“Ms. Paige?” the woman asks. She continues before I can answer. “Mr. Orlov wanted you to know your room has been prepaid for the next three nights. Enjoy your stay and let the front desk know if you need anything at all.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare down at the mouthpiece, trying to process her words.
I have a pretty good feeling I’ll never see him again.
I told myself when I walked out the doors of the Four Seasons that I would not think about her ever again. I keep that promise—in a manner of speaking. Because I don’t think about her.
But I do see her every night in my dreams.
That mouth, wide open as she came for me, sputtering and desperate.
The joy in her eyes as the champagne touched her tongue.
The softness of her skin as I kissed up her thigh, and higher, and
