She stops moving, curling forward and flattening her body against her legs in some wicked-ass yoga move. “I can’t.”
“Fine, but I need only the basics, babe. Don’t need your entire life story like I’m watching some afterschool special.”
She turns her face toward me, her body still folded like a pretzel. “Only the basics?” she repeats.
I nod. “I need to know what I’m walking into before I walk into it.”
She sighs, straightening her body again and slinking down into the passenger seat. “People are always watching me. My family is kind of well-known. There will probably be ten photographers camped somewhere outside the hotel lobby, waiting for me to show up to snap my picture to make money.”
I rub the back of my neck with one hand, the fingers of my other gripping the steering wheel. “I attract all the crazies,” I mutter into the windshield.
“I’m not crazy, Nick. You’ll see.”
I move my gaze across the road in front of me, taking in the endless row of restaurants and hotels lining the street. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to park down the street, you’re going to give me your room keycard, and you’ll wait in the truck.”
“But…”
“You want your photo taken?”
She shakes her head and crosses her arms over her chest. “No.”
“I’ll get your shit and get out. No one knows or cares who I am. You’ll be far enough away, no one will see you. No Jo. No photos.”
Even though I’m not looking at her, I can feel her eyes on me. “And if he’s there?”
“He bigger than me?” I ask her.
“No.”
“Is he known for fighting with men instead of women?”
“No.”
“You think he’ll swing at me?” I ask, not caring if he does because everything she has said about him tells me I can take him with one hand.
She tips her head back and laughs. “I’m pretty sure he’ll shit his pants.”
I smile and turn my face to glance her way as we sit at a red light less than a mile away from the hotel. “Then we’re good. If he’s there, I’ll grab your shit and he’ll stay quiet, and if not, I’ll make him quiet.”
“And afterward?” she asks.
“We’ll head back, and you’re free as a bird. Fly away to wherever your heart wants to go.”
“It’s that simple?”
I furrow my brows, staring at her. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You don’t want anything for helping me?”
“Babe.” I shake my head again. “For real?”
“No one does anything without getting something out of it.”
“I don’t know what shitty people you’re around all the time, but I can say for certain, there are, in fact, people who do things only to be nice.”
“But you don’t know me.”
“I have five female cousins who live nearby, and I would hope if they were going through some shit, someone would help them without expecting something in return. My family taught me morals and also that sometimes chicks need a man to help without any questions because it’s literally our job to protect the fairer sex.”
“Fairer?” She raises an eyebrow. “You mean weaker.”
I shake my head, easing off the brake when the traffic starts to move again. “I never said weak. I’m pretty sure the females in my family could kick most guys’ asses without even breaking a sweat. You’re in need, and I’m here, willing and able to help.”
“So, you’re going to let me walk away?”
“Jesus. Do you have one decent person in your life?”
“I thought I did.”
“You need to find new people,” I tell her as I pull into a small ice cream shop next to the hotel. “Give me the keycard,” I tell her, ready to get this shit over with.
She reaches into her purse, fishing out the off-white plastic card. “I only want my clothes and makeup. It should all be in my pink suitcase. I didn’t unpack before I headed to the pool and Jamison headed to the maid.”
“Noted.” I take the keycard from her fingers as she holds it out to me, slinking farther down in her seat. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.”
She reaches across the front seat and grabs my wrist, stopping me. “I shouldn’t ask you to do this for me. I can go.”
I stare at her and then at her hand, where it’s latched on to me. “I’m not stopping you from going, but where you go, I go too. Jamison sounded like he’s aching for a fight, and if you think you can handle him, you can get that fine ass moving. I’m sure the people waiting to take the photos you keep talking about would love to get those shots.”
She blinks, staring at me as she pulls back her hand, settling it in her lap. “No. You go. Get in and get out as quickly as possible.”
“If he mouths off…”
“Be careful.” She glances down at her fingers, fidgeting. “Jamison is a spiteful man with connections.”
I hold back my laughter.
Connections?
We all have connections. Some better than others.
I don’t give two shits about Jamison and his people. I really don’t give one shit about her either, but I’m not about to let her walk into a potentially dangerous situation to get her things when I have two legs and a hand to grab them.
“Hang tight. Be back in twenty.”
“Room 904,” she calls out as I slide out of my seat and my feet touch the ground.
“Babe, I’m not old or stupid. You’ve told me the number five times since we left my place.”
“Go,” she snaps, waving me away and crossing her feet over each other on the dashboard. “I’ll be here.”
“Fuckin’ pain in my ass,” I mutter, shutting the door before hauling my ass toward the hotel on the next block.
The hotel is new and high-class. Nothing like the old run-down motel that stood in its place for decades. The mirrored glass façade is beautiful but looks like it belongs in LA and not Clearwater, Florida.
As I walk into the lobby, I spot a group of people all holding their cameras at the ready exactly as Jo had warned. I stalk right by them without being noticed because they are looking for the girl currently camped out in my truck, instead of me.
Since I am holding the keycard in my hand, no one stops me as I make my way to the elevators and up to the ninth floor. Two quick knocks on the door of Room 904 and no reply before I enter, finding the pink suitcase near the door.
I do a quick sweep, taking in the crazy-ass size of the room. Scratch that. This isn’t a room. It is a suite and one of the biggest ones I’ve ever seen in my life. It drips with wealth and excess. Two things I’ve never cared much for.
I have my own money. Growing up with a trust fund is something I never felt comfortable with, and I only used the money to buy my house, keeping the rest nestled away for someday when I am too old to work.
As I wrap my fingers around the pink handle, matching the very pink and over-the-top girlie suitcase, a man clears his throat behind me.
“So, she’s slumming it,” he says. “It’s official. She’s gone off the deep end.”