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Wine with dinner and then beer at the bar Marcus dragged me to, and then Scotch—when was the last time I drank Scotch?— All the alcohol swirling in my belly checks my usual critique that happens every time I step foot in a hotel.
When I travel, I’m supposed to compare every place to the Sandflower Resorts—service, décor, comfort, cost—and if our places don’t come out on top, I’m supposed to figure out a way to fix that.
The only problem with that is that my father hates my ideas. In fact, he usually finds a way to blame me if Sandflower doesn’t measure up. I can’t win, so I’ve stopped trying. I told my father I was staying with Marcus and paid for my room with my personal credit card, the one he didn’t have access to.
I hate that my father has me by the short and curlies, financially speaking.
The mirror in the elevator could use a shine, mainly because between the sixteenth and eighteenth floors, I sway a little too far to the left and rest my forehead against it. It leaves a smudge. Rubbing the spot with my sleeve doesn’t help.
I give up, leaning my head against the wall rather than the mirror, like a naughty boy sent to the corner by the teacher.
The chime that signals we’re up to the twentieth floor rouses me and I stumble forward as the doors open.
Then I stop. Because… her.
Even with the alcohol, I recognize her as the redhead from the restaurant.
Thankfully, I haven’t drunk enough to start seeing double, so there’s only one of her. Although I wouldn’t be opposed to cloning.
“Hey.” I sound like I know her rather than just stared at her for the length of a meal. “How you doin’?”
I don’t mean to sound like Joey Tribbiani but it really comes out like that.
She winces. The woman is a goddess in that black dress and I sound like a cheap hack quoting Friends. Not my finest moment.
“Sorry,” I mumble, doing my best not to sway. “You’re Cady Quinn.”
She waits for me to exit, but I don’t move. The door shuts, leaving me confused and still in the elevator. “Jesus.” I stab the open button with a frustrated finger. Nothing happens. “Hello?” I call. “Can you let me out of here? Hello?”
A moment later, the door slides open again and she’s still standing there. I can’t tell if she’s amused or disgusted.
Maybe a bit of both. Amusted.
“Pardon?” Cady says, which means… I said that out loud.
“Nothing.” I lurch for the door and lean against it so it won’t close again. “Thanks. You saved me.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Goody.”
“You don’t want to save me?”
“I want to get in the elevator and to my room, but someone won’t get out of my way.”
Cady’s hair is loose, no longer pulled back in a bun but snaking down her shoulder in a red river.
“Red river of hair,” I say.
“What are you talking about?”
“Sorry.” Now I sound like I’m imitating a snake. “My filter isn’t working. You want me to get out?”
“That’s usually what happens when the elevator doors open.”
I bark out a laugh. “You’re funny.”
“I’m tired.”
Now that she mentions it— “You do look tired.” She looks like she’d been rudely awoken, with purple shadows and traces of mascara under her eyes. “Haven’t you been to sleep? It’s late and—”
