In fact, he’d called Smith (the only competent assistant he had) this morning and told her to pass along the message to the Tits crew that they were to make themselves scarce for the next while. He didn’t want Marjorie upset over anything that might happen with the wedding. Not because he cared about her friends, but because he cared about her.
He checked his phone for new messages. Nothing beyond her earlier one of Meet me in the lobby for dinner tonight. Black tie. I have a nice surprise for you. She’d even thrown in a smiley face at the end, so he knew she was excited. And he couldn’t wait to see her again. He’d worked for most of the day but it still felt like forever since he’d last touched her.
Idly, he wondered what the surprise was. Were they going somewhere new? Was she going to jump him as soon as he got off the elevator? Was she not wearing panties under her dress? Whatever it was, he hoped she was wearing the heels he’d gotten her—he wanted to see those on her while he undressed her, wanted them wrapped around his back while he fucked the hell out of her.
Picturing Marjorie in nothing but those shoes made his dick hard, and he adjusted himself before stepping out of his room. A quick trip in the elevator led him down to the lobby, and he scanned the room for an impossibly tall blonde.
Sure enough, there she was, beautiful enough to make his heart skip a beat. Her blonde waves cascaded over her shoulders, teased into curls. Her dress was plain black, her long, luscious legs bare, and he saw those sparkly stilettos adorning her gorgeous feet. She looked incredible.
He started to walk toward her, and stopped.
She was standing next to Logan Hawkings and his fiancée. They were talking quietly, and Logan’s fiancée had her arm linked in his. Her dress was a sparkly red, and Logan wore a dark suit.
They were dressed for a fancy dinner.
He was going to a fancy dinner with Marjorie . . . who had a surprise for him.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
Rob turned around and headed back to the elevator before anyone could spot him. He sprinted, barely catching the doors as they began to close again, which earned him a few irritated looks from the others on the elevator. He didn’t care. His brow had broken out into a cold sweat, and he punched the number to his floor again, and then paused.
Shit. If he went back to his room, Marjorie would just come looking for him there. She’d think he’d forgotten the time or something. And she’d probably have Logan in tow.
That would be no good, either. Fuck.
He put his phone to his ear—an awkward feeling, after using his Bluetooth for so long—and called his assistant hotline.
Smith answered. Thank god. “Yes, sir?”
“I need a room. Now.”
“A different one? Let me see what I can manage, sir. Give me five minutes.”
“No. Now.” He hammered at the door-close button when the elevator opened. Someone shot him a dirty look as he pushed past, but Rob ignored it. “What floor are you on?”
“I’m on two, sir. You are welcome to come and stay here if you need to—”
“Be right there.” He hit the button for two and tapped his foot impatiently. Even as he did, his phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Where are you? Marjorie sent. Did you get lost?
Christ. She’d sent another smiley face at the end of her sentence. He felt like such a dick. The door opened to floor two and he hesitated.
He could go downstairs and admit everything to Marjorie in front of Logan’s judging face. Tell her that he was the jerk behind Tits or GTFO and she’d probably hate everything he was ever associated with, and know that her friends loathed him because they thought he was a scummy businessman. Which he kinda was. And then he could watch her expressive eyes fill with tears and he’d ruin the rest of the time she had at her best friend’s wedding.
Or he could be a dick tonight and pretend sickness. Or that business came up. Something. She would be hurt, but he’d make it up to her with a little smooth talking, a little romance, and then they could cuddle their way back into a good mood.
Immediately, he knew which one he was going to pick. Rob stepped off the elevator, paused, and texted.
Something came up with work. Sorry.
***
“I don’t understand,” Marjorie said, her brows furrowing. “I talked with him earlier today and he said he was looking forward to dinner.” Maybe if she dated more, she’d be used to cancellations and blow-offs. This one felt like it was ripping a hole in her heart, though, and she didn’t know what to do.
His message wasn’t even personal. It was cold, succinct. His normal messages were filled with crass flirting and attempts to make her blush. This . . . this wasn’t even trying.
“I wonder if I said something to make him upset?”
“I’m sure that’s not it,” Brontë exclaimed. “You’re looking for problems that aren’t there, Marj. I bet he just had a meeting come up that he couldn’t miss. Logan knows how that is, isn’t that right?” She looked up at her handsome fiancé with an adoring expression.
Marjorie’s heart hurt all over again. “But if it’s work, he didn’t say when he was going to get out of there.” And Rob had told her that work was taking a backseat this week so he could spend more time with her. Hadn’t he said his assistant had it handled? “I don’t understand.”
Oh, no . . . what if it was something she’d said or done last night? What if she’d somehow come across as terribly unsexy and he’d woken up this morning and realized he didn’t want to be with her? She felt stricken at the thought.