Page 26 of Cocky Tech God
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After I’d visited with Calista and Joy, I went down to the bar to meet a couple of clients before I went back to my room. Lucia was there again with other attendees. Brett was still one of them. They were talking loud and drinking. I just figured she was in the moment; having a good time with other tech nerds talking the newest in software development. And before I could approach her, they were gone with the crowd.
I remained at the bar a little while longer, but at almost eleven, I made it back to the room because I wanted to be ready for Lucia. She wasn’t there yet, so, I showered the day of meeting and greeting and unexpected baby vomit off my body and put on my gray sweatpants and white t-shirt. I was ready and waiting.
And waiting.
At midnight, she still hadn’t come. My gaze moved over to the bottle of champagne I had sent up. The bucket of ice it had been chilled in had melted. I had to face a fact. She’d spent the night with that Aussie man child.
More than that. Lucia wasn’t coming. I had been stood up.
Lucia
My head throbbed the whole way back to my room from too much Caybrew and mixing fruity cocktails the night before. I didn’t know if Hansen would be there, or if he’d spent the night with Calista. Either way, I didn’t want to talk.
After I’d left Hansen at the bar, I went to the beach to join a group of developers around a fire. Then we all opted to watch a screening of 2001: A Space Odyssey in a conference sponsor’s suite. Graham had been there, but not for long. I didn’t get to chat with him. Hansen, on the other hand, was nowhere in sight. Even when I went up to our room around nine-thirty at night to change into sneakers, he was MIA.
I was glad I’d stayed with Brett and the other new colleagues talking shop until all hours of the night instead of in our room. If I’d gone back to the room, I could have ended up alone all night, and that would’ve meant he had the power in our relationship. Not going to happen. I refused to lose my power in regard to him.
To no surprise, he wasn’t in the room when I opened the door early in the morning, around six thirty. So, I took no more than fifteen minutes to get ready for conference day two and left again. He still wasn’t there by then. Better that way. Still, I really wanted to know if he had spent the night with Calista. It had gnawed at me all night. The unmade bed would suggest he did. But there was a pillow on the couch and an empty glass on the coffee table. Had he fallen asleep waiting for me?
After I had multiple cups of morning coffee—I was exhausted, after all, from practically no sleep—in the hotel restaurant, I’d swung by the front desk because Hansen and I really needed to part ways. No rooms at this time. Ugh. Another night with Hansen.
The thought stayed with me throughout the morning workshops and seminars. And I landed in the same place. I wanted him again, my body did. My mind, though, was telling me to look elsewhere if I needed to get off.
Mid-day had come, and thus the big beach luncheon everyone couldn’t stop talking about. Blue skies, even bluer waters, it was a perfect day for lunch on the beach. I walked toward the roped-off area just outside the tiki bar attached to the hotel. People had gathered, moving toward the white tents and long, white-clothed tables under silver serving platters. It was too beautiful; a picture would never do it justice. In awe of it, I stared a moment before I slipped off my sandals from my aching feet.
“Miss Mendez.” His voice, smooth as silk, struck me from behind, sending tingles down my spine and straight to my aching toes.
Hansen. I turned, slow and deliberate, shielding my eyes from the brilliant sun. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
His white smile gleamed in the light, blinding me more. He shoved a chunk of wind-blown hair off his forehead. “Have you been hiding from me?”
Yes.
“Why would I be hiding from you?” I looked at him square in the eyes. God, the man was gorgeous. What he could do to a basic t-shirt and linen shorts—designer, of course—should’ve been illegal.
Our stare went too long. I looked away and glanced back at the line of people forming at the entrance of the luncheon area.
Hansen clicked his tongue. “You didn’t come back to the room last night.”
My cheeks grew hot. I faced him again. “You weren’t in there either, were you?”
He took out a pair of sunglasses from his shorts pocket but didn’t put them on. “Do you think I was there?”
I simply turned, not wanting to start anything with him, and walked toward the buffet tent. I didn’t need to play more games with him. I needed to get away. The line had doubled in the moment I looked away.
“If you’re trying to get me off my game, don’t bother.” I turned my back, but still felt his heat on my neck.
“We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”
He was so close to me, I could smell his expensive soap, his minty breath. My heart skipped.
One of my sandals I held slipped through my fingers. “What are you really asking me, Hansen? It’s not like you to beat around the bush.”
He bent over, lifting my sandal from the sand and held it as if it were his. “Why weren’t you in the room? Did you spend the night with someone?”
There it was. But he had a lot of nerve to ask me that when he had done exactly what he accused me of.