Her words hit me in the gut. It’s true. Why would I expect a selfish jerk to be repentant? “You’re right,” I say and nod my head. “Ian’s trash. I don’t know why I expect anything from him. And Sarah? She’s a bitch.”
“Just forget them, like yesterday’s news. Let me be the first one to tell you that you’re smart, beautiful, intelligent and going places. And you certainly deserve much better than a cheating asshole.” She rubs my arm affectionately.
“Thank you.” I bite down on the inside of my cheek before answering, “I really do like it here. Everyone’s really nice.”
She leans across the seat and gives me a hug as the cab slows to a stop. It’s a bit awkward, but I accept it. I’m done with this. I’m done with letting Ian ruin my nights. Fuck him, and fuck Sarah.
“Come on,” she says, releasing me and popping her door open. She forces it open wider with her heel and pulls me out.
A young man in a tailored black suit holds the large glass door open for us. He gives me a warm smile and I have to smile back. Inside it’s so cool and calm compared to the busy and noisy streets. Our heels click on the marble floors as I walk her to the elevator, right across from the bar.
I could use a drink. That long island didn’t do a damn thing and I don’t want to go back to the room feeling so emotionally raw.
“You’re not coming up?” Eva asks me as the elevator doors open.
I shake my head. “I want a real drink before I go pass out.”
Eva bites her lower lip as she studies me. I can tell she’s worried about me. Bless her heart. “Okay,” she says finally, pulling me in for a brief hug. “But please don’t overdo it.” She disappears into the elevator and I make my way inside the hotel’s bar.
As I walk in, I remember how I left last time. I remember the gorgeous man in the suit. My body shivers as I remember the way he looked at me, the way his looks make me feel. I could really use one of those looks right now. It made me feel... sexy. Wanted.
I take the closest seat to the exit at the bar, signaling the waiter for a drink. As I wait for it, I pull out my phone and check the status of the last messages I sent Ian. They haven't been read. God. He’s not even reading my texts now. I don’t know why, but this makes me feel even more alone and angry.
It’s not like there’s anything wrong with being alone, I just didn't think I’d wind up single at this age. I smile while placing my order, although it doesn’t at all reflect what I feel.
I thought for sure I’d have a couple of babies with Ian by now, I think to myself sadly. I shake off the depressing thought and promise myself that I won't dwell on it anymore. As far as I’m concerned, I dodged a bullet.
The waiter comes back with my glass of cabernet. He gives me a sexy grin as he sets it down. He’s a cute brunette and all, sexy even, but I’m just not feeling him. He’s not my type.
My stomach twists with desire as I remember Mr. CEO again. There’s just something about him. His raw sex appeal and obvious power; the way he wears his suits--like he fucking owns his dominance. It’s funny, because in my life of business I’m surrounded by men in suits, but none of them look anywhere near as good as he does in them.
I smile as I bring the glass to my lips.
The bartender must think I’m smiling at him because he winks and says, “It’s on the house, sweetheart,” when I try to pass him a tip. He gives me a cocky smile as I watch him walk off to serve another patron. I get the feeling he’s going to come back over when he’s done and try to see if he’ll get something for his free drink.
He’ll be sorely disappointed if he does. I’m not that cheap.
I’m taking another sip of my cabernet when I suddenly feel a large hand on my waist. I nearly spit my wine out onto my blouse as thick fingers dig into my skin and I turn to push whoever it is away.
“What in the-” I turn to see a man who's gotta be in his late thirties leering at me with his bloodshot eyes. His hair’s short, cut in military style and he has a serious case of dimples.
“Hey, sugar. What are you drinking tonight?” asks the man, his breath carrying the strong smell of whiskey.
My first reaction is to tell the man to get the hell away from me. But I glance around the bar and notice the upscale patrons and business people that are probably from the convention. I really don’t want to cause a scene and have it get back to my boss.
“Just a glass of wine by myself tonight,” I say politely, putting emphasis on ‘by myself’.
The drunk guy fails to get the message. He tugs on his plaid tie that’s already loose around his neck and wobbles as he takes the barstool next to me. Eventually, he manages to mount it and then he turns to me, practically staring at my breasts.