Page 17 of Shattered Veil
“Fine.” I step forward and finger the envelope, the thickness messing with my head.
I look up to say something, but Trace is gone, the front door clicking shut behind him.
Sitting with my goodbye hamburger, I take a bite. “Jesus, that’s good.”
But it’s also huge. Not that my mouth has any trouble accommodating huge things shoved in it anymore.
Why did I hope sex with Balor, or whoever he is, meant something?
He stuck to his T’s and C’s. And I did, too. No kissing. No face-to-face. In the shower, he plowed into my ass with my face against the wet tiles. It was the best thing I’ve ever felt.
I eat until I’m full then gather my things to leave.
In the lobby, a concierge manager waves me over. “Miss?”
Oh my God, Balor didn’t pay for the room, and I don’t know his name. I’m also carrying an envelope of cash in my purse.
I’m guilty of a real crime. Hepaidme for sex. I could get arrested.
“Yes?”
“A car to the airport has been arranged for you. It’s right outside,” the woman says.
I relax. For a second. “Thank you. And the suite?”
“Taken care of.”
“Tip?”
“Also taken care of.”
My heart feels like an anvil and my throat catches. “I’m not a... You know. We were on a flight together from Sydney. He was charming. I was just living out a fantasy.”
“We don’t ask questions of our guests.”
“Can you tell me Balor’s last name?” I ask, feeling like an idiot.
Her eyes flicker, signaling I had the right first name, but she also looks shocked that he gave it to me. “Sorry.”
Swallowing, I nod. “Thank you. And I mean it. I’m not a paid...you know what. I’m a teacher. I was living in Sydney, working with special needs children and...”
When her eyes glaze over from disinterest, I shut up.
“Your car, Miss.”
I glance outside and see a shiny limo waiting. “Thank you.”
As the black stretch pulls away from the hotel, I sneak a look in that envelope. My breath leaves me when I count hundred after hundred. This has to be at leasttwentygrand.
Twenty-freaking-thousand dollars.
But no note. No thank you. No it was nice knowing you. Or fucking you.
The ride back to the airport is quick, and my thoughts blank out as I go through all the steps until I’m in a first-class seat again. Even if Balor hadn’t dumped me, there was no guarantee we’d be sitting together again. Although, if he had the power to move us up in the take-off line as he did in Sydney, he could get his seat moved. Or mine.
When a shadow drapes over me, my spirits lift, thinking it’s him. He changed his mind. It was some kind of test to see if I got all clingy or started crying.
“I got the window,” says a voice with no accent, and itfeels like acid dripped on my skin.