* * *
The manbehind the counter at the hotel registration greets me with a kind smile. “May I have your ID and the credit card used for your reservation,sir?”
I hand him the ID and credit cards I use when traveling, none of them in my name to keep the media and paparazzi away fromme.
“It’s wonderful to have you.” The man looks down at the passport and reads my name before bringing his eyes back to mine. “Mr. LouisRoma.”
I almost roll my eyes at the stupidity of the name. Jim arranged it, along with a host of other names to keep my travel and life private. Each one was more hideous than the next,too.
“First trip to Chicago?” he asks as he types on thecomputer.
“No. I’ve been here before, as well as to theW.”
The man bobs his head, still looking at the screen in front of him and not paying any attention to my response atall.
“Wonderful. You’re booked in the penthouse for your entire stay. You’ll have a personal butler if you need anything. Will you be requiring Wi-Fi?”
“Not while I’m here. Thankyou.”
When I travel, especially on secret trips like this, I avoid bringing my laptop, and I even switch my phone to privacy mode so that there is no chance of my location leaking. In a cutthroat industry such as mine, I take nochances.
“The bar is open until one a.m., and the restaurant is open until ten. If you’re in need of anything else, room service is twenty-fourhours.”
“Thank you.” I’m exhausted after the long trip, wanting nothing more than a bed and warmth. I slide the keycard off the counter as soon as the gentleman sets it in front of me. “I appreciate yourhelp.”
He gives me a quick nod and smile as he hands me my credit card and ID back across the counter. “Feel free to call if you need anythingelse.”
“Willdo.”
I walk past the hotel bar, tempted to walk inside and have a drink, but I know there will be time tomorrow to celebrate the victory at hand and the impending demise ofInterstellar.
