Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
I clear my parched throat. It feels like I haven’t had a drop to drink for days. Maybe weeks. I’d give just about anything for a cold glass of water.
“Hello. I’m…” I falter, remembering that I’m supposed to use an alias. Heat floods my cheeks as I mumble, “Um, my name is Abby Mitchel.”
She taps a few keys on the computer. “Ah, yes. Here you are, Ms. Mitchel. It looks like your suite is ready and waiting.” She slides a small, rectangular folder my way. “The card is inside, along with the passcode for the internet. The restaurant opens at six o’clock for breakfast.” Her smile intensifies. “Please let us know if there’s anything else we can do to make your stay more enjoyable.”
I don’t bother telling her that I’ll be long gone by morning.
“Thank you.” It’s only when I reach out to take the paperwork that I realize my hand is trembling.
If the woman standing on the other side of the counter notices, she doesn’t say a word, and for that I’m grateful. Instead, she points toward the lobby. “The elevator is on the other side of the gathering area, and your room is on the fourth floor. Enjoy your stay!”
“Thanks again.”
With the folder gripped tightly in my hand, I walk on wooden legs through the lobby to the bank of mirrored elevators. None of the breathing exercises I learned in therapy help to settle my nerves. It’s like they’re trying to claw their way from the inside out.
I throw a longing glance at the entrance. It’s so tempting to break into a run and get the hell out of here. Before I can make the decision to flee, the elevator dings, announcing its arrival and I force myself inside the spacious car. My hands twist together as the elevator rises to the fourth floor. Barely am I given time to suck in a breath when the doors slide open again. Even though my brain is prodding me into movement, my feet remain paralyzed.
Am I seriously going through with this?
My window of opportunity to turn and run is shrinking by the second.
Just as the metal doors are about to shut, a masculine hand reaches inside, and they bounce open. I’m jolted back to the present as the man takes a step toward the car.
Our gazes collide and he hesitates.
He’s wearing an expensive gray suit that fits him perfectly. It showcases the breadth of his shoulders and the leanness of his muscular body beneath. There’s a light scruff on his jaw, as if he hasn’t bothered to shave in a day or so. His eyes are the same blue hue as my own.
With his hand still holding the door, he steps to the side and smiles. “Is this your floor?”
“Yes,” I blurt.
Heat licks at my cheeks as we stare for another second or two before I scamper from the elevator, sliding past his bigger body. It’s a relief when the metal doors close, and the elevator descends to the lobby. I’m halfway down the hallway when I’m jolted with the realization that the guy who just stepped inside the car could be the man I’m meeting with.
My hand unconsciously rises to rub the scar.
If I had to guess, I’d say he looked to be in his mid-thirties.
It’s entirely possible that he wanted to get a look at his purchase.
A shiver slides through me as I force my feet into movement again. The hallway is wide and long, with mini chandeliers that drip from the coffered ceiling. Each door is painted a glossy black and stands out in sharp relief from the ivory walls.
I glance at the number scribbled across the top of the folder and realize that it’s the next one down. My feet slow to a gradual halt once I reached the thick wood. Nerves race across my flesh before pooling like liquid in my belly. Any moment, I’m going to be sick.
My arm trembles as I press the plastic key card to the lock. There’s a buzz as the light flashes green. With the handle tightly gripped in my fingers, I carefully turn it before peeking inside. My breath gets wedged at the back of my throat as I take one reluctant step and then another inside the entryway. My ears are pricked for the slightest sound, but there’s nothing.
The place appears empty.
If I was expecting a simple hotel room, that’s not what I find. My gaze flies around the space, absorbing every minute detail. It resembles an elegantly decorated apartment. It’s the kind of place we used to stay years ago. My parents always booked three-bedroom suites when we traveled. At the time, I never realized how luxurious they were or how lucky I was.
There’s a tiny foyer with an antique credenza and a sparkling crystal bowl. A gold leaf framed mirror hangs above it. I force myself farther into the suite. There’s a compact kitchenette to the left and an expansive sitting area with a fireplace and pretty mantle painted in antique white that takes up a good portion of the far wall.