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He left.
As I’m walking around the corner, a man wearing a lanyard is coming toward me. I know he’s a reporter, and he has no business being up here.
“Excuse me, sir. How did you get up here?”
His smarmy face pinches, and he looks down on me like I’m beneath him.
“I was given access.” He tries to walk past me, and my hand shoots out as I step in his path.
“By whom?” I steel my voice, hoping to convey that he’s not getting past me.
His hand lifts, waving around in the air. “I don’t know.” He scrunches his nose. “One of the players downstairs. He swiped his key for me and everything. Said I could find Aiden up here.”
One guess says I know which asshole it was.
“No one should’ve given you permission to be up here. Hotels value their players' privacy. I highly doubt they would be happy to know a reporter snuck up here.”
“I’m sorry…and who are you?” he sneers. “I was given clearance for an interview, so why don’t you tell me where I can find him and run along?”
I huff a resentful laugh. “Apparently, you don’t understand English. You can’t be up here. If you want past me, you’ll have to put your hands on me, and let me just give you forewarning that there will be severe consequences for that. Do you want to go down that road?”
“Who are you? You don’t have any authority.”
He tries to walk past me again, but I stand in front of him holding my ground. He stares down at me, glare turning to recognition. “Oh, I know who you are. I’ve seen your face on social. You’re that girl…Cassidy.”
That girl? What a chauvinistic asshat.
“His girlfriend.”
“Can I get a statement from you?”
“No. You won’t be getting a statement from anyone. I’m calling security.”
“What’s going on?” Aiden says, joining us in the hall.
“Mr. Slate, I have some questions about the upcoming game. You swept round one, how are you feeling heading into round two with a two-seed?”
“Aiden, don’t speak. You can go back to the room. I’ve got this.”
I pull out my phone and dial the hotel number. When a woman answers, I don’t bother with hellos and just cut to the point. “Can I be put through to hotel security, please.”
“Can I ask what this is regarding?” she asks.
“This is Cassidy Baker in room 913. Mr. Slate is being harassed. A reporter with some balls of steel claims he was given clearance to come up to the floor. He wasn’t by Aiden or me. I need someone to remove him.”
The man’s hands go up in the air. “Fine. I’ll leave.”
“You do that,” I say, pointing toward the elevator.
The man stalks off like a ten-year-old boy being robbed of a popsicle. I make a mental note to get to the bottom of who he spoke to. I have my guess, but I need to ensure I’m correct.
If it’s who I think it is, something more is going on here. He’s got it out for Aiden, and I’ll need to be sure that whatever game he’s playing ends.
I huff, moving back through the door, and find Aiden pacing the room.
“How did he get up here? Who was he?”
I shake my head. “Some reporter. He said one of the players gave him access.”
