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It takes the others forever to join me so we can go and I’m completely agitated by the time the doors close and the hire car starts moving. We pull into the hotel thirty minutes later and my heart is pounding in my chest, I’m sweating all over, and my hands are shaking.
“Are we already checked in?” I ask Ross.
He gives me an odd look before answering. “Yes, let me just get your room key.”
“I can bloody well get my own key,” I bark at him. I fling open the do
or to the car and stride through the crowded lobby, not caring if anyone recognizes me. Irritated at the line of people at check-in, and way to stressed out to be polite, I cut right to the front and give my best smile to the young, blond haired woman behind the desk. Brigitte, her nametag says.
“Hello Brigitte, I’m in a bit of a hurry. Could I just get my key, please?” I drum my fingers on the counter impatiently.
She blinks several times, stunned by my presence. I’m used to the recognition by now, and before Ellie, I’d probably have invited her up to my room. She’s undoubtedly gorgeous, and definitely fits my type. Right now though, all I want from her is my key.
The man she was helping turns to say something rude but changes his mind when he sees who I am. Whether it’s the desperation in my demeanor or the fact that he recognizes me, I don’t know and I don’t care, but he thankfully keeps silent.
“Here you go, Mr. Reynolds.” She hands me a slip of paper with my room number on it as she speaks so none of the eavesdroppers will know where I’m staying. Her thick German accent and full lips caress my name as she flutters her eyelashes at me.
“Thanks.” Ignoring Brigitte’s flirting, I snatch the card and dash over to the lifts. I don’t stop until I reach my suite and slam the door behind me.
The door no sooner closes than I shuck off my coat, throwing it to the floor carelessly so I can dig in my pocket for my phone to ring Ellie. I’ve been trying to reach her since last night after the concert in Amsterdam and every single time her phone has gone to her voicemail. Now is no different, her sweet voice letting me know she’s unavailable and will ring me back if I leave a message. Which I’ve already done. Six times.
The urge to throw the phone at the wall is so strong I actually have to put it down and back away. Completely unraveling and in need of help relaxing, I walk over to the suite’s full bar and select a bottle of premium whiskey, pour three fingers worth and down it in two swallows.
I collapse into a fancy and very uncomfortable chair, pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration. The fear that’s been gripping me on and off since last night comes back full force, sinking into my gut like a brick. She wouldn’t have chosen the copper over me, right? But the fact that she won’t answer my calls or texts has me doubting everything that happened the other day.
Ten minutes, two hours, I’m not sure how long I sit in that stupid bloody chair. Eventually, I’m unable to sit any longer. I get up and cross the room to where I left my phone. I pick it up and type out yet another text to Ellie.
I stare at the phone, willing it to do something, anything, but it just sits there, silently mocking my anxiety. I place it back down on the coffee table and strip down to my undershirt and jeans and head towards the bedroom to shower off the airplane grime.
The ping of my phone sends adrenaline racing through my veins. I’m frozen in place for a moment, unsure if I want to check it. What if she’s telling me to fuck off?
Don’t be a pussy Adam. Fucking man up and go look at it.
Shit! I drag my hands down my face and slowly approach the phone as if it’s that stupid self-destructing message from Mission Impossible and it’s about to go up in smoke. Jesus, Reynolds. Stop being such a nancy. The dread is there though, for some reason, I have a very, very bad feeling about Ellie and me, like a darkness has settled in and tainted the perfect day we spent together. I’m undeserving of her and I know it, so I’m expecting the worst.
I pick up the phone and open the text. It’s from Ellie. I hold my breath as I read.
I inhale sharply, as if she stabbed me directly in the heart. No. She wouldn’t have chosen him. Not after what we shared, what we’ve been through. She didn’t even have his ring. She came to see me to mend our relationship, I know it.
Freaking out, I type a response with trembling fingers, begging for an explanation.
The text immediately bounces back. Blocked. I ring her number and get the same response, my number has been blocked by her phone. I feel dizzy and the phone slips from my fingers, landing with a clatter on the fancy hardwood floors of the suite. My chest is constricting. I’m gasping for breath. I have to clutch at it with my hand because the pain is so great.
It’s over. Really, truly over. That’s all the happiness that I’ll ever be allowed, six months in school and one incredible day that I’ll never forget. I try to hold back the moisture that builds behind my eyes, but a few traitorous tears sneak out.
Still struggling to breathe, I stagger over to the bar and pour another, much larger, glass of whiskey and down the entire drink, the painful burn in my throat preferable to the sharp attack on my destroyed heart.
Down the bar the in-house phone calls to me, begging me to pick it up and ring the front desk. Weak, destroyed, hurting, I snatch it up and dial. The woman answers in German, and I hear the name Brigitte. I ask if she speaks English, already knowing that she does. “Yes, what can I do for you Mr. Reynolds?” she purrs.
“When do you get off of work?” I ask bluntly, pouring myself another low ball of whiskey.
“I’m leaving in ten minutes.”
Good, I need a distraction. I have to purge Ellie from my system, for good this time. “Do you have any plans?” I ask in a suggestive tone.
“Hmmm, I do now,” she says.
“I’ll see you in ten,” I tell her and hang up the phone. I sip the glass of whiskey, a little bit slower than before. I know if I drink too much too fast then I’ll just embarrass myself in front of the gorgeous Brigitte, and that just won’t do. Not when I need to fuck Ellie out of my head. I’ll drink after.
