Dirty Little Desires (Dirty Little Series Book 3) Page 4

  She holds up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. You know I want you to call me anytime you need to, or before you leave if you need a pep talk, and I definitely want you to call me after you meet your future mentor and she falls in love with your work. I won’t even be mad if you yell.”

  Corinne has always been such a great friend to me. “With the time difference on the west coast it’s entirely possible I could be yelling at you at four in the morning. You know that right?”

  “You’re about the only person I’d pick up for at that time of morning.”

  “Hopefully I have good news for you.”

  She smiles. “You will, I can feel it.”

  Chapter Six

  I arrive in Portland to a text from Oliver letting me know he sent a car to pick me up and the driver will meet me at the curb right outside the terminal. While I’m standing at baggage claim waiting for my suitcases to come out on the conveyor belt, I fire off a quick text letting him know I’ve landed and thanking him for the ride.

  He’s such a thoughtful and generous person. It’d be a lot easier to let this thing I have for him go if he treated me like…well, all the other guys I’ve dated, with the exception of a couple of genuinely great boyfriends who just didn’t work out.

  My suitcases are some of the first ones out, and I’m struggling with the larger of the two when a strong arm reaches out and latches on to the handle.

  “Lemme get that for you.”

  Not that I would ever admit this to anyone, but I recognize Oliver’s forearm. He pulls the bag back like it weighs nothing.

  All I can do is grin at him like a dope.

  He does the same.

  “Hey,” I say softly.

  “Hey.”

  “You texted that you were sending someone to come and get me,” I reply stupidly, simply because I can’t think of anything else to say right now.

  “Surprise.” He lifts up my bag’s handle and motions for the door. “We should probably go. I’m illegally parked outside.”

  “Figures.”

  Oliver just laughs. We get an embarrassing distance away before I remember that I have a whole other suitcase that I never picked up.

  “Oh my god!” I say kind of loudly, coming to a complete stop in the middle of the concourse. “I have another bag!”

  “What does it look like?”

  “Just like this one only smaller,” I tell him as he takes off.

  He snags my other bag off the belt just before it’s about to go back into the little door behind the wall. He jogs back over holding the bag by the strap, then puts it on the floor and raises the handle.

  “Got it just in time.”

  “Thanks,” I tell Oliver, reaching for the handle right as someone plows into me from behind, knocking me into him.

  “Whoa,” he breathes, cradling me against his body.

  God, he smells good. Like soap and fresh air. Maybe I linger a little longer than is strictly necessary so I can enjoy the moment.

  I gently push off his chest—wow, those pecs—and say, “Sorry.”

  He gives me that smile that in my more delusional moments I think is just for me. The one that makes his eyes crinkle and his dimples show and makes his face all soft like it’s a secret just between the two of us.

  I love and hate that smile.

  “No worries,” he replies, sliding his hands down my arms, steadying me. “We should probably get out of the walkway though.” He’s grinning at me, and five minutes in I’m realizing this weekend was a terrible idea for me, my unrequited crush, and my poor, poor heart. I don’t know if we’re all going to make it out of this alive.

  As Oliver takes the handles of my suitcases, he makes a show of trying to pull the bigger one. “Are you sure you’re only here for a weekend?”

  “Hey,” I reply in mock offense. “I have samples in there! That bag you’re teasing me about is going to change my life.” If I say it enough, maybe that’ll make it true.

  “I hope it does. C’mon.”

  We walk out of the airport at a quick clip and Oliver’s legs are so much longer than mine that I nearly have to jog to keep up with him. When the sliding doors open onto the sidewalk, Oliver’s pulls his keys out of his pocket and opens the tailgate of the black SUV with its caution lights flashing.

  “Wow, you weren’t kidding about being parked illegally,” I say with a laugh as he loads my bags.

  “Nope.” He closes the trunk and walks around the passenger side and opens my door for me. “Hop in,” he says. “I can’t wait to show you my hotel.”

  “I can’t wait to see it.”

  He smiles and shuts the door, then runs over to his side. He puts on his sunglasses—aviators, a great choice—grinning while he puts the car in drive.

  He seems giddy and light, different than he usually is when he’s at home in New York. I don’t know if it’s Portland or the change of pace, but it’s definitely a good look on him.

  Portland is so very green. It’s not like I don’t ever see trees in New York, but here the city blends together with sprawling hills covered with them. It adds a sense of calm that I’ve never seen in any other city I’ve visited. Even the downtown area seems laid back; no one’s rushing anywhere. It’s mid-afternoon on a work day and people are just leisurely strolling in and out of shops and patiently lining up for goodies from a cluster of food carts.

  Oliver drives me around, giving me a quick tour of the city. He points out parks and other landmarks, telling me where weekend markets pop up and which ones are his favorites.

  One of the things I admire about Oliver is that he’s personally invested in his business ventures. Wherever he owns a property, he knows that city inside and out. He’s spent time there; he’s developed itineraries. When people ask the concierge for recommendations, they likely come from Oliver’s own favorites. He has a stake in the cities his hotels are in; his ownership is personal.

  Being the co-owner of a small business myself, I understand how vital that is in his success. It’s really nice seeing it in action.

  When I notice that Oliver’s driving us out of the downtown area, I feel like I’ve missed something. “Is your hotel not here in the city?” I ask. I’m not sure why I had an idea about the location of a place I’ve never even seen, but the other properties of Oliver’s I’ve been to have all been downtown. I pictured it being one of the historic mid-rises we’ve been passing.

  “Nope. To be honest, I’m a little disappointed that you haven’t done your research.”

  “Hey,” I reply with mock offense, “I’m just going by what I know about your other hotels that I’ve visited. They’ve all been downtown.”

  Oliver lets out a breath of a laugh. “I wanted a place that had a view. You can’t be surrounded by this much green and have a hotel in the middle of the city. I know you agree with me.”

  I give him the side-eye. “How do you know that?”

  “Because while we’ve been driving around, you’ve had the same look on your face that you get when you find something special in a thrift shop.”

  It’s unnerving how much Oliver just knows me. How much he gets me. “Maybe,” I reply, unable to smother a smile.

  He takes a turn off of the main road, and a few minutes later we’re on a steep, winding death trap that barely has enough room for two cars to pass each other. What was a relaxing drive instantly becomes an anxiety-ridden hellscape.

  It probably wouldn’t be so bad if the side of the road that we’re on didn’t have a steep drop directly beside us. We’re probably not as close as it seems and I know I’m being dramatic, but I could really use a Xanax right about now. Oliver is an excellent driver and I know he’d never be careless with my safety, but I have an overwhelming fear of heights and right now I have a front-row seat to the drop off of this ledge.

  Casually I slip my hand into the crook of Oliver’s arm, just needing something warm and steady to hold onto. He pulls his arm back, taking my hand in his. The spike o
f adrenaline the skin-to-skin contact sends through me coupled with the anxiety certainly is something.

  “I’m sorry, I forgot about the road up here,” Oliver says, pulling his lips together in a wince. “I would have warned you. We don’t have much further.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

  “It’s fine, I’m fine. I’m not freaking out or anything if that’s what you’re worried about,” I say, trying my damndest to make it seem like I’m not totally freaking out.

  Oliver gives me a sympathetic smile and ever-so-slightly inches the car toward the middle of the road.

  I let my head drop back against the headrest, close my eyes and take deep, calming breaths.

  “How do you manage living in New York City when you’re afraid of heights? Your apartment is on the twentieth floor, Felicity.”

  “My apartment is a stationary object that can’t fall over a cliff. It’s fixed to the ground, and the only way I fall out of it is if I jump.”

  “Yet you’re fine jumping off of rooftops,” he teases. “I should probably remind you of that.”

  “No, you probably shouldn’t. Plus, that was a one-story drop into a soft pool of water, not a terrifying drop off of a mile-high cliff.”

  Oliver puts one hand over his heart. “I’m wounded that you don’t trust my driving skills.”

  I press my body back into the leather seat to the point that there’s probably going to be a Felicity-shaped indent permanently marked on it. “Put both your hands on the wheel please.”

  He does as I ask, which makes my heart slow to only twice its normal speed.

  “I trust you with my life,” I breathe. I peek out of the corner of my eye just in time to see the soft smile that admission brings out. “It’s other drivers I don’t trust. What if there’s a complete maniac just beyond that turn who has no regard for human life?”

  “The speed limit is fifteen miles per hour,” he says.

  “You sound like a guy who lives in some utopia where everyone obeys speed limits.”

  Oliver laughs. “I’m generally counting on their desire not to die in a terrible car crash. I can put guard rails up here if that would make you feel better.”

  “Can we just pull over and wait for that to happen?”

  “No. But I’ll make sure they’re in before the next time you visit.”

  “My, my, aren’t we presumptuous?” I ask with a laugh. “I haven’t even seen this place and already you’re assuming that I’ll want to come back.”

  “You’ll want to come back,” he replies, grinning.

  Ugh, he’s probably right.

  I close my eyes again and lean back as Oliver gently rubs the pad of his thumb across my knuckles. I time my breaths with the motion—probably his intention—and that calms me down. Before I know it, the car pulls to a stop.

  “We’re here,” Oliver says softly.

  We’re parked beneath a portico and two eager valets descend onto the car. One who opens my door and one who meets Oliver at the back of the car as the tailgate opens.

  “Mister Warren,” the valet says. Oliver greets him by name, then asks about his daughter. The guy smiles, seemingly delighted that his boss remembered something personal about him.

  “Take these up please,” he says, slipping a few bills into the guy’s hand. “And bring Abigail and Nicole up for brunch one day.”

  “Will do, Sir,” he says as closes the trunk.

  Oliver slips his sunglasses into his pocket as he waits for me to get out of the car. He places his hand at the small of my back and leads me inside.

  The lobby of the hotel is grand and gorgeous. It’s bright and white with seating areas sprinkled throughout. There are a few fireplaces with large, lush sofas in front of them, reading chairs that are perfect for lounging here and there. To the right is a bustling restaurant, to the left is a bar. Both have large windows along the perimeter that give patrons a grand view of the hotel grounds.

  The hotel manages to be large but not imposing, feeling intimate despite its size.

  “This is the lobby,” Oliver says, motioning in front of us. “Obviously.”

  “It’s gorgeous, Oliver. Did you just remodel it?” It’s a luxury hotel, so things are obviously going to be clean, but this place is pristine.

  “We renovated a few years ago. The people we have on staff to keep it up are just that good.”

  He’s right about that. If his interactions with the valets were any indication, it seems like Oliver fosters a good work environment. It definitely shows in the work people put into their jobs here. We walk around the room together, Oliver greeting each employee by name, even the ones who aren’t wearing name tags.

  “The restaurant is relatively new, but it’s gotten a few big reviews recently. There’s a bar over there. I have two of the best bartenders in the Pacific Northwest working for me.”

  “I look forward to putting them to the test,” I say.

  Oliver laughs. “Want to see the rest of the property?”

  I nod, probably a little too enthusiastically. We walk through a large pair of french doors and onto a veranda. Guests lounge in rocking chairs, sipping tea as they read their papers or look out onto the grounds.

  We step off the porch onto a trail lined with gorgeous flowers in full bloom. Roses, rhododendrons, all of them seemingly perfect.

  Oliver follows me patiently as I crouch down and take a deep breath.

  “Oh man,” I sigh. They look and smell gorgeous. “How would your gardener feel about me clipping the whole bush and bringing them up to my room?”

  “He probably wouldn’t like that too much,” Oliver replies with a laugh. “I’ve never seen someone literally stop and smell the roses before.”

  “First time for me, too.” I walk slowly, taking out my phone and snapping a few pictures. It was cloudy when I landed, but the sun has broken through, making everything brighter. This place is just…gorgeous.

  “C’mon,” Oliver says, tilting his head to the right. His fingertips brush along the inside of my wrist, waking up my whole body. “I want to show you the view.”

  “There’s more?” I ask, incredulous.

  “There’s more.” We walk side by side along the trail, and down a few steps to an overlook.

  Oh wow. You can see the whole city from up here. Everything looks so bright and alive, I can’t believe this is even real. About a mile off in the distance, Portland sprawls out before us.

  “Oliver,” I whisper. I walk up to the iron railing that lines the edge of the overlook, completely forgetting how much I hate heights. I push myself up on my toes, as if that will help me get closer to the city.

  “You like it?”

  I turn and catch his eye, giving him a smile. “I love it.”

  He smiles wide, and there are those dimples I see in my dreams. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Not sure beautiful quite does it justice.”

  “This is why I named it the Grand View,” he tells me.

  “Name fits. How did you even get this place?” I can’t imagine anyone ever willingly giving up this property.

  “Hard work,” he replies. “There’s always been a hotel here, but I came along at just the right time. The hotel had been mismanaged and they had some debt. I was willing to take it off their hands under some generous terms. It was a steal, all things considered.”

  I don’t even want to think about the price tag that Oliver would consider a steal.

  “See over there?” Oliver asks, pointing somewhere off in the distance. “That’s Mount Hood.”

  I narrow my eyes, seeing nothing but a bunch of clouds out there. I feel like I’m looking at one of those hidden picture paintings, completely unable to make it out.

  “Oh…yeah,” I say, squinting. I really don’t want to admit that I can’t see it.

  “You can’t see it, can you?” he asks with a laugh.

  Ugh. “No.”

  Oliver walks up right behind me, pressing most of his chest agains
t my back. “See?” he asks, his voice raspy in my ear. He curls his hand around my waist as he leans in. I rest my head back against his shoulder so we have the same vantage point. “It’s right there…” he outlines a shape with his finger. “The summit is just above the clouds.”

  “Oh! Now I see it!” I completely forgot how close Oliver is to me, and in my excitement I accidentally knock him in the jaw.

  “Oh my god,” I say, remembering the sound of his teeth cracking together. I turn around and rub his jaw, his stubble rough beneath my fingers. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

  He shakes his head. He’s so close, and his eyes are so soft I can’t look away. “No, I’m okay,” he says, reaching up and resting his hand on top of mine. We just stand there kind of staring at each other for longer than is probably appropriate. When I realize what we’re doing I take a step back, letting my hand fall back down to my side.

  “We should probably get inside.” His voice is raspy, and I kind of like it. A lot.

  We walk inside in a comfortable but charged silence. When we get to the elevator, Oliver steps in and waves a card in front of a sensor on the panel of buttons.

  The elevator goes up on its own.

  “That’s creepy,” I say.

  “I’m the only one who can get on this floor, and this magic card gets me there,” he replies. “One of the perks of owning the place.”

  “You have a whole floor roped off for your own use?”

  Oliver narrows his eyes. “Is that judgment I’m hearing?”

  “No,” I reply. “Just surprise.”

  “It’s not just for me,” he explains quickly. “It’s mostly a place for special guests. Celebrities, dignitaries. People who require more privacy than most. And it’s not a whole floor, really. Just a suite.”

  The elevator comes to a stop and the doors open into a very short hallway with a single door at the end. Oliver waves his card near the panel. The door clicks open and we walk inside.

  Wow.

  “I wouldn’t call this just a suite.” My family has more money than we know what to do with. I grew up staying in the grandest of grand places, but this still manages to impress me. It’s not gaudy or anything, just simple. Understated. Gorgeous.