“Yeah.” Brant cleared his throat. “Elevators?”
George tapped his fingers against the bar top. “Why don’t I show you?”
“No need, seriously, just point me in the right direction.” Why was it that he did life better drunk?
That’s right. Because when he was drunk, he usually blacked out between a woman’s thighs, forgetting all the memories that haunted him when he was sober.
Shit, it was going to be a long week.
He’d been living in a drunken fog for so long that he’d forgotten what it actually felt like to have a clear head.
“You sure?” George asked.
“Positive. You’ve already got a few new customers.” Brant pointed at the couple approaching the bar. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other—honeymooners, if he had to guess.
A very long week…
“Elevators through the lobby, to the left.” George held up his hand for Brant to wait and quickly made another soda with two limes. “For the road.”
“Thanks, George.” He lifted the drink to the bartender and made his way through the dimly lit lobby. Candles hung from the ceiling as if they were floating; the décor was a mixture of Gothic and Old World Spain. It was haunting yet warm.
Brant breathed a sigh of relief once he found the elevators and hit the penthouse floor.
The elevator doors opened wide to a private entryway with a dozen or so lit candles spread on a high glossy black table. A note rested on a silver tray in the middle of the table: WELCOME HOME.
The words were typed out in perfect square letters. He picked it up and tapped the small card against the table before sliding the key card out of the packet Cole had given him and tapping it against the black sensor.
Nothing.
Not red.
Not green.
Just nothing.
He tried again.
And then, like an idiot, he flipped the card over so the A was pressed against the black, and bingo, the door slid open.
No hinges.
Just a sliding door that quietly went from left to right and then slid shut behind him.
Huh. He needed a hands-free door like that. His brother would lose his mind.
A hollow feeling spread through him.
His brother.
Which one?
Ever since they’d found their soul mates (the term made Brant shudder), both Brock and Bentley had been basically nonexistent in Brant’s life, except for the other morning when Bentley charged into Brant’s apartment with guns blazing.
He set his briefcase down on the nearest table and sucked in a breath. The room was perfect.
And completely unexpected.
The balcony was as large as the room itself, with a pool and a hot tub, a private bar, and a bed with white fabric strewn around bamboo-style bedposts.
And because he was sober, his first thought was Nikki would have loved this.
He would have loved to give her this.
Fuck.
He ran his hands through his hair and bit down on his bottom lip, about five seconds away from throwing every piece of glass within a one-foot radius against the wall.
This. This was why he drank. She was his past. His very painful past.
Concentrate on the resort, asshole.
He grabbed the portfolio with is itinerary and checked his watch. He had a massage in an hour.
It was exactly what he needed to relax.
Well, it was either that or get drunk and ask good ol’ Cole if it was against hotel rules to send up any single available women.
Yeah, he highly doubted that was part of the 24/7 service, though could it hurt to ask? His dick twitched, as if he needed another reminder that it had been at least fifteen hours since he’d had sex.
And sex, just like drinking, did a damn good job of making him forget about all of the reasons he was still so angry with himself.
And at the universe for taking the one good thing he’d had and ripping it from his fingers.
“Enough.” Oh good, now he was talking to himself. Sober, Brant? Slowly losing his damn mind.
Well, at least nobody was there to see it happen.
Chapter Five
Whoa there!” Nikki held up her hands to keep Cole’s blur of a body from slamming into her. “In a hurry?”
Cole pressed his hands against his knees and exhaled a curse. “New. Client.”
“Aren’t you a runner?” she wondered out loud. “How are you out of breath?”
“Running.” He heaved, holding a finger in the air. “Sprinting.” Another curse as he exhaled. “Two very…different…beasts.” Standing to his full height, he gripped her by the shoulders and spoke slowly. “He’s deaf.”
“Huh?”
“He. Your next client. Horrible, um, train accident, he was a conductor, and you know how those careers are. Trains. Loud. Deafness.”
No. No, she didn’t know because he wasn’t making any sense. “A train conductor? Wow, now I’m curious, I wonder if—”