The cup of coffee that was sitting on another crate hits the cement floor in a loud splash.
“What the fuck?” Potter says. “Hey, who the hell is in here?” He stomps towards the back of the storage room.
Panic settles in.
I have to get out of here.
My eyes land on the exit sign.
I don’t think twice.
I plan my escape, but I bump into something else.
I freeze.
The clattering noise that ensues is deafening.
When I peek up, Potter is starring right at me from where he stands at a distance.
Dear God.
“You were listening in on my conversation?” His eyes are murderous.
Sheer terror robs me of my words.
Run, Mikki. Run.
On trembling legs, I take off, bolting through the doors.
I race towards the stairs and take them two at a time.
Thank God I’m wearing Chanel Ballerinas and pants today. There’s no way I could escape in heels and a pencil skirt.
Potter’s loud steps grow closer.
I run faster.
He swears up a storm from behind me.
I keep running.
I grab hold of the handle of the door leading to the lobby of the hotel. I open it with such force, it goes crashing against the wall, making a ruckus.
Myriad pairs of shocked eyes stare at me as I bolt into the lobby.
Potter is closing in on me, I can feel it.
I sprint faster.
Agitation and commotion run through the guests.
“You can’t outrun me, bitch. I going to catch you.” Potter’s threat is like a shot of adrenaline that propels me.
People gasp.
Someone shrieks.
I let out a murderous scream.
