Kayla
I hold the plastic keycard up to the hotel room door and push it open when the lock lights up in green. As soon as I’m inside, I follow orders and call Pavel.
It’s Saturday afternoon and Pavel isn’t here yet because his boss wouldn’t let him come yesterday—I guess he had a job to do. I don’t know—I didn’t ask, of course. Business is off-limits. He called me this afternoon to tell me he was getting on a plane, and I needed to come to the Four Seasons and check in for him.
“I don’t want you waiting in that lobby turning all the men on every time you cross and uncross your hot-as-f**k legs,” he told me. “And I don’t want you carrying your own bag in. Let the bellhop do it. You get your glass of champagne, get in the room and call me when you’re there. Hopefully I’ll be off the plane
