Bruce woke with a slight frown, then let out a helpless little laugh as he looked down at the beautiful woman asleep on his chest.
Now he finally understood what the old Romani woman had meant by luck.
Objectively speaking, spending the night with a stunning woman like this did count as luck. He also understood why the Romani men had looked so envious when he drank that last cup. Whatever had been in it had pushed him far past his normal limit last night, and when he woke up this morning, he felt none of the usual drain. If anything, he felt unusually sharp.
The downside was obvious too.
That drink had left him with a romantic mess he had never planned for.
"Mmm..."
The soft sound instantly put Bruce on edge. If she woke up and started screaming, he was going to lose every bit of dignity he had left.
Her long lashes trembled once, then slowly lifted.
After a brief moment of adjustment, the sleep faded from her eyes, and she noticed the unfamiliar room around her.
Her head snapped up from Bruce's chest.
Their eyes locked.
Bruce was tense.
Her expression was far more complicated.
Shock, shame, resentment, and a dim sadness all flickered across her face at once. But unless Bruce was imagining it, there was something else there too. A trace of release. A trace of resolve. Almost relief.
They held each other's gaze for several seconds before her expression finally settled.
She looked him over again with those bright, complicated eyes, then said, "Well, I didn't expect you to be this handsome. I guess that means I didn't get the worst end of the deal."
Bruce finally let out the breath he had been holding.
At least she was not about to throw a scene.
"About last night..."
He had just started to explain when she cut him off.
"I don't want to know anything about last night."
With that, she pushed herself up and wrapped the sheet around her body. The problem was that when she moved, Bruce ended up exposed instead.
"Sorry."
Noticing where her eyes had gone, Bruce awkwardly covered himself and sat up fast. For once, the restrained modesty in him was impossible to miss.
"It's fine."
She shook her head, gathered the sheet around herself, got out of bed, and walked into the master bathroom.
Unlike Chinese habits, where people often preferred showering at night, plenty of Westerners liked showering in the morning. And after what they had put the bed through, that was probably the right call.
Bruce sat there for a second, then muttered to himself, "Nice job, Bruce. That was painfully unromantic."
He was already regretting how juvenile that whole moment had looked.
After taking a breath and resetting himself, he got out of bed, pulled clothes from his suitcase, got dressed, and called downstairs to order breakfast.
The sound of running water from the bathroom naturally led his imagination in a few directions, but he did not act on any of them. He only glanced that way once, then went back into the living room, opened his laptop, and worked through a few business emails.
A knock came at the door not long after.
"Sir, your breakfast."
"Bring it in."
The server nodded and wheeled the cart inside, arranging breakfast on the dining table.
Bruce tipped him and sent him on his way.
A moment later, the bathroom door opened.
The woman stepped out wrapped in a towel.
"Where are my clothes?"
"I had the hotel send them out to be cleaned last night. They should be brought up in a bit." He paused. "You done in there? I ordered breakfast."
She glanced at the table. "I'm going to dry my hair first. Also, lend me one of your shirts."
Bruce nodded, went to his suitcase, and handed her a white shirt.
Maybe it was because they had already spent the night together, but she did not seem the least bit self-conscious about changing in front of him. Bruce watched as she slipped out of the towel and pulled on his shirt.
He was obviously much taller than she was, so the shirt hung loose on her. Once it was on, the hem covered most of her hips. If anything, that only made her long, pale legs stand out more.
Bruce found his eyes drifting back more than once.
After rolling the sleeves up to a more manageable length, she sat down at the table.
"By the way, what's your name?"
"Bruce. And you?"
"Nicole."
There were countless women named Nicole in the English-speaking world. Bruce nodded and did not ask further. He knew almost nothing about her, and what had happened last night had clearly been more about impulse and circumstance than emotion.
They had barely gotten through part of breakfast when a ringtone Bruce did not recognize suddenly rang out in the living room.
"That's mine."
Nicole set down the bread in her hand, pulled a napkin over, wiped her fingers, got up, and took a silver Nokia phone out of the Hermès bag she had left on the sofa.
After checking the caller ID, she took the phone out onto the balcony.
At almost the same moment, Bruce's own phone rang.
"Good morning, Mr. Guo."
"Morning, Wendy. What's up?"
"It's about the meeting you asked me to arrange with Danny Lewis, the head of Merrill Lynch's Los Angeles office. They got back to us."
Bruce straightened immediately. "What did they say?"
"They agreed to meet. The time is set for ten tomorrow morning. They also said that if you need a different time, you can coordinate with them in advance."
"No need. Ten tomorrow works."
"Understood. I'll send the confirmation email right away."
"Good."
Bruce had just answered when Nicole suddenly lost control on the balcony.
"You're the one who betrayed what we had. You."
Wendy paused. "Mr. Guo, was that...?"
"I'm out having breakfast," Bruce said smoothly. "People at the next table just started arguing. That's all. Let's leave it there for now. If anything comes up, call me right away."
He hung up before Wendy could dig any deeper.
On the balcony, Nicole's voice was shaking now.
"You're a liar. I don't want to talk to you anymore. Fine, I can agree not to make the divorce public for now, but I never want to see you again. Ever."
When she ended the call, she crouched down on the balcony and broke into tears.
Bruce hesitated for a moment, then walked over, lightly touched her shoulder, and handed her a tissue.
"Thanks."
Nicole took it and wiped her eyes.
"If you need to talk," Bruce said, "I can be a very good listener."
She gave him a self-mocking look. "Thanks, but it's just the same old story. A marriage that made it to the seven-year itch and then fell apart. Nothing original about it. I'm starting to accept that."
"You drank that much last night because of this?"
Nicole nodded, her expression dim again.
Bruce looked at the grief in her eyes and hesitated.
After thinking it through, he made up his mind.
He reached out, took her hand, and led her back into the living room.
"Sit for a minute."
Then, under Nicole's puzzled gaze, he picked up the room phone.
"Hello. This is room 813. I need you to buy a women's size medium tracksuit, a pair of women's Adidas sneakers in size 40, and a black lace Chanel lingerie set. Measurements are 90-58-87. Bring everything to my room as soon as you have it."
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, and were the clothes from last night finished?"
"Yes, sir. They've already been cleaned. We'll send them right up."
"Thank you. Goodbye."
After he hung up, Nicole was still staring at him. Bruce assumed she was reacting to the fact that he knew her measurements, so he smiled.
"I'm good with numbers."
"It's fine," Nicole said, shaking her head. "But why are you buying me a tracksuit?"
"You'll see."
Nicole frowned slightly at his mysterious tone, but she did not press him. If her original clothes had not been sent up yet, she was not leaving anytime soon anyway.
"Can I use your laptop?"
"Of course."
After Bruce agreed, Nicole picked up his laptop and settled in with it.
As she started working, Bruce took the opportunity to clear the breakfast table.
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