Free Step Wilde: A Stepbrother Romance by Vesper Vaughn Page B

woman pouted at me. "Well, you know where I work if you need to come get me again," she said slyly, winking and sticking her tits out at me.
    I felt my stomach turn over. It was going to take everything I had to walk out of this room. I managed to make it into the hallway and knocked on the door of the suite next to mine. Ten seconds later the door opened. Harrison was only half-dressed and looking panicked.
    "Mr. Wilder!" he announced formally, looking down at the watch that was always neatly perched on his wrist. "I... didn’t think you'd be ready to go for another hour."
    I smiled, internally relieved that somehow I'd managed wake up early for once in my life. Even though it was an accident, I wasn't going to let on. "I just want to make everyone else look bad for the first day of work."
    Harrison smiled, still looking shocked but attempting to hide it as graciously as he could. "If you give me a few minutes I can get breakfast sent to your room."
    "Actually, I thought we could eat downstairs together," I replied.
    Harrison now looked like he was concerned about body snatchers having come for me in the middle of the night. "At...the restaurant? Okay - I. Okay. Just give me a few minutes."
    I smiled at him. "See you downstairs, then." I turned around and pushed the button to the private elevator that only went to the suite and the room adjacent. The doors slid open and I stepped inside. It smelled like gardenias and expensive cologne. I tapped my pointed-toe dress shoes on the marble floor impatiently.
    When the doors slid open and revealed the lobby beyond, it was quietly abuzz with people and workers. Several of them greeted me and a few hotel guests did a double-take when they saw my face. They had the decency not to immediately dissolve into whispers and giggles. I was used to it, though.
    I hated when celebrities complained about people recognizing them. I always wanted to ask them why they bothered becoming famous in the first place. "Become an accountant if you don't want anyone following you through the grocery store," I'd smilingly said to Nancy O’Flannigan on an Access Entertainment primetime interview.
    I stepped up to the podium of the restaurant and smiled at the young hostess. She grinned back at me. "Table for one, Mister..." she suddenly panicked and I knew she was trying to remember the pseudonym I'd checked in under. A hotel like this always trained its staff to protect the identities of its more exclusive clients.
    I held up my hand. "You can call me Wilde. Don't worry."
    She breathed a sigh of relief. "Right this way," she replied.
    I suddenly realized I hadn't responded to her question of how many the table would be for. "Actually, it's for two. My friend is joining me."
    "Certainly." She spoke perfect English with only the lightest Italian accent. She led me to a table by the window that overlooked the streets of Milan. She pulled out a chair for me and her face fell again. "Oh, perhaps you don't want a window seat! You will want more privacy, yes?”
    I shook my head. "It's fine, really. What's the point of being in Italy if you can't even see it?"
    A few minutes later, I was sipping from a glass of the freshest-squeezed orange juice I'd ever tasted in my life. Harrison came hurrying over to our table, apologizing to me for the wait once he sat down.
    "Don't worry about it," I told him. I tapped my fingers on the tablecloth. I can't remember the last time I was the one doing the waiting. It was almost always me who was late and making everyone else even later for things. I knew people thought that I just liked the control (which I did) but even more than that I hated waiting. I hated the thought of being alone with my thoughts.
    "Do you want your phone, Mr. Wilder?" Harrison asked me, slicking back his neat brown hair with the palm of his hand. He clearly did not normally get ready this quickly. His tortoiseshell glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose but they were abnormally askew.
    "I'm