This is the second time they’ve dragged me to one of these fancy resorts, and I can safely say I officially can’t stand them. I’m too big for places like these. Don’t even get me started on the food. The plates are two bites each. Not least, I can’t take a step without worrying I’ll knock something or someone over.

A few months back, we flew to Paris to meet with potential investors for the Milestone. Vincent and I stayed at the Four Seasons where I made the mistake of sitting on a silver couch in the lobby. How was I supposed to know it was an antique and not actually for sitting? The concierge ran over to me, red-faced, cursing my American ass out.

The trip over here this morning could have been awkward, considering last night’s clusterfuck, but I did my best to stay out of Lauren’s way while she zoned out on her e-reader. Last night, at The Blue, I’d wanted her to come on this trip. For Lauren, nothing could be better than a trip of rest and relaxation on the lake. Obviously, I’m regretting it now. After the car last night, I’m twisted. I want her badly, but it can’t work. She’d expect answers, as she should. But I’m not in my right mind to give her those things. I can’t give more than what’s available.

Vincent and I step up to reception.

A boy, suited up and dressed as a man, waits with a smile. He swallows hard, trying not to show anxiety. “Hello, and welcome to the Anam.”

“We need another room,” Vincent says brusquely. “It’s under Borignone. We’ve got two right now, but we must have a third.”

Vincent pulls out his phone, checking e-mails, while I stand a step behind him and survey the area. I’m not technically his personal security now that the mess with his past life is behind us, but old habits have a way of sticking.

The concierge types on the computer before blanching, eyes flitting from the flat computer screen to Vincent. “I’m sorry, Mr. Borignone, sir. But we’re completely booked. There aren’t any e-extra rooms,” he stutters.

Vincent was sure there would be space for Lauren, but as luck would have it, there isn’t. I cross my arms, hoping that a little intimidation will magically open a room.

“You have two reserved,” he continues. “One master suite with a king bed and another suite with two queen beds.”

“Two beds?” Vincent repeats before lifting two fingers up to me.

I vehemently shake my head, mouthing, No.

Vincent turns away from the concierge, whisper-yelling with teeth gritted, “Don’t be an asshole, Slade. What do you want us to do, send her back to Nevada?”

Both of us look at Lauren, who’s relaxing on one of the white chairs in the lobby, holding her e-reader. Her brows are furrowed, as though in concentration. I try not to stare at her long legs, casually crossed. Is she in another lace bra and panties? I swallow hard before finding Vincent staring at me with a smile.