cuffs at the wrists, with two sashes at the neck that tie into a bow before the cleavage starts. I tuck the shirt into the high-waisted linen pants, then turn to grab the shoes out of the other side of the carry-on. The strappy gold heels finish the look, and I’m grabbing my purse when there is a knock on the door. “I win,” he declares with glee in his voice, and his smile turns into a frown when I open the door and he sees me ready. “Fuck, it’s been seven minutes.”
“I got lucky, I guess.” I put my phone in my purse before walking out with him.
“It’s a seven-minute walk.” Nash looks at me and then my shoes. “Do we need to cab it?”
“For seven minutes?” I ask. “You know I live in New York, right? I could run in these shoes and only at the end of the night would I complain.”
“Good to know.” He winks at me, then looks back down at the shoes. “Those should be illegal at work.”
“Umm, your assistant was wearing almost the same thing yesterday,” I point out, and his eyebrows pinch together.
“Okay, I amend my statement. You shouldn’t be wearing those at the office.”
I scoff, walking side by side with him, trying to think of something to say, but all the words are jumbled in my head, along with whether he ever hooked up with his assistant. Do they have the friends-with-benefits deal? The real question is, why do I even fucking care?
I see what he’s talking about the minute we step into Caesars. He’s stopped about five times, and every time, he takes the opportunity to introduce me to whoever stopped him. I smile politely, shaking their hand and listening to their conversations.
Everyone is very respectful as we make our way over to the check-in desk, where they hand him a badge with his name on it and then mine with my name on it, Zoey Richards Cottrell Group.
“There might be something wrong with mine,” I tell him as we walk away, and he looks down to see. “What if they think I work for your firm and ask me banking advice?” He chuckles as he puts on his badge. “The only thing I know is you save your money.”
“Well, at least you’ve got that,” he teases as we make our way to one of the speaking events. “You’re already one foot in the door.”
“Nash, this could embarrass you and your group,” I whisper-yell at him.
“You know I own the group, right? Not one person is going to fire you.” He puts his hands in his pockets, and I notice you can see some of the outline from his chest tattoo through his shirt. “Zoey,” he says my name, “relax.”
“You telling me to relax doesn’t mean I actually relax.” I lean over and whisper in his ear without getting too close.
He puts his hand on the lower part of my back as he ushers me forward into a room where someone is speaking, so I shut up. The rest of the day is filled with speeches about what is new in banking. I literally have no idea at all what they’re saying. I try to keep up and take a couple of pictures of Nash with his clients who have come to meet him. They listen to everything he says, and he points out little things they haven’t even thought of.
The day flies by and into the night. Even the day after, it’s so much on the go I don’t see the hours go by, and finally, on the last night, I’m ready for the long vacation with my family. “Is the gala fancy?” I ask as we walk out of the hotel on the last day after the last speaker just finished presenting.
“Semi-fancy. I know lots of them are bringing their wives and stuff, so they might be dressed up,” he says, stopping when I stop.
“I need you to think back to last year and what people were wearing,” I ask him, and he shrugs. “Okay, what about the hottest girl there? What was she wearing?”
He laughs. “It was semi-formal,” he says. “Why?”
“I don’t have a semi-formal outfit,” I gasp.
“Then go get one,” he states, opening his front jacket pocket and pulling out his credit card. “Here, be ready at seven.”
“It’s four thirty,” I yelp. “And I don’t need your money.” I look around. “I’ll be ready at seven.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”