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“Are you out of your tiny little mind?” I hissed, drawing him to a sudden halt. “I’m not going in there, Marcus. I can’t afford it.”
“Relax, Celine. You’re not paying for the hotel stay. My brother is,” he clarified, with a grin.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t accept that,” I said firmly. “I’ll check myself into a motel near the airport.”
“And risk being shot at again? No way,” he declared.
“Hey, this has nothing to do with you, pretty boy,” I snapped.
“Aww, you think I’m pretty? I was worried you hadn’t noticed,” he teased.
“It’s not funny, Richie Rich. I don’t want any handouts from the mighty Donovans, thank you very much,” I snapped.
“What about a heartfelt apology? Would you accept that, Celine?” he asked, sincerity shining through those flint-colored eyes.
I shifted restlessly from one foot to another.
“Apology for what? You didn’t shoot at me,” I mumbled.
“None of this would have happened if my brother hadn’t carried Tia off without warning. You’re paying for his mistake.”
“Hey, it wasn’t a mistake. I’m glad he rescued her.”
“Then, please allow us to help you out. It’s not such a big deal, Celine. It’s just for one night. Tomorrow, we will find a safe house for you and Tia.”
I snorted loudly at that.
Not to him, maybe. I couldn’t even dream of paying for such a fancy hotel. Not when I had to pay off a college loan and a mortgage.
But I was too cold and tired to argue with him in an alley. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to stay here for just one night.
“Fine,” I said wearily. “Dibs on the bathtub.”
“Tell that to the butler,” he said, with a relieved smile, leading me into the hotel through the backdoor.
My jaw dropped in surprise.
“They have a butler? And where are my bags?”
“Only for the top floor,” explained the bellboy, as he led us down a thickly carpeted corridor. “And your bags are being delivered to your room as we speak, ma’am.”
“Why didn’t we go in through the front entrance?” I asked curiously.
Was he ashamed to be seen with me? I knew I wasn’t dressed for the Ritz Carlton, but it stung a little to know that I wasn’t good enough to be seen with the mighty Marcus Donovan.
“The place is always teeming with paps, Celine. We might as well call Monani and tell him where we’re staying,” he replied drily.
My face flushed as I realized he was right. Of course, the place was full of reporters. I had to stop being so sensitive. But I felt so out of place, I thought, chewing on my lower lip worriedly as the bellboy led us to an elevator.
“Private elevator for the Royal Suite,” he murmured as he swiped a key card to let us enter.
Within seconds, the door opened again and the bellboy led us straight to a small lobby with a seating area and one door leading off it. The butler was already waiting for us.
“Welcome, Mr Donovan. Ma’am,” he said, politely.
I stared at him open-mouthed as he ran through the list of services on offer. From champagne on ice to a special bath to a massage to a specially curated wine and dine menu, the list seemed endless. It all sounded wonderful, but I just wanted to climb into bed and get under the covers. The rose-petal and oud bath would have to wait, I decided with a wide yawn.
“You look exhausted, Celine. Why don’t you go to bed?” asked Marcus after he thanked the butler and promised to call him if we needed anything.
