Solomon Crawford turned his back to the buxom blond model lying beside him. She was on the cover of Maxim this month and he thought it would’ve taken him longer to get her in bed. In reality, it had only taken him two hours and a bottle of expensive champagne to get ‘what’s her name’ to drop her panties and give him what every man in America wanted. But for all her beauty and silicone, she was a complete bore in bed. The woman lay there just like a sack of flour and Solomon had never been more disappointed. He probably would’ve had more fun watching paint dry or grass grow. The red numbers on the alarm clock next to the bed read four-thirty.
Hell, the room is paid for, he thought as he rose from the bed. Solomon didn’t even try to be gentle or quiet as he reached for his discarded Armani slacks and Italian leather loafers.
“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice deepened by sleep.
“Home,” he said.
“But, I thought we could. . .”
“Listen, we’re done. And honestly, there’s nothing you can say or do to make me want spend another minute with you,” Solomon said as he buttoned his shirt. “The room is paid for, but check out is at noon.”
“You’re going to leave me here alone?” she asked incredulously. “How can you do this to me? Do you know who I am?”
Solomon shrugged as he picked his jacket up from the armchair near the door. “Just another piece and not a very good one,” he said then walked out the door. Solomon heard a crash as he headed down the hall to the elevator. Maybe if she’d shown that kind of passion in bed he would’ve stayed until at least five. Solomon chuckled as he climbed onto the elevator and rode to the W Hotel’s parking garage. She, like so many before him, would get over it and have a great story to tell her friends about her night in Solomon land.
Solomon Crawford was the kind of man that women couldn’t help but get naked for. He had money, power and model good looks. To the many women he’d bedded, he was an untamable stallion who they had to ride at least once. And one ride was all they’d ever gotten. Solomon didn’t believe in fidelity, love or all that other bullshit that sold greeting cards and roses. He wanted sex and it was given to him freely. The only thing he’d ever worked for was building his family’s hotel empire. The Crawford chains of hotels and resorts stretched across the U.S. and Canada.
Three years ago, Solomon was handed the reins to the business with Cynthia and Elliot Crawford retired from the hospitality business. His older brother, Richmond, was super pissed when he was passed over to run the business. Richmond was forty years old and thought he knew more about running a hotel business than “the little playboy.”
But at age thirty-five, Solomon had been more than ready to take charge. Solomon knew the only way to shut Richmond up was to take the business to the next level and that he did with the help of his bright business partner Carmen De La Croix. Carmen talked him into investing in resorts and making the Crawford name synonymous with deluxe vacation resorts. Of course, Richmond thought this was a bad idea until they turned a million dollar profit in the first quarter. And the money kept rolling in. Solomon knew he’d be lost without Carmen. She was the only woman who he could talk to and trust. She didn’t want anything from him and he liked that. Why couldn’t the women he slept with be more like that? Solomon Crawford wasn’t going to give anyone a diamond and a happily ever after, that wasn’t the Crawford way.