“Y…yes. Can you go check on it?”
When he turned the knob, the door opened easily, ushering in a welcome blast of cool air.
“You did it!” Charlie said.
“I don’t think I did anything.” After picking up the key, he examined the door more closely. The wood wasn’t warped or bent. There was nothing to indicate why it had gotten stuck. “But I’m glad we’re not locked in anymore.”
“Me, too. I need a dose of Benadryl, stat. The dust is really getting to me.”
He looked back at her wistfully. If the door hadn’t popped open, he would have kissed her, no doubt about it. But now that they were free, the fleeting spark they’d shared had vanished like a ghost into the night. They left the room together, locking it behind them.
On their way to the elevator, he checked his phone again. Full bars. “My phone’s working. I’m going to text Logan and tell him about the storage room.”
“Good plan.” She let out another sneeze. “I’m heading home. I’ve been here since eight this morning, and I’m wiped.”
Another twinge of guilt tugged at his conscience. If not for him, she wouldn’t have been stuck inside a scary, dusty storage area, listening to him grumble about his lack of faith in romance. He wanted to explain why he was such a cynic, but now wasn’t the time. Not when she was exhausted and battling allergies. “Okay. I’ll be in tomorrow at three. Thanks for coming with me tonight.”
“Sure. No problem.”
They rode the elevator down to the parking garage in silence. He wanted to say something, to bring back the closeness they’d shared, but he was at a loss. And as she walked to her car, he longed to call her back, to tell herhis entire story, to explain why he’d kept his heart locked up tight for so long.
Instead, he just let her walk away.
Eight
Once Charlie was backin her apartment, she made a beeline for her bathroom. If she didn’t get some allergy meds into her system, she’d be up all night sneezing. After taking a dose of Benadryl, she went into her bedroom to change and stumbled over a stack of books. With a kick, she sent them flying. Stupid romance novels. Why was she still believing that shit?
Maybe Knox was right to call it a crock. After all, it wasn’t like she’d found her own happily ever after. The only guy she’d considered marrying had turned out to be a jerk. And the guy she wanted had no interest in her.
And yet…
When Knox had brushed away her tears, he’d regarded her with such tenderness it had taken her breath away. For a brief moment, his lips had been so close she thought he was going to kiss her. Until the key popped out of the lock and shocked them apart.
After that, he’d barely spoken to her. The silence between them had expanded, becoming so agonizing she could hardly wait to leave the hotel.
What did you expect? Out of the blue, you lit into him for not believing in happy endings. He didn’t deserve that.
She still didn’t understand why the room had affected her emotions so strongly. At first, she’d merely felt uneasy, but her mood had worsened, filling her with a soul-crushing remorse that preyed upon her worst self-doubts. It was as if a little voice had invaded her head, chastising her for all the mistakes she’d made with Randolph. And then her misery had transformed into a sudden, vicious bout of anger. Had she just been tired after a long day of work? Or had her mood swings been caused by a supernatural element? She suspected it might be the latter since it wasn’t like her to lose control that way.
When it was time for bed, she didn’t reach for one of her romance novels. Nor did she pick a fantasy book, since most of them had a romantic subplot. She pulled out her e-reader, which she kept for backup. Sometimes, she’d download a steamy novella if she needed to satisfy an itch. But tonight, she searched for Stephen King’s name and scanned the list of titles. Rather than commit to an entire novel, she purchased an e-book of his short stories.
At this point, she’d prefer nightmares to dreaming about someone who didn’t want her.
* * *
When Charlie wentinto work on Tuesday, she’d made a decision. She still wasn’t sure why her emotions had gone haywire in the storage room, but she needed to get them under control. Instead of wasting her energy angsting over Knox, she was going to channel all of it into digging deep into the early years of the Duchess. Thankfully, most of the hotel’s records, including its employee files, were now kept in the basement storage area rather than in the creepy room on the third floor. After informing her staff she’d be spending most of the day holed up underground, she went to work.
At noon, her phone pinged with a text from Knox:
Logan was excited to hear about the tragedy in room 309. He liked the idea of a haunted storage room.
She replied quickly:
Does that mean we’re in?
Knox: Not yet. Logan said they’ll know by Friday.
Charlie: Okay, thanks. Keep me posted!
