Hooked #3 (The Hooked Romance Series - Book 3) (5 page)

I didn’t wake up the next morning until noon, when
Boomer trounced on my head, and I remembered that an entire week had to form; a
week of hard work, of preparation for the new studio, before I could laugh and
dance with Drew again. This knowledge forced me into a frenzy of continuous
work. I was always on the phone, always tracking down new ballerinas, always
looking for more money—money that could work me out of this hole. Soon, I knew,
I would have to start paying the loan back. Not this year, sure.
But in the next one.
This knowledge made me nervous, made me
wide-eyed and committed. I wouldn’t lose another studio. I wouldn’t lose it to
that fast-talking, spirited woman—Carol—who owned the Goat. This was my dream,
and I was going to make it work, no matter what.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

After a week of this frenzy, I was entirely ready to
fall into the world of Drew once more. In this world, I knew, there were no
worries. Everything was easy; everyone knew how to dance, how to dress. I
paused in front of my closet, naked, tracing the dresses over and over again. I
wasn’t sure where we were going for this overnight weekend trip. He had simply
called me, out-of-the-blue that morning to tell me that I needed to pack something
elegant for the next evening’s festivities. I had heard drilling in the
background. Had he called me from the worksite, from the excavation of my old
dance studio? Also, I had thought this was going to be one overnight; not two.
I furrowed my eyebrows, becoming nervous. I knew I couldn’t fall in love with
this man (not more than I already was).

I had to put it out of my mind. I dipped my hand
into the closet and brought out a fiery red dress, one that showed far too much
cleavage. He hadn’t told me if the next evening was a grand benefit or a
goddamned concert. Either way, I would be prepared. I slipped the dress over my
slim frame, admiring the way it held tight to my body, showing the outline of
my breasts. I could see a flash of my nipples, as well, as they glistened in
the bright light from the Friday sun.

I packed the dress in a suitcase and chose some black
leggings and a cute top for the travel. I knew we were leaving the city, but I
couldn’t be certain where we were going. In my head, I was worried we were
going to Indiana for some reason. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t bear to see
my home state again, not wrapped in the arms of Drew, not in the sleek Porsche.

Drew knocked on my door at around six. I stepped
toward it and opened it only for a moment, revealing him in his long winter
coat, a nice, warm winter hat. “Well. Aren’t you prepared for snow?” I teased
him.

“It’s going to be rather cold there this weekend.
I’d grab a hat, if I were you.” His eyes looked bright, excited. I decided to
play his games. I grabbed my suitcase, my coat, and followed behind him into
the hallway, locking the door behind me.

“Where are we going, anyway?” I asked him, smiling.

He raised his eyebrow, taking my suitcase. “We’re
actually going to Iowa.”

My heart sunk in my chest. What the hell was in
Iowa? Was this guy going to take me out to the boonies and murder me?
As I tapped down the steps and out onto the whirring streets, I
felt regretful, sad to leave my home behind.
Chicago! Leaving for Iowa?

I sat in the Porsche and brought my hands together
timidly, looking over at Drew as he pumped the engine. He noted my wayward
expression and laughed. “It’s not going to be that bad,” he said.

We shot west toward Iowa. I watched as the sun
dipped low in the sky, leaving us in a quiet darkness on the Friday night
highway. I tapped at my leg quietly, peering out the window. “It’s been a long
time since I was out on the road.”

“You don’t travel much?”

“Can’t afford it.
I don’t know if I would, anyway. Sure.
Maybe Europe,
Australia, or something.
But not in the Midwest.” I cleared my throat,
watching the signs pass us as we whirred by, going eighty, then ninety.

“I love to drive. I feel so powerful, you know. Like
the entire world is mine, before my feet.” Drew kept his eyes on the road,
maneuvering the manual stick of the vehicle as we climbed in speed.

The drive took five hours. He exited the interstate
at around eleven in the evening and whizzed us up in front of a grand,
sparkling hotel. I looked at it wide-eyed, with a bit of bliss. It was possibly
the largest hotel I’d ever seen, and cornfields surrounded it on every side.
“Who comes here?” I whispered to Drew.

“Only those who know it’s here,” he murmured back.

A valet driver, similar in dress to the one from the
previous week, emerged from the hotel and came jogging toward the car. He
saluted Drew, who he seemed to know. “Sir,” he said as he escorted me from the
vehicle. “I see you’ve brought a very beautiful woman with you this time.”

I blushed. I’d never been referred to as more than
just a “pretty girl.” “Beautiful woman” brought me to the next level; a level
of stark grandeur and richness.

Drew took my arm and led me into the foyer of the
remarkable hotel. The lights were dimmed as we entered. The man at the desk
stood tall in a subtle bit of light over his papers. “Sir Thompson,” he
announced through the cold of the foyer.
“So lovely to see
you this evening.”

Drew nodded his head toward the man, not bothering
to check in. I wondered about this—if he forgot. I remembered my mother
continually heading to the desk, having to enter in her credit card
information, her address, possibly her soul—I never knew. But here, everyone
seemed to know Drew, to respect him. He seemed almost a part of the hotel,
although I thought that was impossible. After all; he lived in Chicago, and we
were five hours away.

Drew led me to the double-doors of the shining glass
elevator. He pressed the button and the doors opened automatically. He led me
onto the glass floor and I peered down, nervous already about seeing all the
way to the bottom of the shaft. My eyes were large, alarmed.

He laughed at me as the door closed. “Don’t be
nervous.”

The elevator glided upwards through the enormous
foyer. I could see everything; every person working, every person drinking,
every person talking. Fires lined the remarkable study, further away, toward
the bar. I squeezed Drew’s hand. “What is this place?” I asked him. He didn’t
answer.

We reached the eighteenth floor. The elevator opened
and we marched directly into the grandest hotel room I’d ever seen. We walked
down a few stone steps to where the floor was open. It led us to the bedroom,
which was next to a great window that stretched from floor to ceiling. A
kitchen, to the right of the bedroom, featured two glasses of already poured
champagne, glistening in the soft light of a pre-lit candle.

I gasped, looking at it. I stepped forward. “Drew.
What?” I was half-laughing, half-crying.

Drew reached forward and picked up both glasses. He
brought one of them toward me and held the other in his own hand. I accepted it
by its skinny stem and
clinked
the glass into his. The
bubbles skirted up my nose, down my throat, nearly tickling me. I felt the
beautiful color of it, the life of the drink in my stomach. I sighed, looking
at him—this remarkable man. I couldn’t fall in love with him. I couldn’t fuck
him.
But this champagne—this room.
It was so much more
than anything I had ever known.

I noticed, then, that there was only one bed behind
me. I turned, looking at it, shaking my head. I felt my eyelids begin to close
after the long drive, the long week of work. I couldn’t sleep next to Drew. I
wouldn’t be able to keep myself off him. If he leaned toward me; if he kissed
me, I would simply dive into his arms and never get out. As a result, I was
certain he would hurt me. I knew I would hate myself. It couldn’t happen.

I turned back toward him, noting that his eyes were
on me.
“Only one bed?”
I asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders, looking at me stoically.
“We’ve slept next to each other before.”

“Sure. But we were always naked.”

“I like sleeping naked. It’s good for the skin,” he
answered cheekily, allowing his dimples to show.

I hummed, unsure of what to do. “Are you—are you
tired?”

“I was thinking we wouldn’t go out tonight, if
that’s what you mean,” Drew began. “I want to go out tomorrow night.
To this most remarkable place.
You’ll love it.” He grinned
at me once more. He couldn’t keep his dark pupils off me. He looked toward the
bed once more. “Do you mind if I sit on the bed for a moment and take off my
shoes?”

Suddenly flustered, I gestured toward the bed,
unsure of what to do.
“Of course.
Of
course.
Take off your shoes.”

He sat silently, gazing up at me. I thought about
placing my body over his, kissing his lips. I backed away toward the champagne,
and poured us two more glasses. I would fall asleep soon if I kept drinking, I
knew. I nearly choked on the bubbles this time as I drank.

“You know. You’re still the most beautiful woman I
think I’ve ever seen,” Drew whispered, his toes now wiggling softly on the
ground. He paused, considering. “You can get comfortable. I’ll sleep wherever
you want me to sleep tonight.
All right?”

I nodded, feeling a pull, a hesitation about myself.
Should I just let him do whatever he wanted to do? He was giving me so much; he
was taking me all over, from benefit to luxurious hotel. And yet; I couldn’t
find it in my heart to forgive him for taking my dance studio. I cleared my
throat and spoke. “I think you should sleep on the floor.” A pause emanated
throughout the room. We couldn’t make eye contact.

Drew got up from the bed stoically and pulled the
blankets down from the top of the bed, giving me a space to lie down. “Good
night,” he murmured. He began to remove his clothes on his route to the
bathroom, tossing them this way, then that. “Sleep tight.”

I lay down in the bed, feeling the way the mattress
gave beneath my back. The blankets were an alarmingly wonderful fabric, one
that made me feel at the height of all things comfort, all things fashion. I
inhaled and exhaled a few times, feeling a plaque of regret deep in my stomach.
But I couldn’t linger on it; I couldn’t think about it. I fell into a deep
sleep, allowing myself to dive into a beautiful feeling of freedom.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

The next morning, I woke up alone in the grand hotel
room. The Iowa October light was filtering in from the outdoors and I rose, pulling
the curtains to the side to see the lines and lines of dead corn from the
previous harvest resonate throughout the land. It looked so much like Indiana
it nearly made my skin crawl.

I walked around the hotel room, peering at
everything. I found the mat on which Drew had slept the evening before. The
mat’s bedding was completely made, as if he had left a long time ago.

My stomach grumbled, and I searched for the hotel
phone to order up some breakfast. I dialed the number and someone immediately
answered. “Monsieur Thompson?” the person answered.

“No—no. I’m his—friend.”

“Ah, Madame,” the man said knowingly.

“Right.
Anyway, I was hoping to order up some breakfast.” I thought about Drew, what he
would want when he got back.
“How about some eggs.
Some pastries.
Some mimosas.”
I
paused. “Perhaps some fruit?”

“Yes, Madame.
Right away.”
He hung up the phone and I felt the whirr
of excitement, of activity erupt beneath me. The kitchen was making its grand
many-course breakfast feast.

I paced around the room, waiting. I had no idea
where Drew was. I wondered if he was upset that I hadn’t slept with him the
evening before, if I had ruined everything. I wondered if he was going to
simply take me home and never speak to me again. I wondered if this breakfast
would be my last bit of finery for the rest of my life. My heart beat loudly in
my chest. I felt like a strange alien. I felt so very alone.

About twenty minutes later, the hotel elevator
opened, revealing a whole host of hotel workers, all holding grand trays filled
with breakfast items. They displayed them on the counter and the large dining
room table. They poured two mimosas for us both, and then bowed to me as they
exited. When the elevator door closed, it
was as if they had
never been in the hotel room, as if the food had simply appeared
.

I removed the lids from the food, finding the
cheese-y eggs, fried potatoes, fruit, and beautiful French pastries. My stomach
growled and I reached toward one—one that was oozing with crème and frosting.

Suddenly, the elevator door burst open once more. My
hand on the pastry, I looked up in alarm to see Drew marching toward me. Sweat
was glistening on his body and his face. He was holding a water bottle, and he
was wearing exercise clothes. “Morning,” he said cheerfully. “So glad you
ordered breakfast. I was just working out and I’m famished.”

My eyes were wide. I took my hand from the pastry
and tried to smile naturally. “Oh. Gosh. Hello,” I murmured.
“So
good to see you.”
I felt awkward, formal.