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“Fine, I’ll take it.” The clerk, whose name tag reads Jeffrey, gives me a grin and slides a key to me. Not a keycard. An actual key with a huge metal keychain that looks like a trident, complete with sharp points at the ends.
I swipe it off the counter, and he says, “You’re in room twenty-seven, and don’t forget about that Yelp review. Some assholes complained about the A/C being out and one-starred us. Business has been down because of it.”
“Was the air conditioning out?”
Jeffrey raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. Why does that matter?”
I simply don't have words. The middle of summer with no air conditioning sounds unbearable. I simply shake my head and turn to walk out the door. Mr. Sexy’s still watching me, and I give him a slight wave as I walk past.
“If the secret torture room doesn’t work out for you, I hear that the honeymoon suite has an extra-large king-sized bed. I’d be happy to share with you.”
Right. Of course he would. “I think my last resort is sleeping in my car, not your bed.”
“I’m in room twenty-five, so it’s directly beside yours in case you reconsider.”
That won’t happen. As I walk out of the office, I notice the rain has died down. I can’t stop thinking about theSnake Tour of America.Is that really a thing? Is it big enough to fill up every hotel and motel in the county?
As twenty-seven comes into view, a leaflet is stuck to the entrance about, you guessed it, The Snake Tour of America. I don’t have time for that. I need to crawl into bed and pass out, and I pray that nothing else goes wrong.
When I open the door, it looks mostly normal. Dusty, but not a big deal. I set my bags on the table along with the leaflet before locking the door behind me.
A sigh slips out as I peer at the bed. I’ve been driving for the past twelve hours, coming from Kansas City. If the floor was my only option, I’d take it.
At least when I pull the blanket back, the sheets look clean. Without giving myself a chance to think too hard, I go to my bag and grab my sleep clothes. A pair of comfortable booty shorts and an oversized white Captain Morgan t-shirt I won in some contest while at Kansas State.
My eyes are heavy enough that I’m worried I may pass out before I can even brush my teeth. As soon as the water comes out of the faucet, I decide my teeth don’t need to be brushed that badly.
It sounds like an old man is groaning above my head as the water runs red.
What the hell!? Was Mr. Sexy right? Is this the freaking torture room?
Moments go by, and the water turns normal. I see tiny flecks of red in the sink. Looking closer, it all makes sense. It’s not blood, as my exhausted brain immediately went to. Bits of rust stick to the sink. I guess that “loud pipes” really means rusty pipes, and I make a mental note not to use the water anymore.
Rather than thinking about it. I head straight to bed, feeling even more exhausted than I was before. Sitting in the parking lot for twenty minutes and trying to begin another book was a mistake, even though I had great ideas during my extended drive. I should’ve just checked in. Then the honeymoon suite would’ve been mine instead of this torture room.
I wouldn’t be this tired and been unable to shower in the morning.
At least I’m going to get some sleep. That’s the important thing. When I lay down in bed, it’s surprisingly comfortable. Probably because the bed’s older than I am. I just sink into the mattress, and it feels like heaven.
As soon as my head hits the pillow, my eyes close. It takes no time before I’m in the middle of a perfect dream that definitely doesn’t star Mr. Sexy dancing in a thong. Absolutely not. Plus, three-minute long dreams don’t count.
Because that’s how long I’m asleep before the pipes scream and I’m sharing the bed with the ceiling.
Two
PHILLIP
It’s toobad the woman from the lobby didn’t want to take me up on my offer. It’s been a long time since I was around anyone who didn’t know who I was. Phillip Loughton, heir to the Loughton dynasty.
That’s really why I’m here, though. A quick road trip out of the city is exactly what I needed. A chance to see the world from the other side. To experience something different from the sanitized world I’ve lived in for so long.
When you’re the heir to a multi-billion-dollar fortune, you don’t do things like climb trees as a kid. Instead, you learn to play piano or sit next to your father at his publishing house, learning all the things that make the machine run.
My brothers lived a different life. Mason made it clear from a young age that he had no interest in the family business. Andrew was interested, but he was always the baby, and no one really expected anything out of him. No, all the weight rested on my shoulders.
Until recently, I welcomed it, for the most part. The responsibility still doesn’t bother me. I’m not afraid to run Loughton House Publishing when my father retires. It’s that I’ve lived this life for so long, and I need something new, something to let me find that spark of life again. I don’t know if spending time as an average Joe is the answer, but I can’t just fade away as just another cog in the machine.
I may be the command center of the machine, but I’m just as much a part of it as any other employee. Probably more so.
