COUCH 4 U
By the time we pull up to the Golden Horizon Inn and Convention Center, the sun is almost setting behind the Sierra Nevada mountains. Even in the haze of the winter snowfall, the sunset throws the sky into a breathtaking palette of watercolor pinks and yellows and blues with the snowy peaks of the mountains in a stark silhouette against it.
The hotel itself is situated just outside of the downtown area with a gorgeous view of the landscape. It’s beautiful, with little cabin-type houses among the trees that dot the walkway leading up to the main building. Everything is centered around what must be a pool in the summer, though it’s covered and out of use now. On our way inside, we walk past a group of about eight over-loud people in a steaming hot tub tucked back near one of the cabins. They all seem to be sipping various beverages and having a great time, if their raucous laughter is any indication.
There are people everywhere—milling around enjoying cocktails at the bar, braving the cold to stand outside on the front terrace, filing in and out of a ballroom to the right of the concierge desk. Much to my delight, the hotel lobby is decorated for Valentine’s Day with shiny hearts and bouquets of red flowers tastefully accenting the space. Three uniformed workers—none of which look a day older than twenty—stand behind computer monitors checking people in and fielding various questions. Adam and I wheel our suitcases to a stop at the end of the line that has formed in front of the desk.
I let out a low whistle as I take in my surroundings. “Damn, the Association for Small and Rural Towns doesn’t fuck around.”
Adam chuckles heartily, the picture of casual confidence with one arm resting on the handle of his suitcase and the other hand in his pocket. He’s in his element here, and as much as I hate to admit it, it looks good on him.
“I tried to tell you,” he says in a teasing sing-song. “This conference is fun.” And then he winks at me again, and all thoughts of how good he looked are thrown out the window. That wink is really starting to irritate me.
“I’m not here to have fun,” I remind him. “I’m here to learn.”
He all but rolls his eyes at me. “Cora, you’re here because Sturge the Burge made you come with me.”
I raise my eyebrows as we take a step forward in line. “Excuse me, what did you call him?”
“Sturge the Burge,” he says as if it’s obvious, or as if repeating himself pains him. I can’t tell which. He laughs at whatever expression I’m making now, which must be one of disbelief. “Oh, come on,” he says. “You’ve never heard that? It’s what everyone in my office calls him.”
I sigh as I turn toward the back of the head of the person in front of us. “That explains it, then.”
“What does?”
I eye him sidelong. “I’ve never heard it because I try to spend as little time in your office as possible.”
He clicks his tongue, and my shoulders tense at the sound. He leans toward me conspiratorially, and the spiced scent of his aftershave invades my senses again. “It’s because of Bianca, isn’t it?”
“Bianca?”
He blinks at me a few times, then frowns. “My secretary?”
“The fresh-out-of-high-school girl who pops her bubble gum no less than eight times a minute?” I ask.
Adam snaps his fingers and points at me, beaming. “That’s the one.”
“She seems nice,” I say half-heartedly.
He huffs a laugh, finally leaning out of my air space. “She’s incompetent.”
I don’t know why I continue this inane line of conversation, but I can’t help but ask, “Why did you hire her, then?”
I fully expect him to say something about her having an excellent interview or at least minimal competency at administrative tasks, but his shoulders slump a bit as he winces and says, “Believe it or not, Cora, it’s very difficult to staff an office full of part-time workers who only get city-level government paychecks.”
There’s a dig about him being a part-time mayor right there on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it. I don’t know why he’s giving me a rare moment of vulnerability here, but he is, and it doesn’t seem right to kick a man while he’s down.
Thankfully, it’s our turn to check in anyway. We both step forward together.
“Good evening. How can I help you?” The young man behind the counter smiles disingenuously. The poor kid looks exhausted.
“Hi there”—Adam leans forward to look at his nametag—“Eric. We are here to check in. There should be two reservations. One for Adam Sullivan, and one for Cora Bennet.”
Eric types in a few things on the keyboard in front of him. Then pauses and types a few more things. He scrunches his face up in concentration as he types a bit more, then looks at Adam as he shrugs.
“I’m sorry, sir. We have a reservation for Adam Sullivan, but there’s no reservation for Cora Bennet in our system.”
I elbow Adam to the side as I rest my forearms on the counter in front of me and shoot a knowing look to the young man. “It’s Cora with a C, and there’s only one T in Bennet.”
He nods vigorously. “Yes, ma’am. I tried that.”
A dull stone of panic starts to settle in my stomach. “Can you try it again?”
Eric looks at me skeptically, but he must see the anxiety written all over my face, because he resigns himself to more searching. As he types, Adam pulls out his phone and starts quickly sending a message. I do some mental calculations. Even though it only took us a little over an hour to get here, the snow we drove through was difficult in the daylight. Now that the sun has set, it would be dangerous to drive back, even in Adam’s fancy SUV. Honestly, now that I’ve gotten a look at this place, I wouldn’t mind a weekend full of seminars punctuated with gorgeous views and yummy food on the city’s dime. And would they reconsider their decision if I didn’t follow through with this conference?
I don’t have any more time to spiral, because Adam shoves his phone back into his pocket with more force than necessary and curses under his breath. “Bianca,” he mutters, shaking his head.
Which is how I know before Eric even lifts his head to speak that they are not going to find a reservation under my name, no matter how they spell it.
Sure enough, Eric shakes his head slowly, giving me a helpless look. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Well, can we book another?” I ask.
Eric’s eyes dart from me to Adam and back again. “We’re completely sold out for the conference.”
I swallow hard. “Are there two beds in his room, at least?”
Eric clicks his mouse a few times, then squishes his eyes shut. He opens one in a tiny sliver as he says, “Looks like one king bed.”
“Shit,” I breathe.
The receptionist must see my panic written plainly on my face, because he raises his eyebrows hopefully. “There is a couch in the room?” It tips up at the end like a question, which should probably set off some warning bells, but Adam’s hand lands on my lower back, his large palm warm even through the coat I’m still wearing. I hate to admit it’s comforting, and I have to stop myself from leaning into it.
“I’ll take the couch,” he says, his voice low and rumbling in my ear. “It wouldn’t be smart to drive back in this snow.”
I swallow again and nod, my anxiety being edged out by anger. “You will absolutely take the couch, because it is your fault we are even in this situation.”
He snatches his hand away from my back like he’s been burned.
Sharing a room with Adam Sullivan was not on my bingo card for this weekend, and especially not a room with one bed. No matter how good he smells or how warm his hand was on my back, I do not want to deal with this. I separate myself from him and move off to the side of the lobby as he takes care of the details and gets our room keys. At least now, I can take a few deep breaths and get it together. Eric said there’s a couch. How bad could it be, right?
Resolved, I follow Adam to an elevator. Once inside, he presses the button for the third floor, then we ride in complete, awkward silence.
We wheel our luggage down the hall to room 309, and I allow Adam the honor of tapping the key card to the door and opening it. He walks in first and turns on a few lights before he huffs and faces me with a helpless shrug. I peer around his broad shoulders to see a tiny armchair and ottoman in the corner next to a desk.
“That’s not a couch,” I insist.
He shrugs again as he studies it. I step up beside him so we are both standing in front of the armchair, our heads tilted in thought.
“It’ll be fine for two nights,” he says, though he doesn’t sound fully convinced. He eyes the tiny thing, as if measuring it against his giant frame.
I glance at the bed. It’s huge—or, at least, it seems so compared to the queen-size bed I sleep on at home. I never saw the point of a king if it was just me sleeping in it, though I have to admit it would be nice to have a mattress this big all to myself.
When I turn back to him, his brow is furrowed and he’s shifting this way and that as if scrutinizing the chair from different angles could somehow make it bigger. Or compact his large frame to fit.
My shoulders sag a bit, dejected. “I’m smaller,” I say on a defeated sigh. “It only makes sense that I take the chair.” And then I grumble under my breath—but loud enough for him to hear, “Even though this is totally your fault.”
Adam frowns at me, his gray eyes sparkling. “If you think my mother taught me to carry a woman’s luggage but she’d be okay with me allowing her to sleep in a chair, you’re dreaming.” He claps his hands together as if it’s decided. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink. Let’s get dressed and head down to the bar so we can mingle.”
“Sure,” I say with more confidence than I feel. I toss my suitcase on the bed so I can get out the dress I brought, but I don’t know if any of this is a good idea. Given the way his eyes are focused on me, and the memory of his hand at the small of my back, the last thing this situation needs is alcohol.