Page 85 of Pretty Mess

“Up here,” I shout. There’s the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and I grin at him as he appears in the doorway. He’s taken off his coat, and his tie is loose, his hair falling over his forehead.

“Fucking hell, there’s a pool,” I proclaim and indicate it with my hand in case he’s somehow missed the expanse of blue water.

“Thank you for pointing that out. I might have missed it, otherwise, or rung down to reception to report a leak.”

“Can I book to swim in this?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Is there a booking system for using the pool?”

“Erm, no. That is ours.”

“What?” I gape at him. “Allof it?”

“No, just the corner at the deep end.”

“This isourpool?” I say again.

“That is correct. Or at least, it comes with our suite. We won’t be able to take it home with us.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Sometimes I think my attraction to you stems from your incredibly varied vocabulary.”

“You lie. It’s my anus.”

He laughs. “True. It’s the prettiest anus in town and rarely speaks back, unlike its owner.”

I shake my head. “That’s just wrong,” I point out, hearing him laugh again. “There’s even a sauna and a steam room. I may never leave this place.” I shoot him a glance. “This must have cost a fortune, Mac.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “It’s a five-star hotel. Of course it does. But I like my comfort and space.”

“Space? You’d have less room if you’d booked Buckingham Palace.”

“I believe that comes with corgis.”

I follow him down the stairs back into the lounge. “Look at that view,” I say wonderingly. He opens the bifolding doors, and we step onto a huge patio with flagstone flooring and stone balustrades carved into fantastical patterns. I look up and find two gargoyles grimacing at me. We must be right at the top of the hotel, and these are the same carvings I’d seen when we got out of the cab. The sky has lost its blue, and storm clouds have gathered through which the occasional golden ray of the sun lights up a turret or a building.

Mac fastens his hand on my shoulder, and I shiver at the feel of his touch. “Alright?” he immediately says. “There’s a storm coming. Are you cold?”

“No, I’m fine.” His gaze becomes knowing, and then he turns me to face forward. “We are on the Left Bank. The Louvre isn’t far away if you want to walk to it. Over there is the Eiffel Tower. At night, it’s lit up and very pretty. That is the Île de la Cité,” he continues pointing to a green island. “On it is Notre Dame and the Conciergerie, where Marie Antoinette was kept prisoner during the Revolution. Ask reception, and they will get you a taxi wherever you want to go during the week. They’ll charge it to the room.”

“Wow. It’s so beautiful.” I turn in his arms and gaze up at him. “I can’t wait to explore. Where shall we go first?”

My heart sinks as he steps back, straightening his tie and smoothing his suit. “I did say you’d be on your own for this trip. I’m afraid I have a business meeting.”

“Now?” I can’t keep the dismay out of my voice, but I thought the “business” part of the business trip would start tomorrow for him. “Sorry,” I say immediately. “I know you’re not here to enjoy yourself.”

“No, but you are.” He dips his hand into his pocket and retrieves an envelope. He opens it, withdrawing the contents. “For you,” he says steadily.

“What?” I’m astonished by the wad of cash he’s offering me.

“For you,” he repeats, as if I’m having difficulty following him.

I put my hands behind my back. I realise it’s a childish gesture, but I can’t help it.

“Wes?” He tilts his head as he scrutinizes me.