Page 6 of The Sweetmate (Check-In #2)

Lisa

As we walk through the hotel lobby, Casey says something to Jensen about referring to him as Doctor Riis when he checks us in. He turns to me and winks.

Nope, I’m not even going to ask what that’s about. Jensen leaves us standing in the center of the lobby as he continues to the front desk and handles the check-in.

I’d spent the few minutes I had before he boarded the plane watching videos, going through his socials, and reading any articles involving Casey Riis.

The Casey before me is a contrast from the man online.

The person before me is…goofy. He’s confident and charismatic, which is how he comes off in the media, but it’s not the suave, too cool, and arrogant charmer I originally suspected him to be.

He’s more of a silly guy, almost like a lovable little puppy.

Unfortunately, he’s even more gorgeous in person.

I quickly avert my wandering eyes. I’m absolutely not trying to steal little glances of my client.

The tingles and flutters of attraction need to be shut down immediately. He is a client and my boss’s nephew.

There was no mention online of Brox Brunner being connected to Casey Riis.

No association whatsoever. There was no mention of any family, actually.

Only speculations on his love life, and articles about his scandalous image and his being a master artist in the culinary world.

I can’t believe Mr. Brunner didn’t tell me, either.

Casey’s probably going to send my boss all kinds of updates on my performance, which is off to a not-so-professional start. I’ve got to get my head in the game.

Casey Riis is gorgeous, charming, and full of mischief, which is how I suspect he keeps getting into trouble.

I’m guilty of ogling the man myself. But he media portrays him as a playboy.

Which is why I need to zero in and focus on him as a client and what we’re trying to portray him as—a professional pastry chef who’s bringing new techniques and styles to the food industry.

We want the world to love him and see more of what he’s going to do next in this competition.

“Room’s ready,” Jensen tells us. We follow him to the elevator and take it to the top floor. “The hotel is fully booked. Apparently, all of Chicago is booked. But we’ve been assured there’s plenty of security on the property.”

Casey chuckles. “I’ve got Miss Vinton here. What more security could I possibly need?”

“Let’s not be too quick to forget what happened at the last hotel.” Jensen scans the card and enters the suite first, signaling for us to wait behind.

“What happened?” I ask.

Casey sighs. “A woman was waiting in my hotel room. When I asked her to leave, she lost it. She started throwing things and screaming. Luckily, Jensen and another bodyguard were there to witness it, and to back my story that I hadn’t invited her.

Nothing happened. Other than a hefty hotel bill.

Unfortunately, paparazzi were waiting outside and took photos of her leaving. ”

That explains why his uncle wants someone with him at all times. “Does that happen often?”

“No.” He pauses and then looks away. “But…it has happened a few times here and there. Crazy fans. On the plus side, there’s been a variety. Some older. Some younger. Men and women. I like that I have a diverse fan base. It’s nice to be wanted.”

Sure. Nobody wants one type of stalker.

The door opens, revealing a very grim-faced Jensen. He looks directly at me as he says, “You’re not going to be happy.”

He opens the door wider to allow us inside the massive suite. There’s a living area with a sectional and a desk, a kitchenette, a bathroom off to the side, and a big bedroom. With only one bed.

One.

Bed.

“Where’s the second bed? There’s only one bed?” This can’t be happening. This isn’t going to work. “ There’s only one bed? ”

Jensen said the hotel is fully booked. The gravity of the situation sinks in deeper, but I force myself to rein in my emotions. There has to be another hotel somewhere with a room. An Airbnb, perhaps. I’ll sleep on the couch or get a blow-up mattress. I turn to Jensen. “Where are you sleeping?”

“Jensen doesn’t sleep,” Casey announces casually.

“What? Everyone has to sleep,” I snap.

“This is where I tell you good luck. My job here is done.” Jensen gives me a two-finger salute and turns to leave.

“I’ll sleep in the car if I can’t find another room,” I say.

“No,” they say at the same time.

“I’ll take the couch,” Casey offers.

Jensen pauses at the door and gives me a small smile. “I’ll let you two work this out. Don’t kill him. He’s a good guy.”

And with that, he leaves. Just leaves me there to panic alone in a room with a stranger. Even though he’s a stranger, too. I guess one stranger is better than two.

Casey takes a cautious step toward me and stares at my face intently. “Are you going to be alright? You’re lookin’ a bit pale.”

I look over to the couch and sigh. I can’t let my client sleep there. What do I do? This is so awkward. The door shuts, and the room falls eerily quiet.

I blink up at him, noting his large frame.

He seems to have doubled in size in the last two minutes.

Gosh, he’s devastatingly handsome. I’ve never actually seen anyone this beautiful in person.

Golden sun-kissed skin, perfectly shaped lips, piercing blue eyes, wavy dirty-blond hair, and a jawline that could cut glass.

He’s all muscle but still has a boyish charm with that perfectly white smile.

And oh my gosh—is that a dimple? No. I’m not the type of girl who loses it over a dimple.

I’m not going to turn into a puddle here on the floor because some guy with perfect hair and godlike features looks my way.

I can share a room with the world’s sexiest man.

No big deal. Clearly, he isn’t planning on murdering me, either. That’d be horrible press for him.

“Lisa.”

“I’m fine,” I snap.

His eyes widen, and he releases a startled chuckle. “Good to know. By your tone, I think you’re lying. Not the best way to start off as roomies. Honesty and communication are key.”

I’m going to be sharing a room with a semi-celebrity. A rising personality figure and the hottest chef in the US. This place is way too small for the both of us, mainly because his ego takes up most of the space. We have to keep this professional, and it’s clear that’s going to be up to me.

“Do not call me your roomie.”

“Suitemates? Or rather sweet mates. Get it? S-W-E-E-T.”

“Ha. Ha. Because you’re a pastry chef. Yeah, I get it.”

“No. Because I’m so damn sweet.”

He waggles his eyebrows, and I loathe how my stomach warms at the sight. Casey takes another step toward me. “Should I pour us a drink? You’re wound really tight.”

Of course I am. This is my first client. My career is on the line. I just learned he’s my boss’s nephew. The last thing I need to do is loosen up and allow alcohol to hinder my judgment.

“I’m just tired from traveling.” Which is true.

I’d worked all day and then had to pack, and then I had to hightail it to the airport.

It’s all been a whirlwind. It’s still surreal that I’m here and doing this.

I need to have a moment to decompress. “I think I’m going to get some rest, and tomorrow we can regroup. ”

His smile turns mocking, and he arches a single brow. “Regroup?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.”

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, that’s my bed you’re standing by.”

“No. I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“You’re the client. Please take the bedroom.”

“I am the client. And I want to sleep on the couch.”

“No,” I draw out. “Take the bed.”

“No.” He mimics drawing out the word even more dramatically. “Give me my couch.”

I don’t even recognize my own voice as I speak in a forceful tone. “Get in the bed now. ”

Casey’s eyes become heated as his teeth sink into his bottom lip. He dips his chin and gazes at me through his long lashes. “And then what?”

I force my voice to remain steady. “We’ll sleep.”

“Together?”

“No,” I gasp. No wonder this guy has a reputation as a playboy. He’s shameless.

“I’d feel lonely in that big bed all by myself. I’ll just take the couch, if you don’t mind.”

“Are you used to having company in bed with you?” Where did that come from? Of course he is. I’m being completely unprofessional. I shouldn’t care. My tone comes out harsher than necessary and far too judgmental when I say, “Maybe that’s why you’re in this mess and needing a constant babysitter.”

“A cockblocker, you mean?”

“Whatever you want to call it, Mr. Riis.”

He laughs. “We’re back to Mr. Riis. And with that tone, you sound like you’re sending someone to sleep on the couch.”

I growl in frustration. “I’m too tired for this. Tomorrow you can take the bed, deal?”

“Will you still be in it?”

“Do you want a sexual harassment lawsuit?”

“Maybe I want to make sure you won’t still be in it. Can’t a guy communicate and ensure we have a clear understanding?”

He’s insufferable. I raise my chin and clip out, “Good night.” Spinning on my heels, I take off toward the bedroom.

His voice is low and far too seductive as he calls out to my retreating back, “Good night, Lisa.”

***

After a restless night’s sleep, I drag myself to the bathroom to attempt to create the illusion of a professional.

There’s not enough makeup to hide the tiredness in my eyes.

The entire night, I was hyperaware of the person lying on the couch outside my door.

Every time I closed my eyes, I thought about his flirty smile, his seductive voice telling me good night and saying my name— my name —like a dirty word.

Why is this the guy who triggers flutters in my stomach?

He’s forbidden in every aspect of the word.

That’s why I must keep my boundaries in place and my guard up, even more than usual.