Like putting a hot guy in my vicinity who might actually be attracted to me. Or, if men don’t play a part in my very near future, then just get me into the privacy of my room as quickly and painlessly as possible.
The clerk makes a disapproving sound and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a reservation for you.”
Two
Arden
“I . . . what?”
Disbelief, tension, and I don’t know what else roars through me. My shoulders go back, stiff and straight.
The desk clerk stares back at me impassively.
“I beg your pardon?” I ask in a deliberate voice that’s maybe a little aggressive, but I can’t help it.
“I have no reservation under that name,” she responds in a bitchy tone that doesn’t surprise me. It fits completely with the mood of the day, even if her attitude is beyond my understanding. I mean, I know a large tourist group is checking in; I can see Opal and her cohorts everywhere. That has nothing to do with me.
I’ve been nothing but polite to this woman.
Resolving to keep it that way, I step closer to the counter and repeat, then spell, my name.
The clerk gives a disgruntled sigh before she types something into her computer again. She looks back up at me.
“No. I’m sorry. Nothing comes up. Are you sure you’re in the right place?” She says it like I’m some homeless person who just stumbled in off the street.
“Of course I’m in the right place,” I snap.
I slam my oversized purse onto the tall counter. It’s a little bit of an overreaction, I know, but right now I don’t care. I’m tired and sweaty and just found out that my asshole ex-boyfriend is here at the same event, accompanying my lying, cheating sister.
I want to get checked in, take a shower, and collapse for five goddamn minutes.
I unzip my purse/carry-on and fish around inside until I find what I’m looking for. I produce an admittedly crumpled piece of paper, but it’s all the proof I need.
“Here’s the reservation confirmation.”
The woman isn’t any happier with my documentation, but her resentful sigh doesn’t stop her from another round of typing. I glance at True, who seems to be watching the proceedings with surprising interest. He gives me an encouraging smile, which I do my best to return.
Finally, she shakes her head. “No, this reservation belongs to another guest. He checked in yesterday.”
“Another . . .”
I take a step backward, bump up against True, and shoot him a panicked apology. “Sorry,” I whisper, but he only shakes his head and rests a firm hand at my waist.
“He . . .” I glare at the reservation clerk as the truth clicks into place. “It’s Edward Butler, isn’t it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Edward Butler. He checked into my room!”
“I’m sorry, but that information is confidential. We don’t divulge—”
“Tell me this, then,” I interrupt angrily. “That room was prepaid, correct?”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“Look! Look in your computer—” my hard tone makes her workstation sound like a tool of the devil “—and you’ll see that my credit card paid for that room.”
“Ma’am—”
“Look!”
My snapping voice is growing louder, drawing attention, but I can’t help it. What the ever-loving fuck is going on?
True’s fingers tighten over my hip bone, and he leans closer. “Shh, honey,” he whispers in my ear. “It’s all right.”
All right? It’s not all right. Nothing is all right. It hasn’t been in months. Not since Eddie and Susan fucked me over with their little romp in my bed. Worse, they couldn’t just leave it at that; they’ve had to insert their cruel little games into every part of my life.
Including being present at Matt and Maya’s wedding.
I take a deep breath, then another, count backward from ten, until finally I can speak in a more even voice.
“I prepaid the cost of that room for the entire stay,” I point out flatly, “and now you’re telling me that my ex-boyfriend has stolen my reservation.”
“I didn’t say that!”
The desk agent’s voice is the one rising now. I can’t help it, know I shouldn’t, but I take some satisfaction in it.
“You don’t need to. Those are the facts.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you, despite what you think are the facts.” Her pseudo-apology is grudging at best. “Now, if there is nothing else . . .”
“Nothing else?” Disbelief drips from my tone. “Yes, there is. Absolutely, there is! I need to speak with your manager.”
The woman shakes her head. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“And if I insist?”
“It won’t do any good. He’s . . . unavailable.”
“Unavailable?” I demand, the heat firing in my voice. “Or is it that you refuse to call him?”
“Unavailable.” She purses her lips in a tight little pucker that irritates the hell out of me. “We have a large tour group checking in—” she nods her head in their direction “—and he is occupied with that.”
“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
She blinks, like the question is totally inappropriate. “That is not—”
“Hi.” True smiles and steps up next to me. “I’m a guest here, already checked in. Maybe we can resolve this if you just put my friend in another room.”
The woman blinks, turns to him, eyes him for a few seconds, and then she smiles. Her expression both shocks and frustrates me.
Yeah, bitch, I want to shout. We’d all rather deal with a hot guy, but I’m the one with the problem!
Some small semblance of common sense keeps my mouth shut.
“Aloha, sir,” she says sweetly, “but I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. We’re booked solid. Honestly, there’s nothing else available.”
“Nothing?”
Wait. Is he . . . flirting with her? And why does that piss me off if it’s going to get me a room?
“No,” she shakes her head, still smiling, but almost regretfully now. “I’m sorry, but there really is nothing. Between the wedding we’re hosting and the tour group just checking in, we literally have nothing available.”
“And we’re both part of the wedding party,” he divulges.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could help.”
Yeah, she wishes she could help me right over a cliff. I give her an extra mean scowl, just so she knows I’m onto her.
True nods, turns to me with a surprisingly sweet smile, and then he looks back at the clerk. “All right. Well, then, it looks like you’ll have to put Ms. Lowell in my room.”
True
Twenty minutes later, Arden is showering in my bathroom. Her acceptance of my solution to her problem was reluctant, but now her suitcase is open on one of the queen-sized beds. A garment bag hangs in the closet.
And Arden Lowell is staying here. With me.