Page 58 of Don't Tell

I have.

I keep my face down. I sort the delivery slips by floor, pretending I’m busy, sliding each one into its pile like a small excuse to go unnoticed.

Lila reaches the desk.

She does not see me at first. She smiles at Carmen, who has just hung up the phone.

"Hi. Could someone point me toward Mr. Nightingale's room? He's expecting me."

Carmen opens her mouth. The irritation is right there in her eyes. Knowing her, she’s about to say something to Lila that’llhave her crying for weeks. But then Lila's gaze sweeps across the desk — and stops on me.

Her face changes by maybe a quarter inch. She does not acknowledge that we have met.

She tilts her head. Her mouth smiles. Her eyes don't.

"Oh. Housekeeping is so helpful. Aren't you a dear?" She tilts her head the other way. "Could you point me toward Mr. Nightingale's room?"

I look at her.

Carmen looks at me.

I'm not dealing with her and what's inside me right now. I'll face it later, alone, in the dark, with my brush and a blank canvas.

But I respond for courtesy's sake.

"Penthouse floor, ma'am. Twenty-second. The private elevator is at the end of the lobby on the right. You'll need a key card, but if you call up, he can send the elevator down for you."

"What suite?"

"The penthouse, ma'am. There's only one."

"Of course." She smiles wider. "Thank you."

She turns and walks toward the elevator, heels ticking on the marble.

Carmen doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say anything, but she knows.

I go back to my cart and rush down the corridor just to keep moving. The jealousy is sitting in my chest like a coin I have swallowed wrong.

She's up there now in his suite.

He didn't tell me she was coming, but maybe she came on her own.

Twenty minutes later, I'm in the staff lounge with Carmen and two other housekeepers I know by name and not much else. Carmen is telling a story about a guest who tried to bribe herto leave the minibar unstocked. I'm eating a granola bar I don't taste.

My pager buzzes.

Roger.

Service desk. Now.

Carmen looks at me.

I shrug and go.

He's at the desk, holding an order ticket in one hand and a pleased expression on his face.

"Penthouse ordered lunch. Take it up."