“Okay,” he says, arching his brows and giving me a look that makes me sure he thinks I’m crazy. “Yes, I heard you announce yourself, but I need to talk to you so I didn’t want you to leave.”
Oh God. He knows I stole his shirt.
I give him an expectant look, trying to decide if I should own up to it or deny it.
Deny, deny, deny. I can’t afford to lose this job.
“You guys fucked up the stuff I requested,” he says, walking over to the suite’s kitchen area.
I follow him, not noticing the outline of his very nice ass against the towel. Not noticing it at all.
“I don’t want liters of Evian,” he says, gesturing at the bottles of water on the counter. “I want normal sized bottles. Sixteen ounces or whatever. And this”—he holds up a bottle of amber alcohol—“is not gonna work. I’m not a frat boy. I asked for Evan Williams 23 and I want Evan Williams 23. I drink a shot of 23 after every win. This is really important.” Not missing a beat, he moves on to the next thing. “I also need Irish Spring soap.”
“Irish Spring?”
He gives me an annoyed glare. “I’ve used that soap since high school. I hate that flowery shit you guys have in your bathrooms.”
“And you want us to get these items for you?”
“Right. I’ll pay for everything, plus your time. I’ve got a rigorous schedule and I don’t have time to run around shopping. My housekeeper usually takes care of this stuff.”
Wow. I can see why this guy hooks up with random strippers. What woman would want to put up with him long term?
“Okay. Hang on.” I go into the bedroom and pick up the pad of paper there. The top page has Brandi’s number, so I rip that page off and take it back to the kitchen area with me. “I need to write this stuff down. Here’s…something for you.”
I pass Jake Brandi’s number and he sighs with disgust, crumples the paper into a ball and tosses it into a trash can.
I shouldn’t say anything. I should ignore what the prima donna just did and write down the list of items he “needs.” But damn it, no.
“She’s hoping you’ll call,” I say, meeting his eyes.
Jake just gives me a confused look. “What are you talking about?”
“Brandi.” I gesture at the trash can. “The woman whose number you just threw away. She thinks you’re interested in her, which I can understand since you fucked her.”
There’s a mix of surprise and confusion on his face. “Are you a friend of hers?”
“No, but I might as well be. We have to stick together against the arrogant, thoughtless male sex.”
“Ah, so you’re a man hater?” He leans a hip against the kitchen counter, the corners of his mouth tugging up in an amused smirk.
“Not at all. I’m an asshole hater. They just happen to be one and the same all too often.”
The smirk disappears. “Are you calling me an asshole?”
I shrug, feeling myself slide closer and closer to being fired today. I’ve survived on ramen noodles before, I can do it again. “You treated Brandi like crap and I sense you think the world revolves around you, so…yeah.”
Jake holds up a hand. “I didn’t treat her like crap. I seem to recall she had a pretty amazing night, and that’s all it was. Men don’t go to strip clubs looking for long-term relationships.”
“You could at least call her so she knows you aren’t planning to call.”
He runs a hand through his wet hair and a droplet of water falls from his thick, dark hair to the floor. “You want me to call her and say I’m not gonna call?”
“Yes.” I cross my arms over my chest. “So she’s not waiting to hear from you.”
His expression is pure exasperation. “Look, I can’t make up for the wrongs of all your past boyfriends…what’s your name?”
“How generous of you to ask,” I say sarcastically. “It’s Miranda.”
“Miranda.”
“That’s not what this is about.” I pick up a Dupont pen from the kitchen counter. “Okay, so you want…Irish Spring soap. Liquid body wash or bar?”
“Bar.”
“And sixteen ounce bottles of Evian, because God forbid you pour it into a glass,” I mutter. “What was the other thing?”
Jake’s smirk is back. “Evan Williams 23.”
“Anything else, Your Highness?”
“Do you talk to all the hotel guests this way?”
“I usually don’t talk to guests.”
“That’s a good call by the management.”
I stare at him impatiently. “I need to clean the room. How long will you be in here?”
“I just need to get dressed and head to practice,” he says, pushing his hip off the counter. “I’m not an anal bastard, okay? I’m a hockey player. We’re ritualistic. There are things I always do on game days and doing them helps me keep my cool.”
“Ah, professional athlete. That explains a lot.”
Jake arches his brows. “Meaning?”
“The attitude about women, lavish hotel suite, sense of entitlement…”
“Miranda, I know what you need.”
I’m going to need a new job by the end of this day, but I don’t think that’s what he means.
“What do I need, Jake?”
“You know my name.”
“Brandi told me.”
“Oh.” He smiles sheepishly. “What you need is to have a shot of Evan Williams 23 with me after my game tomorrow night.”
I roll my eyes. “No, thanks.”
“Because you think I’m a womanizer?”
“No, I know you’re a womanizer. I’m just not interested.”
“Are you seeing someone?”
“No, and I don’t have time to. I have two jobs and I’m in school.” I look around the suite. “Seriously, I have to get cleaning. When are you leaving?”
“Five minutes.”
I turn for the door. “I’ll take your list down to the concierge.”
“Hey, Miranda?”
I look over my shoulder and get my first glimpse of Jake’s back. Holy hell, that’s a lot of muscles.
“Did you see a white dress shirt when you were in here before?”