Chapter 27
Consciousness trickled from my sleep-filled mind. I didn’t want to wake up. I was warm, happy, at peace. But a sense of urgency rattled from deep inside me. My eyes fluttered open, and I squinted against the glare.
Distant visions of last night forced their way to the front of my brain, and with a jolt, I snapped my eyes open.
I gasped as I realized where I was.
I hadn’t moved all night long.
Neither had Hunter.
His arm was still draped over my torso, and by the bulge pressing against my bottom, I’d say he was quite happy there.
My heart hit panic mode as I realized the sun was almost up. That meant I’d either missed the start of my shift or it was fucking close.
I peeled Hunter’s arm off me, and he groaned as I crawled out from his side.
“Don’t go.”
Oh, God.I kneeled on the bed and kissed his forehead. “Sorry, but I have to work. Thank you for a wonderful night.”
“Call in sick.” He blinked up at me as I pulled on my clothing.
“Can’t. Sorry. But I’ll call you.”
“You better.” The stupid nails hampered my rush to do up my buttons.
“I will. I promise.”
I tossed my bag on my shoulder and raced over to kiss him again. He tried to pull me onto the bed, and I squealed at both the joy and the disaster of it.
I won the tug of war, blew him a kiss, and ran for the door.
My feet couldn’t take me fast enough. Neither could the elevator and when I pulled my phone from my bag and checked the time, I nearly died. I had just twenty minutes before I started work.
In my apartment, I yanked off my wig, scrubbed off my Memphis makeup, and dove into the shower. Five minutes later, I was tugging on my sensible work clothes. I spied Hunter’s gift on the table and was annoyed I didn’t have time to take it up to him.
It just meant I’d have to see him again before Christmas. Yay.
I grabbed a protein bar and my diary, shoved both into my bag and with five minutes to spare, I stepped back into the elevator.
Utilizing my time in the mirror, I tucked my shirt into the pencil skirt, pulled my hair up into a high ponytail, and glided nude lipstick over my swollen lips. My heart was still a thundering gallop when the doors opened, and I strode across the marble tiles.
“Morning, Bailey. How was your night?” Jane Nichols, hotel manager, was back.
“It was pretty steady. Not too bad for a Friday.”
“Excellent. So, what do I need to know?”
We went through the shift-change checklist, and ten minutes later, when I was all alone, I flopped onto the office chair to catch my breath.
Holy hell, that was close.
With a huge sigh, I went to the kitchen to make myself a strong coffee.
With a steaming mug in my hand, I returned to my desk, unwrapped my protein bar, and opened my diary to the 16th of December.
At the top of the page, I wrote Hunter McCall, Room 48.
I started with our fun on the beach, detailed how special I’d felt as he’d teased me with his tongue and fingers. Giggling, I wrote about the beach police catching us and calling us naughty teenagers.
The elevator dinged, and I shoved the diary aside as a family of four tumbled into the lobby with an abundance of suitcases. I went through the process of checking them out and returned to my diary.
I wrote about our incredible sex and how desperate I’d been for him to make love to me.
I think I would’ve imploded if we’d had to stop a second time. Hunter drove me wild. I also wrote about spooning and then falling asleep in his arms and how that was the most magical moment of my life.
As I thought about how special he made me feel, I wrote Hunter Extraordinaire in capital letters at the top of the page.
Hunter really was extraordinary, and I was pretty sure I was in love with him. My heart skipped a beat at that wonderful acknowledgment.
He was everything I wanted in a man and so much more.
My doodling pen created a love heart on the page, and feeling like a giddy teenager, I wrote, I love Hunter beneath the drawing.
Then, for a bit of fun, I wrote to Mrs. Jane McCall.
“Hi, I’m Mrs. Jane McCall.” I chuckled.
Those words sounded so good. No . . . they sounded absolutely perfect. Giggling, I practiced writing the name, pretending it was my new signature.
Again, the elevator dinged, and I pushed the diary aside to greet the guests. The Universe was against me, and each time I began writing in the diary, another distraction interrupted my process. At one point, I had four groups of people lined up.
It was busy, but I was grateful for the distraction. With how exhausted I felt, I’d be just as likely to fall asleep at my desk if I wasn’t careful. I went through the motions of checking people out and as I smiled up at the waiting crowd and apologized for the delay, the elevator dinged again, and there he was . . . Hunter McCall.
I had to remind myself I was Jane Nichols, hotel manager, but as he waited in line, my fluttering heart couldn’t decipher the difference.
Finally, it was his turn to step up to the counter and I hoped like hell he didn’t recognize me.
“Good morning. How can I help you?”
“Checking out of room forty-eight.” He passed his room card across the countertop, and when I reached for it, his eyes focused on my fingers.
He clutched my hand. A wave of confusion distorted his beautiful features. His eyes darkened.
I tried to tug my hand free. Oh faarrkkk!
My pretty Christmas nails had blown my disguise!
I covered my mouth. My heart thumped. I could barely breathe.
I couldn’t think.
“Memphis? Or is it Jane?”
My names spat off his tongue as his eyes bounced from my name badge to my face.
“What the fuck is this? Some kind of joke?”
“Hunter, please let me explain.”
“Explain what? Who are you?”
“I’m Jane, but I . . . I?—”
“You what? Fucking liar.” He stepped forward and leaned toward me with his lips twisted to a nasty scowl.
Tears stung my eyes. My chin dimpled. I shook my head. “I’m so sorry. I tried to tell you.”
“When? The first time? The second time? How about the fourth time we were together?” He shook his head, and when he stiffened and leaned closer, my heart exploded.
Hunter launched over the counter, and we both dived for my diary.
But I was too slow. The book was ripped from my fingers.
“Hunter extraordinaire! What the fuck’s this? A diary of your conquests?” He flicked through the pages. “Am I just a number to you?”
“No, Hunter, you’re not.” Tears spilled down my cheeks. “I’m sorry. Please let me explain.”
“Why would I believe you? You’ve been lying to me since the day we met.” The hurt in his eyes cut deep. With my diary clutched in his hand, he grabbed the handle of his suitcase and stormed away.
I raced around the counter, my heels clicking on the tiles as I chased after him. “Hunter, please don’t go. I want to tell you everything.”
“No! You don’t get that privilege.”
As he strode out the doors, I clutched at his wrist, but he snapped his arm away and turned to me. His eyes were loaded with hurt. “I thought we had something special.”
“We did. We do.” Great wracking sobs burst from my lips. Tears streaked down my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“No, Just Memphis,” he spat my name. “It’s me who’s sorry. Sorry I ever met you!” A taxi pulled into the drop-off zone, and I couldn’t breathe as Hunter stomped down the stairs and tossed his bag and my diary into the trunk of the car.
I crumbled to the steps. The car door slammed, and the taxi drove away.
With my hands covering my face, I released a deep howl of pain as a chunk of my heart broke away and dissolved to dust.