“Sorry, princess. This ain’t the Ritz.”
It takes every ounce of my self-control not to pick up the offending bottle and chuck it at the back of his head.
Instead, I go back to looking around the tiny room, scanning for any opportunity for exploitation. If I can just get a message to my father…
My eyes drift once more to the bedside table opposite me. I can’t quite see it without tearing my arm off, but I’m fairly certain there’s a phone there.
Maybe this is a hotel…which means there’s probably a reception desk, right?
Not for the first time, I imagine what Red would do about all this. The version of my friend that lingers in my mind would probably have been tied up right next to me. She would have laughed and thrown the bottle at the guy herself.
Red was my first friend in New York City after four years at Princeton pretending I wasn’t the heiress to a Mexican drug ring. She was the first person to know me as Carmen—not just the bioengineering nerd or the Cartel’s princess, but both and neither.
Red had grounded me in ways I don’t think she ever really understood. She was a mercenary, loyal to me and my money, but it was more than that. She cared about me beyond academic success or what I could do for my father’s empire.
I thought she’d cared.
She didn’t, in the end.
I tuck the anger neatly away. I’ve had more than enough time to adjust to her betrayal, but it still burns every time I think of her.
Whatwouldshe do if she were here?
“I’m on my period,” I blurt out before I can convince myself not to.
This finally gets his attention. His wide eyes are almost comical. “What?”
“Let me call reception. They can bring up some water and supplies.”
“You’re not touching that phone.”
I shrug, unaffected. “Fine, you can go to the nearest bodega for me. I need triple-max tampons and?—”
“Enough!” he snaps, a delightful shade of red coloring his cheeks. Men are so sensitive, honestly.
I quirk an eyebrow at him. “What, you’re going to let me just bleed out on the bed?”
The red of his cheeks quickly turns to a nauseating shade of green. “I…no. Fine. Make the call.”
He stands and walks over to the bedside table, pointedly looking at my face and absolutely nowhere else. He sighs as he hands me the receiver, attached to a spiraling chord, before punching in the number.
After a moment or two, a bored voice picks up. “Yeah?”
“Hi, I was wondering if you might be able to bring some sanitary products to room…” I trail off and look at the man expectantly.
He holds up his fingers.
“Seven,” I continue.
The receptionist sighs as if I’m inconveniencing her. “Yep. Anything else?”
“Yes,” I hold the man’s gaze. He’s just started to frown. “Please! Please help me, I’ve been kidnapped. My name is Carmen–”
The phone is immediately wrenched from my hand, and I start screaming. Loud. Dramatically. Enough for anyone to hear through the thin hotel walls. Enough for the receptionist to have caught it before he smashed the receiver back down.
I smirk triumphantly in the face of his anger. “Oops?”
“You’re going to regret that.”
