Chapter 9 #2
Devon presses the button to call an elevator as another couple join us to wait. They’re older—way older than the older man I want to punch in the face. They’re taking in every antique detail that’s been oiled, buffed, and brought back to life from over a century ago.
The woman turns to me and beams. “Did you just get here too?”
“Of course they just got here, Mel,” her husband answers for us. “Remember they said there was a private event over the weekend? Everyone here just checked in.”
“Oh, true. Sorry, the place is overwhelming—in the best way. The pictures don’t do it justice. We’ve had this reservation for more than two years before it opened.”
The woman just proved she doesn’t read those magazines that make money off celebrity gossip and lifestyle columns. She certainly doesn’t follow Wall Street. I give her a tight smile and thank God one person in the country is clueless to every detail of my life. “It’s lovely.”
“Not everyone came here to socialize. I’m sure they want their privacy.” He turns to Devon. “Wait until you’ve been married for thirty years.”
Devon doesn’t have the chance to respond, and the woman does not heed her husband’s warning to leave us alone. “You look like newlyweds. You’re probably on your honeymoon. What an absolutely romantic place to celebrate your love!”
Well, I’m on my honeymoon, alright. I can thank good timing, and the fact Albert likes long showers that I’m here solo and not preparing to trek across Africa on a five-star safari.
I push that out of my mind and realize dealing with Devon Donnelly—no matter how much he knows about me—is better than the alternative.
I shake my head and answer before Devon has a chance to. “Oh, no. We’re not married.”
Mel leans in and lowers her voice. “Maybe someday. I guess there was a big-wig wedding here last weekend. Can you imagine? They booked the whole place.”
“It was a doozy,” Devon quips.
Mel keeps talking. “Did you dine in The Greenhouse? I think I ate my way into a food coma. After the long trip, I’m beat.”
The man rubs his belly and yawns. “We always overdo it the first day of vacation.”
Mel turns to Devon and me and keeps talking. “Do you have plans tomorrow? We booked a sailing excursion. Silas will be as red as a lobster. I’ll have to deal with him complaining the rest of the week. He’s so bad about applying sunscreen.”
Silas shrugs. “Gotta get my base tan.”
The elevator might as well be my savior when it dings and the doors open. Devon proves he’s not made for hospitality since he hasn’t said a word, but he does stand closer to me than necessary. His hand lands low on my back, as if I need guiding into the elevator.
Ugh. Asshole.
To Mel and Silas, I’m sure we look like a couple on a romantic vacation.
Mel presses the button for their floor. Devon wraps a hand around my waist as he reaches around me to swipe his card to access the penthouse suites. I lose his touch, but he settles in so close, his radiating heat hits my back.
The desire to elbow him in the gut overwhelms me, but if it means flying under the radar with this couple, I can restrain myself.
I cross my arms and try not to look like I hate the handsome, rugged Brit who silently claimed me by the simple fact he hasn’t said a word to make anyone think otherwise.
When the elevator stops, Mel turns to me. “We’ll be here all week. I’m sure we’ll see you around.”
I’m as happy for this woman as I am envious. I thought today would be a new start. That I could count on this place to help me refocus and hide from the world.
Instead, I deflect, since I will not be here to see her around. “Enjoy your sail tomorrow.”
“See ya,” Silas mutters.
“Enjoy your stay,” Devon calls, making the lame attempt at being friendly.
I’m not sure if it’s Devon’s accent, but Mel beams. “You too!”
The moment the doors close, I shift to the other side of the elevator and drop the act. “You should’ve found another retirement gig. You suck at hospitality.”
“I’ve chanted that in my head more times than you know over the last week.” Of course, Devon ignores all elevator etiquette and turns to face me. “Now we can talk.”
Thank goodness this place isn’t a high rise, because the doors part. I push around him, desperate to put as much space between me and my roommate as possible so I can call Chrissie.
“Why did you do it?” Devon demands when the door to the suite clicks shut followed by the turn of the deadbolt.
It’s official, I lack all judgment of character and cannot be trusted with my own instincts since I’m locked in for the night with the man who I thought wasn’t a psycho.
I go to the kitchen for a glass of water without making eye contact. “If you could put a pause on your creepy intelligence hobby until I can skip town, I’d appreciate it.”
Devon flips on a lamp before he empties the contents of his pockets onto the dining table. “You calling me dried-up and creepy is not the way I saw this playing out when I looked into the whereabouts of your father.”
I take my water and go straight to my room before turning to him one last time. “Then you failed. You’ll never have to think about me again after tomorrow.”
And with that, I shut my bedroom door and turn the lock.
“Fucking hell,” I hear him growl from the other side.
The dresser looks like it’s survived two centuries and is still standing strong—there’s no way I’ll get that thing to budge on my own. I’ll just have to sleep with one eye open.
Hell, there’s no way I’ll get any sleep tonight.
Before I can worry about me, I dial the only person I can count on.
She greets me through a yawn. “I hope this means you’re alive.”
“For now,” I whisper. “Chrissie, we have a problem.”