Page 25 of All Fall Down

Chapter Ten

It’sa few hours before dawn when we arrive at the West Hotel in New York City. Perched at the top of Wall Street, it’s a haven for business travelers and the elite who value privacy and luxury over nightlife. It may be the city that never sleeps but I doze in and out to the sound of trash trucks and delivery vans preparing for the busy day ahead. Despite my best attempts I couldn’t keep my eyes open long enough to take in much of the city. Sight-seeing will have to come later. Right now the only sight I want to see is a pillow.

Our car pulls up to the valet station and a weary looking bellhop rushes out to meet us. I wonder if he’s starting his shift or nearing the end of it. Either way I feel his pain.

“You look dead on your feet,” Jameson notes as he helps me out of the Lincoln Continental that’s delivered us to his family’s local hotel-away-from-home.

“I’m fine.” But the veracity of my claim is undermined when I immediately punctuate it with a yawn. The trouble is that I don’t want to be tired. Not here. Not since Jameson and I are finally together again. “I just need some coffee.”

Jameson casts a doubtful look at me. As we step inside, he pulls me close. The lobby is nearly empty save for a few staff members milling about dusting and polishing the floors. It’s unlike the West Resort and Casino in Las Vegas. This hotel is that hotel’s big brother: grown up, sophisticated, and aiming for partner at his law firm. Its elegance is understated, relying on subtle, but expensive décor choices. I drink in the leather club chair dotting the periphery and the black veined marble I can only assume has been imported from somewhere so far away that it cost twice as much to ship as it did buy. The West New York whispers wealth while it’s casino brother screams debauchery.

Whatever travel arrangements Jameson has made seem to be in order. Maddox and our driver bypass waiting with us at the front desk and go straight to the elevators.

“It will only be a minute,” Jameson promises me, “and then I can get you into bed.”

Bed.

The word jolts me awake faster than a triple espresso. We’re going to bed. Together. And I’m eighteen.

A middle-aged man in an expensive three-piece scuttles out from the door marked private access and zeros in on us. His hands steeple together and he bobs his head as if bowing to a patriarch.

I’ll never get used to these reactions. Jameson has my respect, because he’s earned it. Everywhere else we go the deference he receives is born of his family name. He takes the man proffered hands smoothly, accepting the introduction while I zone out. The two can feign business talk, I have other things on my mind.

I can’t help but be preoccupied what with words like bed being casually tossed about. This time when Jameson and I go to bed together there will be no push and pull. I won’t peer pressure, and he won’t say no. I’ve been planning to sleep with Jameson for months. Why am I getting so nervous now?

Probably because it’s such a big deal that he’s flown me across the country to one of the most romantic cities in the world just so he can have me all to himself.

“Ready?” Jameson asks.

I blink. Am I ready?

“To go upstairs, Duchess?”

I wonder how long he’s been trying to get my attention.

“Yes,” I squeak, my nerves showing through the thin layer of calm I’m clinging to.

“If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let me know,” the hotel manager interjects before we can exit.

“We will, Mr. White,” Jameson reassures him. His hand settles over the small of my back, directing me toward the elevators. As soon as we’re a few feet away his voice lowers, “I didn’t think we were going to get rid of him. I thought our early arrival might allow us to delay that formality. Hotel managers always think they need to greet the boss.”

“It’s fine,” I say while absently chewing on my lip.

Jameson studies me as we step through the gold, sliding doors into the mirrored elevator. “Don’t worry, Duchess. I’ll get you into bed.”

Bed. There’s that word again. My stomach drops out as the elevator begins to ascend. Each button lights up, taking us from the one marked L past the single digits then the double toward the very last button emblazoned with a PH. When we reach it, Jameson extends his arm. “After you.”

We step into something that looks more like a foyer than a hotel corridor. Other than the emergency exit and a service lift there’s only one marked door on this level.

Penthouse.

Jameson opens the door, but I look around in confusion.

“What did you do with Maddox?” I ask when I spot our bags waiting for us in the entry.

“I told him I could handle you from here.” I don’t miss the double entendre in his words.

“Would you like to freshen up?” Jameson asks after he locks the door behind us. “Or maybe I could draw you a bath?”