One Weekend with the Billionaire novel Chapter 8

I am not very hungry, even though the steak and potatoes Cindy has kindly brought to me taste wonderful. I make myself take a few bites as she sits on the sofa near me, making casual conversation. She has asked me about when I met Jeff and where we moved here from, and I have answered her between bites. Now, after four or five pieces of steak, I am nearing my limit. I’m nervous, and it’s difficult to eat something so heavy on a jittery stomach.

“Mr. Merriweather was very kind to provide dinner for me,” I say, thinking it might be time to set my fork aside. I look her in the eyes to see if she understands what I am getting at.

“He is very thoughtful,” she agrees. “Don’t feel obligated to eat all of it, though. If you’re finished, I’ll have it taken away.”

“Do you mind?” It seems so strange to me to have someone waiting on me. I’m not used to it at all. I can’t remember the last time anyone did anything for me.

“Not at all,” she says with a smile. Cindy stands and goes to the door she’d left earlier, not the one to the party but the other one. A moment later, a gentleman in the same outfit the other servers are wearing comes and takes away my plate. There’s still a lot of food on it, and I feel bad for wasting it, but being in Braxton Merriweather’s presence earlier has done this to me. The fact that I am still in his suite, that his bed is just on the other side of the room, has my pulse racing, though I know this is not his actual apartment, and I doubt he’s ever used that bed for anything.

But then, I can’t help but wonder if maybe he doesn’t sometimes bring a woman in here from a party. He has a bit of a reputation as a playboy and has been seen with all sorts of models, actresses, and famous singers. I look at the bed, and for a moment, I can imagine Braxton Merriweather naked on top of some woman, both of them grinding against one another, panting, groaning. My face goes red, and I have to look away.

If Cindy has noticed, she says nothing. “Would you care to rejoin the party?” she asks.

Remembering Jeff’s warning, that I needed to stay outside on the balcony, panic wells up inside of me again. What if he sees that I haven’t done what he asked. I check my phone and see that he is not looking for me. At least, he hasn’t sent a text or called. “Oh, uh….” I’m not sure what to say to Cindy.

“It’s fine, I assure you,” she says. “You can walk around with me. I can introduce you to some people. Mr. Merriweather has gone to let your husband know that he has invited you inside for dinner.”