Page 7 of Midnight Confessions
“Let me ask you something, Trent…” I plop down on the bed, noticing it’s a memory foam mattress.Holy hell.I may never leave this place.“What would make you choose the larger room for him? A man whose getting ready routine probably consists of scratching his balls and combing his fingers through his hair?”
Trent leans against the doorframe of the en suite, his smirk widening into a full-blown grin.
“Oh, he’s going to like you.” He pushes off the door frame, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Mr. Fox requested the larger of the two rooms.”
“Oh, hedid, did he?”
Trent nods. “Hisgetting ready routineis a little more extensive than that. He likes his space. And his privacy.” His smile turns devilish. “You’ll see.”
Hmm, I suppose I will see. I suppose. I. Will.
Bring it on, Fox.
THREE
WINTER
After spending the afternoon moving Aleck Fox’s things from the room he so shamelessly requested, to the room more adequately sized to fit his lacking humility, I unpack my suitcase. Ignoring the realization that Aleck’s stuff looked more natural in this setting than mine, I hang my clothes in the too-large-for-my-stuff walk-in closet.
He has more creams than a French whore. Creams for his face, his hair, his cuticles. A night cream forthis, a day cream forthat. Two different SPFs: one for his face, but then one specifically just for his eyelids.
His electric toothbrush situation took up more space than my entire makeup collection alone. In the closet, he had a whole drawer dedicated to his watches.His watches. He’ll be here fortwo weeks. Why does he need twenty-seven watches?
Ten different pairs of leather dress shoes. One pristine pair of sneakers that have likely only seen the plush carpets of his in-home gym. Sixteen suits, four V-neck sweaters, countless collared shirts. Dolce & Gabbana, Gucci, Brioni, Valentino, Prada… Zero T-shirts, zero jeans, and certainly nothing resembling shorts. Except for his Saint Laurent swim trunks which probably cost more than a month’s rent in my apartment building.
And the underwear I mentioned to Trent? Only black boxer-briefs. Rolled, not folded.
Two words come to mind when thinking about my new roommate: High Maintenance.
I fill the jetted bathtub in the en suite with the provided eucalyptus salts and lavender bubble bath.
What wouldMr. Foxhave done with this jacuzzi tub, anyway? I wonder if he would have had Trent drive here from LA to fill it for him. Scolding him if the temperature and bubble-to-water ratio weren’t to his liking. Or maybe Trent is staying in the resort so Aleck has someone to do everything for him, including wipe his ass after a shit. Maybethat’swhy he wanted the biggest room. So he and his assistant could share it together, likely making Trent sleep at the foot of his bed like a dog.
After soaking for an hour, letting the salts work their magic on my tense muscles, I step out of the tub, and pull a fluffy teal towel from a nearby warmer. Patting my skin dry, then pulling my hair into a messy bun, I walk into the closet to grab a pair of leggings and a slouchy, over-the-shoulder pink sweater from the dresser and pull them on.
The cold marble floor gives me a shiver as I pad barefoot from my room to the common area. A bucket of water and a few straggling ice cubes that haven’t melted yet sit on the kitchen island with a bottle of champagne, and a card beside it that reads:
Welcome, Mrs. Bose and Guest!
Enjoy your stay!
“Don’t mind if I do,” I say, pulling it from the bucket.
After wiping the dripping water from the bottle, I uncork it, not failing to shout the traditional“whoo”when the cork shoots from the bottle with a loudpop. Plucking a champagne flute from the minibar, I pour myself a full glass, then put the bottle in the refrigerator before heading back to my room.
Taking a sip of my champagne, I pull a tube of mud mask from my toiletry bag, then stare at myself in the mirror.
“You, m’lady, are a fucking rockstar. You are going toslaythis wedding.”
Cosmopolitanmagazine once had an article that said if you verbalize your intentions in the mirror, giving yourself affirmations along the way, the positive energy you exude will intimidate people filled with negativity, keeping them away. I’ve been hyping myself in the mirror ever since. Does it work? I have no idea, but at this point, what have I got to lose?
I spread a thick coat of mud mask over my face with my fingertips, leaving my eyes and mouth clear, then grab my champagne flute before walking out of the en suite to the bed. As I lie flat on my back, sinking my head into the down-feather pillow covered in crisp white silk, I stare out my window. The sun is already setting, lowering itself behind the ocean like it’s simply a backdrop to the water.
The memory foam of the mattress cups the curves of my body perfectly, making my mind settle for the first time all day. Dragging my phone to my face, I see that it’s almost eight.
Where the hell is this guy?
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