Chapter 3
Sitting back in my hotel room on my own, I’m restless.
I only have a few of my belongings with me, nothing familiar to distract me, and no routine to adhere to.
Having spent time with Lottie, I’m craving familiarity, and being on my own now makes me feel lonely and unsettled. Hell, who am I kidding?
I am lonely.
I am unsettled.
The only difference now is that I’m hyper aware of it.
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I know what I want.
I know how I want life to be, and sitting here, staring out of the window at the bright lights of Vegas, it frustrates me that I can’t make it happen right now.
I want to start my new life. I want to start living days full of fun, independence, and a hopeful future, but I can’t do that if I’m sitting here waiting for it to happen.
I jump up, rummage through the few clothes I did pack and throw on an evening top and skinny jeans. I smooth some extra foundation over my bruised cheek, then touch it up with a sweep of blush. Grabbing my clutch, I head for the door.
As I walk through the foyer, the bars and clubs have come to life.
There’s live music playing and I find myself smiling.
I love music; it’s the one thing guaranteed to get a response from me.
Tonight, the choice of either staying in a lonely hotel room, dwelling on the last twenty-four hours, or having a few drinks and letting loose is easy.
I have no one to please, no one tapping their watch because I’m later that I said I’d be, and if I want to sleep in late tomorrow … well, I can do just that.
There is a choice of bars, each fitting to a different mood, and tonight I’m drawn to the bar called Heaven and Hell. I’m pretty sure I’ve visited the latter several times, so maybe I can find a little piece of the other for the evening.
The bar is decorated in rich reds, golds, and clean white accents, giving it a fresh, but luxurious feel. It has large, cozy booths with leather seats placed around the perimeter, and the dance floor is down a few steps from the booths with two small stages for dancing.
The music is loud and energetic when I enter.
The bass is vibrating across the floor and up through my body.
Some of the servers are dressed as devils in ruby-red, skin-tight body suits with sparkly horns and tails, while the others are dressed as angels in white, tight, body suits with glowing halos above their heads.
Heaven and Hell—I like it.
I order a very colorful cocktail and find a tall stool at the bar which also gives me a great view over most of the club.
As it starts to get busy, the people crowd in, and the dance floor fills up.
I’ve always felt safer surrounded by people, so the noise and the gathering sea of bodies suits me.
The podiums have been occupied by angels and devils dancing, so I watch for a while, fascinated at their ability to look so at ease with being on display.
The first drink goes down easily and I remind myself not to let that fool me.
I’m not really a big drinker, so I have little tolerance.
I gesture to a male devil, and he checks his horns are on straight as he heads my way.
He doesn’t wear a tight-fitted suit like the female servers but red fitted trousers and a red sequined shirt that has a deep V to his navel. The horns are a nice touch.
“What can I get ya?” he says with a dazzling showbiz smile.
I take a second to scan through the cocktail list, baffled by the extensive concoctions. “Surprise me.”
I watch, entertained by his performance as he pours and twists, spins and shakes, and I can’t help but smile at his show. He then splits the cocktail shaker and pours my exotic looking drink into a sugar-dipped glass complete with a white and gold umbrella.
“Please put it on room 144—”
“Let me get that for you,” booms a voice from behind me.
I turn to find a middle aged guy, about five foot eight, not unattractive but not sexy either.
He wears a multi-colored shirt and the buttons are undone to the middle of his chest, which is sprouting a carpet of dark chest hair.
It is not a good look, and his lopsided smile makes me a little uneasy.
He pays for my drink without waiting for my answer and the bartender moves off to serve another person.
I feel cornered. Uneasy. Breath tightening in my chest.
“Thank you but you really didn’t have to do that.” I smile politely in the hope that this guy gets the message.
“Come on, can’t a guy buy a beautiful lady a drink?”
“Here, let me pay you back.” My tone is shorter this time as I turn my body away from him to find some money in my purse.
“That’s not necessary. Room 144, was it?”
Oh god, he heard my room number. Panic rises in my chest. Maybe I’m not ready to confront the big wide world after all.
“No, you must have been mistaken. Now if you’ll excuse me …” I place my drink on the bar and stand to leave, but he grasps the top of my arm with enough pressure to make me stay where I am.
“I definitely heard you say 144,” he says, moving in close. “That’s the same floor as me, so what do you say we make some sweet music of our own, eh?” He nods his head toward the door, and I’m paralyzed; unable to transfer the words from my head to my mouth, and the rest of my body refuses to work.
“I don’t think so,” a deep voice says, startling me. “I definitely heard the lady say no.”
My eyes fly up to the source of my rescue—the guy from the elevator. His large hand is holding the guy by his shoulder, and I can see by the uncomfortable way the man is holding himself that he’s applying some pressure.
“I can assure you, the lady is not staying in room 144, and as of now, you will not be staying in this hotel.” His tone is professional but very assertive.
“B-B-But I was just asking to …” the guy stutters and visibly shrinks.
“You have thirty minutes to pack and leave. I will not have my guests harassed in any way. You are not welcome here. Now, please leave.”
He releases the man’s shoulder, draws his shoulders back slightly which instantly makes him look taller and more menacing, then gives him a sinister smile which confirms he means business.
His fists are balled at his sides and his eyes are hard; he hasn’t broken his stare at the sleazy guy or even looked in my direction.
Thankfully, the guy seems resigned to his fate and leaves, muttering expletives under his breath but not putting up any more of a protest.
My rescuer follows the sleazeball with his fixed gaze until he is satisfied that he has exited the club. He turns to me, and his eyes soften when he presses a hand to my upper arm.
“Miss Jamesson.” He dips his head as he speaks.
“Yes.” My voice comes out quiet and childlike.
“Are you okay?”
I nod my answer, unable to form words at this moment.
“I sincerely am very sorry. It’s not something that happens frequently here, I can assure you.”
“It’s fine. I … uh … I have to go.” I turn my shoulder as if to move past him, and he extends his arm to block my path but doesn’t touch me again.
“Please, Miss Jamesson, I would like to offer you a different room for your peace of mind. You’re booked in for a week with us, is that correct?”
“I, uh…” Lottie hadn’t told me how long she’d booked for me, but all I want to do now is leave and stay somewhere else. But what would that achieve? Besides, oddly, I actually do feel safe at this very minute.
“Then please allow me to change your room in way of an apology.” There’s something so sincere about his offer, and I realize that sincerity has been sorely lacking in my life the last few years.
He holds out his upturned hand, a simple gesture and one that feels so intimate.
Maybe it’s the alcohol running through my veins, or maybe it’s the fact that the sleazy guy reminded me how vulnerable I really am.
Lottie wouldn’t have told me to come here if she didn’t think I’d be safe, and I’d trust her with my life.
So I place my small hand in his. He gently curls his fingers around mine, squeezing reassuringly as he leads me through the sea of people and out of the club.
When we enter the hotel foyer, he gently releases my hand and places his large palm in the small of my back. He stops in the middle of the foyer and shrugs off his suit jacket, I turn toward him, confused as to why he’s stopped.
“You’re cold.” It’s a statement, not a question, and he’s frowning, as if he really is concerned that I might be cold.
“Here …” He places the jacket around my shoulders and comes to stand in front of me, buttoning it twice like a parent doing so for their child.
He’s caring for me. I steal a glance at him as he fastens the buttons; he has flawless, olive skin and full lips.
When my eyes meet his, my breath hitches.
His eyes are deep chocolate-brown but have gold flecks that glint in the light. He is the epitome of handsome.
His gaze lingers then travels to the broken and bruised skin on my cheek and his brows crease even further. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it quickly again and shakes his head ever so slightly.
“Come.”
He gestures with his head toward the front desk and once again holds out his hand for me to take.
A giggle escapes me, and I wiggle my hands out from underneath the jacket and wave them at him.
Of course, I can’t take his hand as he’s fastened me securely into his clothing.
A genuine smile appears from him and a deep chuckle follows.
He places his hand gently between my shoulder blades and walks across the beautiful marble floor, stopping at the main desk.
“Wait here, okay? I’ll just be a minute.”