Chapter 2 Two

CLARA'S POV

Even drunk, the mention of his mother makes his face scrunch. "Jus' had to ruin the moment." He pushes to his feet, then almost loses his balance.

I catch him before he falls and breaks his face. It would serve him right, but it's my job to keep him safe, among other things. He's extremely heavy. And extra warm from the hot water.

"You know you're not supposed to drink and get in a hot tub, right?" I mutter under my breath as I labor to keep him upright.

"Stop nagging."

I resolutely keep my eyes on his face, but I can feel every hard line and plane of his body flush against mine even through my clothes, which are currently getting wet and plastering themselves to my skin. My mouth dries.

I've been working for him for four years, but I've never had him against me like this before. And no matter how annoyed I am with him, I would have to be dead to not feel anything when the Sexiest Man Alive multiple time winner is hanging onto me even if he is currently drunk.

The women from the tub reach out and try to pull him back. I glare at them, but they are either too drunk or too intent on him to pay any attention. Maintaining balance suddenly becomes a lot more difficult.

"Hey!" I yell.

Then two of them actually pull me into the tub, apparently deciding that may be the easiest way to free Jace. I crash head first into the water. The roaring of the jets is deafening. I try to get up, but a hand pushes my head down. I claw at the person, but it's no use.

Suddenly the hand vanishes, and I sit up, gulping in air. I rub my face to get the water out of my eyes. Jace is perched on the side of the tub, giving the women a dark smoldering glare. "No rough play, I said," he mutters, his words slurred.

He wags a finger at them like naughty children, then bursts out laughing, almost losing his balance again from some hilarity only he can appreciate. For god's sake. If he slips this time, he's on his own.

One of my pumps is floating in the sudsy water. I grab it and get out before the psychos in the tub think of any other crazy thing. My shoes are ruined, but I'll worry about that later. First things first.

I forcibly drag Jace away while the women hurl insults, most of them having to do with me being greedy and fat. I let their invective roll over me. Not like it's the first time, and I just don't have the time to deal with them in addition to Jace right now.

My goal is to take him home without the pap getting a shot for the scandal rags. I consider leaving him on the bed, but there are women there too. Security apparently hasn't gotten rid of all of them yet; I can still hear angry screeches in the living room. Only one armchair is empty, so I deposit him in it. "Don't move!"

He waves me away. Probably too drunk to move. His complexion's slightly pale and sallow with a tinge of green. Alcohol's dulled his eyes, and his wet hair is sticking out at odd angles.

Anyone else, and the sight would be pathetic. But Jace somehow still manages to look hot. I swear his mother sacrificed an entire African country of goats when he was born. I, of course, look like some kind of waterlogged rodent. Ugh. The carpet's soaked beneath my feet. I gaze up at the ceiling for patience.

I march back into the bathroom, ignore the group of inebriated tub strumpets, grab a couple of fluffy white towels, march back out and toss one his way. "Dry off and get dressed. You're going home." I run a towel all over myself, but it's no use. I need a new set of clothes, but I'm not going to get it right now.

"I have a late checkout. Two p.m.," Jace says.

"You are not staying here until two p.m."

"I haven't even banged them yet." He gestures in the general direction of the women on the bed. One of them spreads her legs. Outside is cursing and grunting, and women whining about party poopers.

I cross my arms. "Shouldn't have wasted your time drinking then, should you?" The hotel informed me he checked in at eleven. He was probably drunk at that time, too.

"I don't wanna dry." He smiles at me goofily. "You do it."

My mouth tight, I shove him into a robe without bothering to dry him. He doesn't resist. Once he's decently covered, I retrieve his clothes and dump them into a white plastic laundry bag with the hotel logo. Then I toss a towel over his head to obscure his face and take him to the service elevator.

He stands mutely on the way down, looking like some kind of punchy boxer after losing a fight. Some of the hotel staff are waiting for us on the ground level. Before we leave, I instruct them to send Jace's things to the office, settle his account on the AmEx and forward me the invoice within thirty days.

I assure them photos won't be necessary; I've seen the damage myself. If the staff notices my wet rat look, they don't let it show. Once that's done, I start leading Jace to the Mercedes waiting outside.

"Wait, my car," Jace says. He loves his Ferrari.

"I'll have it brought to the house tomorrow. You know you can't drive."

"Not that drunk."

"Jace, if you can hop on one foot from here to the back exit without stumbling, sure. But you know you can't."

"Watch."

He goes on one foot. Then promptly stumbles and puts the other foot down before he can even jump. The driver's waiting for us. I push Jace inside. It's not easy to maneuver him drunk, but I manage. I've had lots of practice.