Ten Trends to Seduce Your Bestfriend

Byron could not secure a different room for me or for Amelia and Elijah. No matter how much he made the concierge, the concierge’s manager, and the hotel manager fret and sweat and apologize, there were simply no rooms to be had. All the area’s hotels had been booked solid for months.

They made me a key for Byron’s suite while he called Amelia and broke the news about the room. He also explained the plans for the evening’s sleeping arrangements. I kept stealing glances at him, trying to hide my grin as he rolled his eyes at something Amelia said, his pale cheeks tinting pink after he told her how we’d be sharing his suite.

Despite my continued determination not to get my hopes up, I’d been grinning since he’d said that thing about pictures earlier, just before the elevator had arrived and cut the tense moment short.

Waiting for him to finish his call, I meandered around the VIP check-in area, cataloging the perks of being a VIP instead of a plebeian. They had a full-service bar in one corner with several big, comfy-looking leather chairs directly in front of it. A small business center with a copy machine, computer, and photo printer sat behind a wall of glass next to the desk where Byron stood, still talking on the phone. The big room also had one of those high tech, built-in coffee makers that brewed espresso, cappuccino, and drip coffee with the touch of a button.

“Ms. Gobaldi.”

I turned at the sound of my name and found the concierge at my shoulder wearing a pained look.

“Hi.” I gave her a little wave.

“Allow me to express again how very sorry I am that we could not accommodate Mr. Visser’s request.”

“It’s fine.”

She still seemed distraught as she gestured that I should follow her from the VIP area. “His representative booked Mr. Visser’s suite back in December and only added your reservation in April. By then, all we had left were the standard rooms. But she did put you on the waiting list for a suite, should one open up. Unfortunately, we’ve had very few cancellations.”

“Makes sense. Please don’t stress about it.” I glanced over my shoulder as we left the room, hoping to catch Byron’s eye. He was still on the phone.

“Please allow us to move your bags to Mr. Visser’s room. And here”—she gestured to an elevator I hadn’t noticed when we’d walked in—“this will take you to the penthouse level.” She scanned a key card, then pressed the up button, handing me the card once the light illuminated. “This card will allow you access to all the VIP areas. Mr. Visser asked that I send you up to his room so that you can relax before dinner.”

The elevator doors slid open, and she motioned for me to step inside. Always one to follow directions, I did.

“We’ll send up a tray of refreshments as well.” She took one step inside the elevator and pressed the button labeled 35, then stepped back. “Mr. Visser informed us that you’ll be eating elsewhere tonight?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“Well then, when you return, let me know if there is anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable. Please don’t hesitate.”

“O-okay. Thank you.”

“Anything you need, just say the word. If you’re missing any toiletries or just want a midnight snack, do not hesitate to call. We are stocked like a drugstore and a grocery store. If we don’t have what you want, I can send someone out, and I will personally make sure it happens. Nothing is out of the question.”

“Uh . . . thanks.” I tried to hide my discomfort in the face of her effusiveness.

Apparently, I hid it well considering how pleased her smile looked just before the doors closed.

Byron didn’t come up to the room before dinner. He texted about a half hour after I left him in the VIP area, saying he had to meet his agent, publisher, and the producer who’d secured the movie rights for his book series. I remembered the meeting being on the agenda his manager had sent me last week. According to the schedule, it was supposed to last for several hours.

The suite wasn’t one of those palatial penthouses you always see depicted in movies or TV shows, though the view was impressive. Central Park stretched directly beneath the floor-to-ceiling windows, allowing me to people-watch, figures as small as ants running and walking through the park. While I studied the little ant people, it occurred to me that today was the first time I’d ever seen Byron outside of my apartment, his house, or the dorms where we all used to live.

Obviously I knew he ventured into public places back in Seattle. He played rugby. He went to Nuflours and picked me up scones. He’d mentioned once that he went on runs in Interlaken Park.

But when I thought of Byron, I only ever thought of him being in a quiet, private space.

My bags arrived along with the tray of refreshments, none of which I ate just in case they were made with wheat or had traces of it. I leisurely changed into my black wrap dress and applied fresh makeup. I noted that none of Byron’s things were scattered about. His suitcase was zipped and placed in a corner of the bedroom, as though he’d just arrived this afternoon as well.

Huh. I made a mental note to ask him about it.

Taking my time browsing the shops in the lobby, I met Amelia and Elijah at 7:00 p.m. in front of the hotel. We walked over to a restaurant Byron’s agent had recommended called Le Chat. We were seated at a round table with four chairs in the center of the restaurant, menus handed over, and water glasses filled. When the maître d’ left, Elijah and I nearly swallowed our tongues as we read the prices.

“I hear there’s a good pizza stand in Times Square,” Elijah whispered, shifting in his seat.

“Don’t make things weird.” Amelia chided her boyfriend. “Byron offered to take us out. Order whatever you want.”

“That’s easy for you two to say,” he grumbled. “You’re his best friend and Winnie is his girlfriend. I’ve only met the bloke three times before now, and I’m not used to being wined and dined by strange men.”

His last comment made me laugh. But I didn’t get a chance to correct his assumption about Byron and I dating. The man himself strolled into the restaurant, and this time I think I did swallow my tongue. Or I came dangerously close to choking on it.

Byron wore a delectable dark gray suit. Or rather, the dark gray suit wore a delectable him. Our gazes locked across the restaurant—his made even more vivid by the aquamarine color of his dress shirt—and I sucked in a slow, shaky breath.

“Huh,” Amelia muttered, sounding thoughtful as he approached. “I haven’t seen that one before. I wonder where he got it.”

“Am I late?” Removing his eyes from mine just briefly, Byron nodded to Elijah, bent to give Amelia a quick kiss on the cheek, and then captured my hand, lifting the back of it to his lips for a kiss. “Have you been waiting long?” he asked me.

“Not long,” I responded hoarsely, gazing up at him, and . . .

I’m sorry. What was I saying?

He squeezed my fingers, turning my palm to give the inside of my wrist a soft, slow kiss before releasing me fully. Byron claimed the seat next to mine, scooting our chairs close. “Have you ordered? White or red?”

“We haven’t ordered,” Amelia piped up, then I felt her eyes on me as she added, “Why don’t you and I pick the wine, Byron? Elijah and Winnie would appreciate the reprieve. They both seem a little overwhelmed.”

I stared unseeingly at my menu, suffering from a hot flash and memory issues as Amelia and Byron discussed the wine options. Was I actually surprised by my body’s reaction to the sight of him in a suit? No. No, I was not.

I hadn’t seen him in person for almost a month. Him, in person, in a suit after such a long 3-D Byron drought—and after all those pictures of him in very little clothes—obviously spelled disaster for my biology.

“Everything is gluten-free,” Byron whispered, pulling me from my daze.

I glanced up and discovered he’d leaned in close. “Pardon?” I asked, succumbing to a heady hit of dopamine.

Just go with it, Winnie. Enjoy it. Enjoy him.

“Everything is gluten-free.” His arm lifted and settled along the back of my chair, his hand splaying between my shoulder blades. “You don’t need to worry. All the cocktails and drinks are also gluten-free.”

“Oh. Thank you.” I sent him a small, grateful smile.

He smiled in return, his eyes moving between mine. “You look very beautiful.”

At his compliment, my gaze dropped, my cheeks flamed, my stomach twisted, and my smiled widened. Apparently, my body had a lot of feelings about his statement. “Uh, thank you. You look very beautiful too.”

His hand slid up to my neck. “After dinner, is it okay if you and I head out? Or did you make plans with Amelia?”

“No, no. No plans. We can head out.”

“Good.”

His fingers threaded into my hair and administered a little tug to the strands, which forced me to turn my face more completely toward him and give him back my eyes. Don’t ask me why, but the small action caused an ache in my abdomen, and I pressed my knees together, losing myself in his magnificent gaze.

I felt weak. And needy. And not at all hungry for food.

A sharp bang snapped us out of our staring contest. Byron’s fingers fell away from my neck when I turned my head toward Amelia—the sound had been her smacking the table.

“Hey. Save it for later and help me decide on an appetizer.” Amelia turned her menu toward me. “The bacon wrapped dates look really good, but so does the shrimp and crab.”

“Uh, shrimp and crab,” I said on autopilot, flustered and abruptly thirsty.

Byron’s hand dropped from the back of my chair and, just as I was reaching for my water, settled boldly on my upper thigh. I stilled, releasing another shaky breath and needing a moment to regather my composure before taking a drink.

“Do you like bacon?” Byron asked Elijah.

Elijah tilted his head back and forth, as though considering the matter. “For breakfast. Or lunch. Dinner also.”

Byron smirked at Amelia’s boyfriend. It was a friendly smirk, but it wasn’t a smile. “Then let’s get both.”

The discussion turned to main dishes and what everyone wanted to order. Byron pointed out to me that they had black cod, but then grew silent as Amelia and I reminisced about a fishing trip we took ages ago where I caught a small shark and freaked out. She’d had to unhook it and throw it back in.

As the evening progressed, I noticed that Elijah, Amelia, and I carried most of the conversation while Byron seemed more than content to simply listen. When he was asked a direct question—usually by Elijah—he gave short answers and redirected the dialogue with a question in return. It was, I realized, the first time I’d ever seen him interact with anyone in a friendly way other than me, Amelia, or Jeff.

But the longer the dinner wore on, the shorter his answers became. By the time our plates were cleared, he seemed mildly agitated. Nothing overt or rude, more like I got the sense that the sounds of the restaurant were distracting to him. He cringed whenever any table around us made more than a moderate amount of noise. He leaned closer and angled his body toward me. His hand on my leg flexed and relaxed at intervals and he began fiddling with his utensils with the other hand, arranging them in perfect parallel lines. At one point he failed to respond—or seemingly notice—when Elijah asked him a question, remaining silent with his attention on his fork.

I caught Amelia’s eye and inclined my head toward the front of the restaurant, hoping she would read my mind and understand my intention to leave with Byron as soon as possible.

She nodded once, and I looked around for our server, planning to ask for the check.

But Amelia, being a genius, said, “Hey, so, I need your credit card again, Byron. Winnie needs a few more things for the awards ceremony outfit and I was hoping to pick them up tomorrow.” Then to me, she said, “Why don’t you two get out of here? I’ll pay the check with his card. I know how tired you are after our full day of travel.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I yawned—actually yawning, I was tired—and covered my mouth with the back of my hand. I turned to Byron. “Do you mind? We got up really early.”

He wore one of his barely there smiles, but his eyes, fastened to the tabletop, held no amusement. I thought he might argue or insist we all stay for dessert. He looked like he wanted to argue, but ultimately, he didn’t.

Withdrawing his wallet, he wordlessly stood and handed the whole thing over to Amelia. He then helped me with my chair while Amelia withdrew his credit card. Reaching for my hand as soon as I was upright and he’d reclaimed his wallet, Byron threaded our fingers together.

“See you two later.” I waved to Amelia and Elijah, then allowed Byron to steer us around the bustling tables and through the front door.

We turned left toward the hotel, and I couldn’t help but notice how Byron winced when a car’s horn sounded in the distance.

My heart pinging with the urgent need to do something useful, I released his hand to wrap my arm around his waist. “Is this okay?” I asked. I didn’t know if more closeness would help or hurt.

Byron peered down at me, his features remote. It felt as though his gaze didn’t belong to him, or like he studied me from a great distance. But his arm did come around my shoulders, and he allowed me to cuddle close to his side as we walked.

Despite all the noise on the street, Byron’s body seemed almost relaxed by the time we arrived at the hotel. And when the doors of the private elevator slid shut behind us, he turned and slowly backed me against the cushioned wall, his eyes mostly vivid and clear.

“Hey,” he whispered, his hand coming to my cheek.

“Hey,” I whispered back, leaning into his touch. My heart didn’t go haywire this time, but a lovely warmth bloomed in my chest.

“I know what you and Amelia were doing back there.” He didn’t sound mad, but the words did sound like an accusation.

“Oh yeah? What were we doing?”

Byron’s attention moved to the hair at my temple, and he pushed his fingers into the loose strands. “Trying to rescue me from noise and people.”

I shrugged, not quite sure what to say. Byron had needed rescuing, and wasn’t that my job while I was here? To rescue him? Tomorrow I’d be rescuing him from having to interact with interviewers more than was absolutely necessary.

I opened my mouth to say as much, but he pressed the pad of his index finger tenderly against my lips, his eyes on the spot. “I’m working on being better. I will be better. But thank you,” he said simply, his finger falling away. “Thank you for doing that.”

“My pleasure.”

He smiled, but it looked wry, cautious. “You don’t mind?”

“Mind what?”

“That I’m someone who currently needs rescuing?”

I grinned. “Honestly? No.”

“No?” He seemed surprised by my answer.

“No,” I repeated, lifting to my tiptoes and brushing a light kiss against the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think you should change who you are for anyone. You’re perfect.”

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t him withdrawing, the unhappy expression he currently wore, or the scowl marring his features.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Byron gave his head a little shake, stepping away from me and retreating to the other side of the elevator. “No one is perfect, Fred,” he said gruffly, his attention lifting to the LED screen displaying our progress between floors. “Everyone has room for improvement.”