Hooked 3 (Hooked #3)(12)

About twenty minutes later, the hotel elevator opened, revealing a whole host of hotel workers, all holding grand trays filled with breakfast items. They displayed them on the counter and the large dining room table. They poured two mimosas for us both, and then bowed to me as they exited. When the elevator door closed, it was as if they had never been in the hotel room, as if the food had simply appeared.

I removed the lids from the food, finding the cheese-y eggs, fried potatoes, fruit, and beautiful French pastries. My stomach growled and I reached toward one—one that was oozing with crème and frosting.

Suddenly, the elevator door burst open once more. My hand on the pastry, I looked up in alarm to see Drew marching toward me. Sweat was glistening on his body and his face. He was holding a water bottle, and he was wearing exercise clothes. “Morning,” he said cheerfully. “So glad you ordered breakfast. I was just working out and I’m famished.”


My eyes were wide. I took my hand from the pastry and tried to smile naturally. “Oh. Gosh. Hello,” I murmured. “So good to see you.” I felt awkward, formal.

But Drew sat down and began filling a plate with the food. I sat on the other side of the table, my mimosa in hand. “What did you do?”

“Oh, you know. Just a bit of running. A bit of swimming. I can’t go a day without exercise, especially when I eat like this.” He winked at me, taking a large bite of pastry.

I had thought he was gone; I had thought he had disappeared. But here he was before me, eating heartily, gazing at me like a friend would. Like a friend should. I shivered, feeling the unfortunate understanding that this man before me was very nearly perfect.

I shook it off. “So. What are we doing tonight?”

“Now. Didn’t I tell you that was going to be a surprise? Why don’t you eat up? You ordered enough food to feed eight people.” He handed me the pastry I had nearly grabbed in the moments when he was walking through the door. “Come on. Eat up.”

And I did.



That evening I draped the red dress over my body and prepared my hair and make-up. I watched as, on the other side of the room, Drew rustled himself into his tuxedo and his bow tie. He combed at his hair, creating that subtle side-part of the previous week. Something inside me stirred; I wanted him so badly. But I couldn’t allow it to happen; I shouldn’t.

I turned toward him, allowing my breasts to bounce in the dress. I could play with him, couldn’t I? Even if I didn’t allow anything to happen? “You look handsome,” I murmured.

“And you look beautiful.” He walked toward me, bringing his arm out to me. “Shall I escort you to the Porsche?”

“Why, darling. I’d love to go,” I whispered, laughing at the sudden false sophistication. He had a humor about him—something I loved in anyone. If he couldn’t laugh about this grandeur, about his high style of living, then I didn’t want anything to do with him. Perhaps this was part of the reason I was here.

We walked into the elevator. I gazed at the remarkable hotel beneath us as we rushed to the ground floor. Leon, the valet, had brought the car out front for us and stood, dangling the keys for Drew, until we brushed past, excitement brimming in our bones. I hadn’t a clue where we were going, and Drew seemed so adamant on a surprise.

We hopped into the Porsche and fled into the country roads, dust and sand rollicking all around us. Drew played fast and loud music on the speakers, and I nodded my head in time with the music. It wasn’t Tchaikovsky. But it was truly remarkable how the music emanated with the raucous nature of my soul.

I opened the car window, allowing the chilly October air to roll over my arms and through my hair. I yelled into the wind, and Drew yelled as well. We were just two physical beings, propelling ourselves into the nighttime sky.

Finally we pulled into a large parking lot. At the helm of the parking lot stood a remarkable building that was reminiscent of an old castle or a Greek temple. My heart beat quickly, gazing at its incredible wonder. We pulled up—fast—in the front, waiting for the valet driver. At this point, the realization struck me like a rock.

We were at a casino.

My eyes were wide, and I spun toward Drew. My heart was beating too fast now. It was out of control, mashing itself with the beat of the rock music. I reminded myself that he couldn’t have known; he wouldn’t have known. I couldn’t go in casinos; I couldn’t gamble because of my past. It was too rocky. It was too fresh in my mind. “I’m so sorry, Drew,” I whispered. The valet driver opened the door and helped me from the car. All the while, Drew’s eyes were on me, confused, perturbed. What was wrong now? I was sure he was wondering. Could he please this peasant girl in any way? He had brought her to the ball; he had taken her into the world. Did she just want to go back to the kitchen to scrub the floors?

Drew rounded the car and took my hand, looking at me deeply. “What’s wrong, Mol?” he asked. “Please. We don’t have to go in here if you don’t like gambling—” His voice was hushed. He wanted to respect me. I somehow recognized this in him. I reminded myself that he had grown up with Mel—that he and Mel had been a sort of team. I could trust him. (Or could I? I was always on the fence about this.)

“It’s not that,” I said. I felt the cold October wind glide through my jacket, through my slim red dress. “I just. I’ll find something else to do while you gamble. Okay?”