Page 10 of Making the Save

We had so much fun at the pool, that it led to dinner.

We had so much fun at dinner, that it led to a dance club.

We had so much fun at the dance club, that…

“We kissed,” I said.

“We did.”

Like teenagers in the middle of the club. It had been sweaty and hot and I’d gotten so carried away, I’d put my arms around his neck and let him… lift me? My legs around his waist? Iremembered his hands on my ass. I remembered heat. The heat of his mouth. The heat of his body.

I groaned and covered my face with my hands.

He tugged them down. “It was hot,” he said.

“There will be video all over social media.”

“Yeah. Cause it was hot.”

My world was not that simple.

“What else do you remember?” he asked.

I barely knew this guy, but somehow at the same time, Ireallyknew him, and whatever he was trying to get me to remember was not good.

Not good at all.

“We came back here? I told you about my socks issue? We fell right to sleep?”

“We made one other stop…”

Oh shit!

I squeezed my eyes shut. Hard. And prayed.

“Tell me we didn’t.”

Before he could answer, the two doors leading into the bedroom exploded open and we were assaulted by the bottomless cheer, total efficiency and utter Britishness of Beatrice Smyth-Hasslebloom.

My assistant and personal savior.

“Rise and shine!” Beatrice clapped her hands together as if we were little English school children being called to class.

Beatrice had been a part of the PR team for the British Royal family before she came to work for me. She had a posh accent, silver hair, styled much like the Queen used to style hers, perfect posture, and she wore a gray skirt and blazer over a crisp white blouse every day of her life. I had never seen her in anything else. Ever.

When I’d hired her years ago, I explained she didn’t need to wear a uniform.

“Whatever do you mean?” she’d asked.

Staring at her standing at the foot of the bed, I tried to judge by her expression just how bad things were outside this hotel suite. Catastrophic? Merely inconvenient? Did I dare wish for fine?

No. I wasn’t that big a fool.

But Beatrice didn’t just have a poker face, she had a PR for the British Royal Family poker face. I wasn’t going to know anything until she divulged it.

“Should I be scared of this woman?” Wyatt asked me.

“A little? But she’s on our side,” I said to him.