Maybe This Once (Rock Bottom Love #3)

Chapter One

One

THE WILY WOLVERINE INN WOULD not have been Charlotte Ashford’s first choice of accommodations, even for one night.

She wasn’t a hotel snob like her mother—anyone who lived within a realistic budget couldn’t be—but she preferred places without animals in the name.

It’d seemed simple, smart even, to book at the place where her interview was taking place the next day. Less hassle. Or so she thought.

Unloading more items from her purse—mints, two pens, a receipt, a pack of gum—onto the reception desk, Charlotte mentally retraced her steps, wondering where the hell she might have put her credit card.

Her phone vibrated against the counter where she’d placed it, but she didn’t have the time, or any desire, to look.

“Perhaps you can move to the side, ma’am,” the front-desk clerk said, a heavy dose of judgment in his tone.

For someone wearing a wolverine (basically a freakier-looking weasel) pin next to their name tag, he was far too condescending.

She kept rooting around inside the leather bag, lifting her head to glance behind her, offering a tight smile to a few strangers. “I used it this morning. It’s here.”

Three people waiting. No one looked particularly irritated, so that was a good sign.

Not that it couldn’t change in a millisecond.

Who knew better than Charlotte how fast a mood could shift?

How fast emotions could get the better of someone?

If she hadn’t imploded her own life in three minutes and fourteen seconds, she wouldn’t even be here right now.

“Ma’am.” Okay, he sounded irritated.

Lifting her gaze, she dug into the outside pockets of the purse now. “My card is on file from when I made the reservation. Can you please just use that for now?”

“As I’ve already explained to you,” he said, not lowering his voice even as he leaned forward, “I need to see the physical card to match it to the one on file.”

Normally, she was a big fan of rules and regulations.

They were there for a reason; they kept things ordered and civil.

Her own profession as a clinical therapist had very clearly defined nonnegotiables.

But, this wasn’t life-or-death or privileged information.

It was one night at an inn with a giant rodent statue in the middle of the lobby, in a town she’d never heard of until recently. Some situations warranted flexibility.

Someone close by coughed. The low murmur of conversation came from behind the swinging door just beyond the front desk.

A foot tapped. Sweat broke out along the nape of Charlotte’s neck.

She’d really had enough of being the center of attention lately.

The spotlight was her mother’s great love, not hers.

Pulling in a deep breath, she nodded, shakily shoving the pens, mints, gum, and receipt into her bag and stepping back.

“I’ll go check my car. While I look for that, perhaps you can search for a more friendly attitude. You are in the hospitality industry, after all.” The words came out biting, but she didn’t cry, so she considered it a win.

The man, probably a few years younger than Charlie’s twenty-nine, pursed his lips like he’d tasted sour champagne. Join the club, buddy. He said nothing but looked behind her, gesturing for the next person to come forward before she’d fully moved out of the way.

Straightening her shoulders, Charlotte hugged her purse to her chest and walked—rather than stomped—away, heading for the elevators. She was a reasonable, well-educated adult, after all; even if the internet had horrible proof otherwise.

Her heels tapped along the linoleum floor but her breath stayed even.

She wouldn’t be much of a counselor if she couldn’t perform standard breathing exercises.

Walking past a closet-sized gift shop, her gaze caught on the small stuffed wolverines, and she had to admit, in that form, they were kind of cute.

Not teddy bear or puppy cute, but not nearly as alarming as the ten-foot sculpture greeting guests when they walked in.

It was one night and all she needed was a shower, a decent bed, and a good pillow.

And maybe some food. If she’d made a thousand predictions, she never would have seen herself coming to the northern tip of Michigan to hide out until the drama surrounding her life died down.

She wasn’t dramatic. Raised by someone who absolutely was, she’d always had a goal not to be.

One she’d obliterated, as mentioned, in three minutes and fourteen seconds. Gotta love the internet.

Footsteps sounded behind Charlotte, but she didn’t pay attention until someone called, “Hey.”

Just that one word sent a flurry of panic storming in her chest. Too many recent experiences of someone shoving a phone in her face or snapping a picture while asking about her mother, her father, or her “evil stepsisters.” She picked up her pace, shifting her purse onto her shoulder.

“Miss,” a deep male voice called.

Charlotte glanced back to see an attractive man following her, one hand lifted, and their eyes locked for a split second.

His looked dazzlingly dark, little crinkles appearing around them when he smiled.

In another lifetime, she might have stopped and chatted; she might have even flirted and found out his name.

In another lifetime, she wouldn’t be here.

She gave another tight smile and carried on.

Charlotte knew better than to trust anyone. Especially a stranger hurrying after her like he recognized exactly who she was, who she’d been. She had been certain she’d be safe here, far from LA.

“Hey, stop,” the guy said.

No thank you. She was all peopled out. The elevators were just ahead, and finally, luck was on her side because the doors slid open, letting someone off.

Charlotte hurried on, pressed the button for the parking garage rapidly again and again before switching to the close-doors button.

The guy’s tall, lean body gave him a long stride that quickly closed the distance.

Finally, the doors began to shut and she reminded herself to breathe. She’d made it; she was okay. The man probably worked for a news outlet or just wanted ten minutes of fame—her story wasn’t worth the full fifteen.

Just as she started to take a full breath, he stopped in front of the almost-closed doors and held up something in his hand. She started to cover her face—no pictures, please—when she realized that what he had was, in fact, her credit card.

The doors sealed shut.