Page 84 of Love Marks
I laugh. “You’re just saying that because you’re gay.”
“Hey! You could be too if you committed.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively and I shove her, both of us giggling.
Our hands graze and I blink. “We’re not going to hook up,” I say.
She stares blankly at me. “I know.”
We both burst into laughter again.
“No, but seriously, I think I like you and what’s his name? Walt?”
I giggle at the thought of Wes being called Walter and correct her. “Wesley. Wes.” His name tastes good — I want to say it again, but I don’t.
“Right, Wesley. Yeah, I like it. I love an enemies-to-lovers vibe.”
I scoff. “Wesley and I were not enemies.” I shake my head.
“You totally were.” She sips the last of her wine and puts the mug down on the table. “He like — wrongly suspected you or whatever, didn’t like you or thought he didn’t like you. And you didn’t like him in turn because he was a bag of dicks to you.”
“Okay, yes, we had some misunderstandings—”
“Enemies! To lovers!” She chants until I beg her to stop.
For the rest of the night, we chat back and forth about relationships and work and life. Eventually, she announces that she’s going to head home. I make her promise to text me when she gets home and walk her to the subway station despite her protests. We’re standing at the subway entrance when she wraps her arms around me in a warm embrace.
“Thanks for inviting me over. I needed this, too.” Hannah smiles and shuffles towards the stairs. “Next time, you can come to mine. I have a bidet!”
I barely have the chance to ask what a bidet is before she disappears down the subway steps, leaving me chuckling after her.
* * *
It’s Friday morning — the day of my highly anticipated date with Wesley. I’m on the train on the way to the hotel, my black dress folded neatly in my canvas bag. I managed to fit my overly large makeup bag in there, too, and even snuck in my toothbrush just in case I end up staying the night. Maybe I’m being too hopeful.
I’m hit with a pang at the thought of seeing Wesley again. Somehow, even though it’s only been two days, I’ve missed him. I close my eyes, picturing his broad shoulders, or how he rubs his hand over his clenched jaw when he’s frustrated.
I see Sharon at the front desk on my way in and throw her a little wave. She waves me over with a smile and I’m hit with a wave of nervousness as I approach her.
“Quinn! How’s it going?” She types rapidly at her computer, sending me a side glance.
I shift. “Good. All good. What’s up?” Does my voice sound normal? I’ve always been a terrible liar.
“Nothing. Just wanted to check in. Mr. Marks left you a glowing review, so I assume all is well.”
I balk at that. “Review? What do you mean?” Wes didn’t mention anything about a review — when did he fill it out?
She waves me off. “It’s not a big deal, just a check-in we do with VIP guests. There’s a comment section that most people just leave blank, but Mr. Marks mentioned that your talents were being wasted in cleaning services, that you’d be better suited in a culinary position.”
My mouth is opening and closing but no words come out. Sharon just goes on as if I’m hardly there.
“Anyway, congratulations. I know you’ve only been here a little while, but I have a feeling that upwards movement is in your future,” she says. “Whatever you’re doing for Mr. Marks is working!”
She laughs but the sound lands hollow in my stomach. I think I manage a nod and choke out something close to a thanks before I stumble to the private elevator. I lean a hand against the wall, bracing myself.
Whatever you’re doing for Mr. Marks is working.
My stomach turns at her phrasing — the suggestion and the memories it triggers. Am I imagining the implication?
The thought that us having sex somehow had some bearing on Wesley’s remarks on my professional performance makes me feel sick. Like I’m sleeping my way to the top. Like I’m back to the days where my body was a commodity.