Chapter 88

“Oh,” Miles says. “That.”

I have so many questions that I’m unsure where even to start. Why? How? My mind is a mess.

Fortunately, Miles takes pity on me and starts talking without any prompting.

“Thea and Garnar have cost you your normal life, Esther. I wasn’t going to let them take away your family, too. Trust me, Thea didn’t make it all that difficult. She has sexual and romantic connections with dozens of men all over town. It’s some kind of miracle Garnar didn’t catch on himself.

“Your parents not seeing it, I can understand. They probably had the blinders on for their ‘perfect’ daughter. I knew for them, hard evidence was going to be what was needed.”

“You did this for me,” I say.

“Of course I did,” Miles replies. “Thea wanted to separate you from your family. She wanted to isolate you and ruin your life. I would never let that happen, Esther. Not in a million years.”

“But why?” I ask. “Why go to all this trouble just for me?”

“You know why,” Miles says. “And if you don’t, then I’ve been doing a really bad job of showing you.”

“Miles…”

I have no idea what I did to warrant such attraction and dedication from such an intelligent, handsome man who I’ve only really known for a handful of months.

Whatever it was, I am so happy that I did.

“Move out of that house, Esther,” he says.

“I am,” I reply. “I just need to find another place, another fit in the right neighborhood.”

He’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, there’s a tiny sliver of hope in his voice. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” I don’t want to get into the specifics of it. If I start thinking about how Garnar is turning my kids against me, I will start crying immediately.

Another stretch of silence fills the line. This time it lasts so long that I prompt, “Miles?”

“What are you wearing?” he asks, his voice low and sexy.

This is how I find myself racing toward a hotel not half an hour later.

Cynthia didn’t even ask where I was going when I left. Instead, she winked and said, “Have fun. Tell Miles I said hi!”

I didn’t bother making up a lie. “Thanks,” I said, and bolted out the door.

When I arrive at the hotel, its fancier than I would have imagined. I’m dressed in yoga pants and a t-shirt, not the kind of expensive clothes people in the lobby are wearing.

I don’t know why I expected a mid-priced hotel where typical middle-class families stayed for their twice a year vacations.

This is luxury incarnate, with vaulted ceilings and grand chandeliers. Bellhops waited for luggage. A concierge stood behind a desk, ready to buy patrons expensive tickets to musicals or make impossible dinner reservations.

I used to stay in places like this back when I was a teenager still living in my father’s home. This is the kind of opulence that Garnar dreams about.

Miles said he had to work late in this part of town, so he put up in this hotel.

I care deeply for Miles, but I really, really hope my taxpayer dollars aren’t funding his stay here.

In my lounge clothes, I don’t look like the regular clientele, so I turn more than a few heads as I pass the front desk and head right for the elevator.

Let them look all they want. They may hide it under a pretense of snobbishness, but I know they are secretly jealous. Even the richest of the rich prefer to wear yoga pants when they are alone.

I just hope none of them recognize me, or those that do, see me with respect for my bold choice of comfort over style, rather than contempt. As a reporter, I need to keep good connections with every person of every class.

If I’d thought of anything other than my libido, I might have changed before I came over.

Oh well. Too late now. Better to just own this style with confidence.

I’m nearly at the elevator, when a hotel employee cuts me off. He’s wearing a tuxedo, which must be incredibly uncomfortable, especially during his shift. His nametag reads, Charles, with Manager On Duty written underneath it.

“I apologize, madam,” he says, his tone haughty and not apologetic at all. “But these elevators are for hotel guests only. If you are looking for a public bathroom, I can direct you to one at a fast food establishment down the street. That might be more familiar to you.”

“I’m not looking for the bathroom,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’m here to visit a friend.”

“A friend,” Charles repeats, clear disbelief in his voice. “And who, may I ask, is the name of the friend you wish to visit?”

I’m not about to give up Miles’s name, when I’m not even sure he used his real one to begin with.

“That’s none of your concern,” I say. Miles told me to just go to the elevator. He said everything would be fine.

“I’m afraid I must ask you to leave the premises, madam. If you refuse, I will call the authorities and have you trespassed.”

Charles starts to reach for my arm. Before he can connect, a hand snatches his wrist and holds him in place.

“I’ve been told this establishment is known for its discretion, not its rudeness to honored guests.” Miles stands there, fury in his eyes even as his face is calm, almost friendly.

After Charles turns to look at him and goes pale. Miles releases his wrist when it’s clear Charles is no longer going to attempt to touch me.

“Your guest?” Charles asks, his voice much smaller now than it was when he was speaking with me.

“My guest,” Miles replies.

Charles pulls at the collar like it’s suddenly gone very tight around his throat. Looking at me, he then gives a small bow. “My apologies, madam. If you will excuse me.”

He turns and flees.

Miles lets his friendly façade fall as he watches Charles leave. “I’m going to stop giving this place my money.”

“Your money?” I ask. “Not the taxpayers?”

Tilting his head to look at me, Miles starts to smile, whatever ire he showed with Charles now shriveling away into kindness and softness. “Writing an expose on me, Ms. Owens?”

It’s the first time anyone has used my new name since the divorce. I like it.

Miles, clearly teasing, doesn’t wait for my answer. “I use my own money for stays like these. My father loves this place. It’s far too opulent for me.” Glancing the way Charles went, he adds, “I’m also starting to see it as very unfriendly.”

Reaching behind him, Miles presses the elevator button, and together we wait.

“I could have dressed nicer,” I say. “Honestly, I didn’t even think about the name of the hotel when you told me…”

“You are fine as you are,” Miles says. Leaning in, he whispers in my ear, “You’ll be naked soon enough, anyway.”

My face burns hot. Before I can say a word, the elevator dings and the doors slide open.

Miles enters first. He presses a button and then glances back at me. “Well? What are you waiting for?”