Free Slave to Love by Julie A. Richman Page A

reverberating off the bathroom tiles. I’m confused. It’s then that I notice there is a wall phone mounted next to the toilet.
    It’s nearly 1 A.M. Who the heck is calling?
    “Hello.”
    “Atta girl.” It’s Kemp.
    I laugh. “Atta girl? Atta girl what?”
    “Atta girl,” he repeats and I remember he’s half tanked. “You did good tonight. You really impressed the boss.”
    “Well, I don’t know about that.” I wonder if Kemp has spoken to him.
    “Trust me, he’s very impressed with you.”
    “Okay, well, that’s good I guess.” I really have no idea what to say about it and it’s probably best if I keep my opinions to myself this evening. “I’m glad it ended up well and happy to see that Hale committed to additional business.”
    “Yeah, that was sweet. Susan and her team are obviously keeping him very happy.”
    “So it seems.” I want to puke. Susan and her team? Seriously? Umm, Kemp, maybe me working with him on his special project has something to do with it. Geesh.
    “Alright, well get some sleep,” he mumbles and I picture that he has just rolled over in bed and will be passed out cold in a nanosecond.
    Shaking my head, I look at the phone in my hand after he hangs up. He was checking up on me. Fucker. What he really wanted to know was if I were still in my room or had I gone to Bungalow 4. I know he was happy to find me in my room, but damn, he should have known I would never compromise my integrity and my career – and certainly not so openly. If I were going to do something stupid, I’d be smarter about it.
    I finish up in the bathroom and consider searching the room for the room service menu to check out what they serve all-night, but decide it’s probably best just to turn the air conditioning down really cold and get horizontal under the big, fluffy comforter.
    Pulling back the blanket, I eye the bed adoringly. I need to curl up and catch a few hours sleep before tomorrow’s gala event. Getting into the bed, I smush my body around on the crisp, cool sheets. My stomach growls at me and I tell it to shut up as I turn on my side and find the perfect position.
    Knock. Knock. Knock.
    “Hold on a second,” I call out, startled. Jumping out of bed, a look through the peephole reveals Hale.
    I’m in a white tank top and undies.
    “One sec, okay?”
    Shit. Flicking on the desk light, I head to my suitcase in search of my favorite travel sweats, a pair of loose gray sweatpants that have been a part of many hotel nights.
    With a deep breath, I open the door, fully aware that I have no make-up on and I’m wearing a white ribbed tank with no bra (so he’s not going to even notice the no make-up part).
    “Hi,” I greet him with a smile.
    “Hi.” Returning my smile, his eyes travel from my face to my breasts, where he gets an immediate hello from my damn too friendly nipples, who are showing off for him. Look at me. No, look at me. Realizing what he’s doing, he looks back up, his face a portrait in guilt. Holding out a bag, “Nobody fed you tonight, so I brought you an Original Tommy Burger. It’s meat you don’t have to stab. You can just use your hands.” His smile is so damn sexy and I know my nipples are now straining to be released from their tank top prison. Let us go, bitch.
    Accosted by the luscious smell of greasy beef, I snatch the leaking bag from Hale’s hand. I didn’t realize quite how hungry I was until that very moment.
    “I didn’t know what you put on it, so there’s ketchup, mustard and mayo in the bag.”
    My hand is already covered in grease as I begin to dig into the sack, “Ketchup and pickles,” I mutter and then look up at him, “Would you like to come in?” I’ve got the burger in my hand now and I’m poised to go all cavewoman on it.
    Laughing, “Thanks, but I think I’ll let you enjoy your meat in peace. Night.” He smiles and with a wave he is off down the hall.
    Scarfing the burger down as the door closes behind me, I’m wondering if my