Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(52)

As I dial my number again, I experience a wave of awkwardness. If she hasn't texted, she's either asleep or doesn't want to talk to me because she's having an attack of the morning-afters. I feel certain it's the latter. The phone rings and then goes to voicemail. I hang up and dial the hotel.

"Hi, it's Trystan Montgomery. Can you put me through to my room, please, I have a guest staying there."

The call is patched through, but there's no answer. She said she used to visit David in the Village, she's probably gone for a walk in the neighborhood. But even as I think it, I doubt that's the case.

I open another text message, but I'm clueless what to say. Everything is starting to feel weird and cold in the daylight. I think over all the things that came out of my mouth last night and realize they are starting to feel lascivious and disgusting. My breakfast doesn't feel too settled either. Everything feels wrong.



* * *



Emmy, can we talk, please? Call me.





25





Emmy





I forgot to close the black-out blinds, I realized as I blinked bleary-eyed against the shaft of light coming in the room. My mouth was dry like I had a cotton ball for a tongue, and my head was pounding—a long slow thudding. I might have drunk that whole bottle of Sancerre last night. Though my body was hurting, it also felt lethargic, relaxed, satisfied. I stretched on a long moan and then froze.

Everything came rushing back to me. Trystan's voice. Oh, God. His sexy commands. I could hear them blasting through my brain right now. Instant, aching arousal swirled through me at the same time I was slammed by acute embarrassment. Oh God. What had I done?

Maybe it was just a dream.

A very, very, sexy, incredible dream with no consequences. At least no physical consequences.

I shifted in the bed and realized I was very, very naked below the waist, my sleep shorts balled up against my thigh. Dragging them out from under the covers, I stared at the pineapple design like it somehow was to blame. Not a dream then. I chucked them away from me.

Just as I slid my gaze over to the phone, it buzzed. As if it might bite, I slowly and carefully picked it up.



* * *



Suit Monkey: Morning, beautiful. P.S. Stop overthinking it.



* * *



"Aaargh!" I said aloud to the room. What the hell was I supposed to say to him today?

What did last night mean? We lived in different cities for God's sake. What was this?

I kept hearing myself in my head along with his words. I let him hear everything, and in the cold light of day it made me feel vulnerable and so embarrassed. Mortified.

Should I quickly nip this in the bud with my pride intact? Maybe say: sorry, I had a bit too much wine, I don't know what came over me?

The phone buzzed again.



* * *



Suit Monkey: Call me when you wake up.



* * *



I laid the phone on the side table. The worst part was I remembered I was the one who started it. He was getting freaked out about my resident ghost, and I figured I'd tease and distract him. Little had I realized how successful that tactic would be.

I didn't think I had the courage to talk to him right now. God, I hardly knew him. How did I manage to have phone sex with someone I'd never met? What should I text back?

Spread your legs, Emmy. Wider. His voice was in my head, and I was aching again. I don't think, in my whole life, anything had ever turned me on as much as Trystan had last night.

I let out a shaky breath and got up on weak legs, took another shower, and blow-dried my hair. After I checked in at work, I would call the airline. In my panic over David's disappearance I hadn't tried to change my ticket, I'd had to cancel it, not knowing when David might be found. And the chances of getting on a last minute flight on a Friday were slim to say the least. I looked around. There'd be worse places to stay another night, but I'd rather not blow all the money Trystan had sent me for my place. I could put it toward David's move.

Feeling braver, I finally picked up Trystan's phone. There was a missed call from him and two more text messages. I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. I should text him back and stop being a coward. But then I saw the words. Something about my boss. Shit.

I opened his email and found the email he'd forwarded from my email to his. It was a curt email from my boss about time off and our pitch today. My stomach sank. Honestly, I'd already prepared everything for it before I left, he was being dramatic. Not that I was saying I was expendable, but surely this one time they could manage without me?

I sat at the desk and picked up the room phone.

"Miss Dubois," a voice intoned from the handset. I jumped. I'd forgotten about the beck and call thing they had going here. "Good morning," the voice went on. "May I order you some breakfast?"

"Oh, uh." I hesitated. I'd thought about walking to find some coffee. "Actually I just wanted to make a phone call."

"Yes, ma'am. Connecting you to an outside line now. Go ahead."

A dial tone came over the line, and I punched in the office number for my boss. At least that was a number I knew by heart. Which said a lot about my work-life imbalance.

"This is Steven," my boss answered.