Tempting the New Boss(47)
He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
The clerk gave him his full attention now as Mason tried to think of what to do. “Miss Anderson’s suite has an adjoining door to the room next to it,” he offered. “I could give you the other one. The door between them is locked on each side,” he added, probably worrying about the suing the pants threat. “But it’s the best I can do.”
Mason nodded. At least it was something.
When he headed toward the elevator, the Anderson family was nowhere to be seen and neither was Camilla. There was a restaurant on the ground floor, Trendz the sign said, so maybe they were all in there. He slipped the card key into his pocket, but chickened out on going in to see, pretending he wanted to eat, too. Just as well since his stomach was churning, and he doubted he could swallow a thing.
He wished he had thought of something else to say to her parents. Or the brother maybe, who seemed interesting, but he wasn’t supposed to say anything about for some reason.
All these fucking rules…
The sister looked just like her, but a few years older.
As to her mother and father, they didn’t resemble either of their daughters or the son for that matter, except for a similarity in talking and holding their heads. And laughing. There was a lot of that along with the smiles he had come to associate with Camilla. But in contrast to the long, blond hair of her daughters, Mrs. Anderson sported short, brown, curly hair, only slightly less unruly than his own, with shots of gray threaded throughout. Mr. Anderson’s hair was steel gray, what was left of it, completely bald on the top, and he was tall and thin, to his wife’s shorter, plumper frame. Both of them looked much younger than he suspected they must be, with six children older than Camilla.
He headed to the elevator.
He wished he was eating dinner, or late lunch or whatever, with all the Andersons right now, then taking Camilla to bed thereafter, snuggling with her in a proper king-sized bed in the Bridal Suite.
But if he could have only one thing or the other tonight, he was shocked to realize he would have preferred sitting down with her family.
Damn. What the hell was wrong with him?
Just in case, though, he went into the gift shop, hoping they had condoms.
Joey talked non-stop in the elevator on the way up to the Executive VIP floor that needed a special key to make the elevator open. There had been nobody in the plane but them, and he hadn’t been scared at all, and he wondered if Cammy was going to go on the plane home with them. Brandy chimed in occasionally.
Her parents each held one of her hands. The huddle they had been in when she joined them from the check-in desk made her suspect that her dad had shared with her mom the surprising news from the clerk even before Camilla babbled on about the mix-up. When they all arrived at her suite, she inserted the card key in the door and invited them in, promising Joey a peek at the mini-bar though they had to wait until after dinner to raid it.
The room opened to a large sitting room, wall-to-wall windows allowing late afternoon sunlight to filter in, coating the buildings in the distance in sepia like an old-fashioned photo. Plush, cream carpet complemented the rose silk covered couches and polished wood side tables with legs that looked like lion’s claws. Brandy wandered beyond the sitting room into the bedroom. “Wow, look at this. Very nice.”
The bed, covered in a lacy white coverlet over more rose silk, was huge, the requisite flat screen looming nearby.
“And this bathtub,” her sister added, marveling at the gleaming whirlpool tub right in the bedroom, big enough to accommodate more than the bridal couple it was supposed to, a glass blocked shower and gold countered vanity in the nearby bathroom.
Her mother took Camilla aside. “Honey, you’ve been through an incredible experience. Not only the plane, ah, landing,” she apparently didn’t want to say emergency landing or crash, “but it sounds like you were walking your way out of the woods all night.”
Not all night.
“I won’t have you feeling like you have to entertain us. It’s enough for us to know you’re safe. To see you. We couldn’t have imagined a better outcome. You take a shower, or maybe a bath in this lovely tub, and get some rest. And if you still feel like a late dinner after you’ve taken a nap, you let us know. But I’m betting your head will hit that pillow, and you’ll be out for the night.”
“No, Mom, I want to go to dinner.”
Her dad came over. “You listen to your parents for once, little girl, and have some alone time before we descend on you. We can catch up tomorrow.”
“If this is because of what the clerk said—”
“No!”