No Strings Attached

Chapter Four

After having had to calm myself silently for a few minutes in the safe confines of the small bathroom, I finally open the door, slipping back into the room, now in jeans and a t-shirt, barefoot against the tough carpet.

He's sitting in the chair by the window on the phone. I remain silent as I walk to the bed, reaching into my bag, removing the contract, praying it's still intact. Apart from a little wet mark that will eventually dry, it's fine, to my lasting relief.

"Yes, just make it for tomorrow in the afternoon sometime. Five is fine."

As I place my purse onto the floor, I try to plan my next move, a way to get things back on track. Nothing immediately comes to mind except having a simple afternoon meal, trying to talk about his business as much as possible.

"No, let her know again that I do not do custom gowns... I really could care less who she is, Sasha. All right, goodbye."

He sighs, glancing my way as he sets his phone down beside the menu on the minuscule table I stupidly have suggested we eat at.

"Custom gowns? I didn't even know you did women's fashion."

"Because I don't. I never have. Call it lazy if you must, but women's fashion is so fucking intricate that it makes the whole process a damn nightmare. I don't have the time or patience for it."

"You're very busy," I murmur with an understanding nod.

"Yes, it's a nightmare."

I'm pleased when we both chuckle and the air becomes much lighter, calmer.

"Have you decided what you'd like?"

"Pasta."

I come up next to him, opening the menu, aware of every ounce of skin on my body. I'm still ice cold, wearing the wet undergarments underneath my new clothing. I refused to go braless in a white t-shirt.

The sirloin catches my eye.

I press the button for service, glancing at Giovanni. "What's your drink?"

"I'll have what you're having."

"Good afternoon, Ms. Bardot. How may I assist you?"

I relay our orders, rather impressed that I don't fumble a bit in nervousness while he sits silently, listening. He calls me intimidating. I'm beginning to believe he invented the word.

"Is that all, Miss?"

"Whiskey and Evian, please."

His brows shoot up at whiskey. I caught that.

"We will send it up within the hour, Miss Bardot. Will this be charged to the room?"

I look at Giovanni, smirking as he frowns. He has a problem with me paying. Wow. In a way, I like it. And yet, I know I enjoy having the means to get this myself. "Yes. Thank you."

I let go of the button, sighing.

"You drink whiskey often?"

"Not often, no. But it's the only hard liquor I can stand."

"Why?"

"Not sure." I am sure, but I refuse to tell a stranger my personal business.

"So you run a leading PR firm by day, drink whiskey straight, and ward off strange admirers like flies? You are impressive."

"I run it day and night. There is no downtime," I reply, ignoring the end of his sentence. He leans back in his seat, and my eyes can't help but admire the long length of his legs in the dark-colored jeans.