Page 82 of Hate You Up Close

My spine tingles, fully aware of Roxanne furiously trailing behind me. I hear the door slam before turning around to find her absolutely fuming. Her cheeks redden with rage as her chest bounces up and down with angry breaths.

“So you’re telling me that this is the only room available in all of San Diego?” she clips.

“In the downtown area, yes,” I nod. “Ace Financial is a partner of this hotel, so we always stay here for business. I’m sure we could find you a room in a sketchy motel outside of the city. But be prepared for bed bugs, roaches, and sitting in traffic for hours since you’ll have to Uber downtown.

She places a hand on her hip as her nostrils flare.

“How is this even ethical?” she huffs out, tossing an arm up in the air. “I’m pretty sure staying in a hotel room with your boss is against company policy, especially when they are of the opposite sex.”

Oh, it’s completely against company policy.

That’s why the room was only booked under my name. But no one else has to know that. I convinced our travel department that Roxanne is staying with family while we’re here, and that’s all they need to know.

Again, I’d do anything to make sure she didn't go on a datewith fucking Zachary. Even if that means breaking company rules, which I rarely ever do.

“Don’t worry about it,” I shrug, walking further into the room to find our suitcases placed neatly in front of the dresser.

“Besides, it’s just two nights,” I add, like it’s no big deal.

The space is nice but if I had my choice, I would have booked a bigger room. But again, the pickings were slim to none. Beggars can’t be choosers.

The far side of the room is one big floor-to-ceiling window, giving us a fantastic view of downtown, decorated with swaying palm trees and the golden shoreline. There are two queen-sized beds in the middle of the room with about five feet of space between them. The space is decorated in warm beiges, whites, and browns. It’s dimly lit with soft light coming from decorative lamps in the corners of the room. I haven't stepped foot inside the bathroom yet, but I already know it will be top-of-the-line with a glass shower and marble countertops.

“Don’t worry about it?” Roxanne mocks, pulling me from my thoughts. “Are you kidding me, Elliot? This is my job. My livelihood. Who the hell approved this?”

“I did,” I reply firmly. “Again, it was the only room available. I’m not going to say anything about it, and neither will you.”

“So what does the company think?” she asks in disbelief. “That I’m sleeping on the streets of California?”

“Of course not,” I reply. “They think you’re staying with family.”

She shakes her head before tangling her fingers in her hair.

“God, this is so fucking stupid,” she grits out, tugging at her hair.

“What’s the big deal?” I retort. “We’re two adults sharing a room with separate beds. You’re overreacting.”

“The big deal is that you are my boss, Elliot,” she clips. “This is wrong on so many levels. And on top of that, this means that I have to spend all dayandall night with you now.”

You sure do, baby.

“Do you think I want to be here, either?” I snap back. “No, I fucking don’t. But like I said, this is business. Either we take care of it and secure the client, or we go home now with no deal and no raise. So, I’ll give you the option, Roxanne. What do you want to do?”

She won’t say no to the money. Shecan’tsay no to the money. She’s stuck here, with me. Exactly where I want her.

“You’re going to regret this, Elliot,” she exclaims, blowing past me and rolling her suitcase to the bed closest to the window, staking her claim on her side of the room.

“All of this because you don’t want me to go on a date. Unbelievable,” she shakes her head. “You are going to fucking regret this.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see,” she threatens, bending down to unzip her suitcase and giving me a perfect view of her ass. I almost think she does it on purpose.

She digs around in her suitcase before pulling out an armful of clothes and a bathroom bag. She stands and walks past me, making sure to harshly bump my shoulder when she passes me. Even though she’s pissed, I can’t ignore the zip of electricity that shoots down my spine at her quick touch.

“We have to leave for dinner in an hour, right?” she asks from behind me.

“Yes,” I respond, turning to face her. “Not a second later. We can’t be late.”