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“I told you—it’s not a problem. And I’m serious, call or text if you want me to pick you up.”
“I will.” My fingers wrap around the handle before popping it open and slipping from the vehicle.
“Have a great time,” she says in a raised voice right before I slam the door shut.
Yeah, I can’t imagine that happening.
Like, at all.
My plan is to tackle this encounter like I did with my first shift at Slap Shotz…
Paste a pleasant smile on my face and muddle through it the best I can.
With one final wave, I head inside and watch as Viola’s white Jeep pulls away from the curb and disappears into traffic. Only then do I slip from the café and rush down the sidewalk. I picked this coffeehouse knowing that it was only two blocks from the hotel.
It takes less than five minutes before I’m standing in front of the sprawling stone structure. The place is lavish. At Christmastime, it’s decorated with a life-size gingerbread house in the lobby.
It’s that kind of fancy schmancy place.
I draw in another deep breath before forcing myself to walk through the glass doors and to the counter. The heels of my boots echo off the ocean of glossy marble. With every step, my nerves multiply until it feels like my entire body is a live wire humming with them. If this continues, I’ll probably end up having a heart attack. Then I won’t have to worry about selling my V-card to some old man.
I’ll be dead.
The elegantly dressed woman behind the long stretch of gleaming counter glances at me and reinforces her smile. “Welcome to the Wiltshire Hotel. Will you be checking in with us today?”
I clear my parched throat. It feels like I haven’t had a drop to drink for days. Maybe weeks. I’d give just about anything for a cold glass of water.
“Hello. I’m…” I falter, remembering that I’m supposed to use an alias. Heat floods my cheeks as I mumble, “Um, my name is Abby Mitchel.”
She taps a few keys on the computer. “Ah, yes. Here you are, Ms. Mitchel. It looks like your suite is ready and waiting.” She slides a small, rectangular folder my way. “The card is inside, along with the passcode for the internet. The restaurant opens at six o’clock for breakfast.” Her smile intensifies. “Please let us know if there’s anything else we can do to make your stay more enjoyable.”
I don’t bother telling her that I’ll be long gone by morning.
“Thank you.” It’s only when I reach out to take the paperwork that I realize my hand is trembling.
If the woman standing on the other side of the counter notices, she doesn’t say a word, and for that I’m grateful. Instead, she points toward the lobby. “The elevator is on the other side of the gathering area, and your room is on the fourth floor. Enjoy your stay!”
“Thanks again.”
With the folder gripped tightly in my hand, I walk on wooden legs through the lobby to the bank of mirrored elevators. None of the breathing exercises I learned in therapy help to settle my nerves. It’s like they’re trying to claw their way from the inside out.
I throw a longing glance at the entrance. It’s so tempting to break into a run and get the hell out of here. Before I can make the decision to flee, the elevator dings, announcing its arrival and I force myself inside the spacious car. My hands twist together as the elevator rises to the fourth floor. Barely am I given time to suck in a breath when the doors slide open again. Even though my brain is prodding me into movement, my feet remain paralyzed.
Am I seriously going through with this?
My window of opportunity to turn and run is shrinking by the second.
Just as the metal doors are about to shut, a masculine hand reaches inside, and they bounce open. I’m jolted back to the present as the man takes a step toward the car.
Our gazes collide and he hesitates.
He’s wearing an expensive gray suit that fits him perfectly. It showcases the breadth of his shoulders and the leanness of his muscular body beneath. There’s a light scruff on his jaw, as if he hasn’t bothered to shave in a day or so. His eyes are the same blue hue as my own.
With his hand still holding the door, he steps to the side and smiles. “Is this your floor?”
“Yes,” I blurt.
Heat licks at my cheeks as we stare for another second or two before I scamper from the elevator, sliding past his bigger body. It’s a relief when the metal doors close, and the elevator descends to the lobby. I’m halfway down the hallway when I’m jolted with the realization that the guy who just stepped inside the car could be the man I’m meeting with.
