“Shit,” Logan said, his expression dark. “We better get out of here. Hurry.”
I took his cue and raced behind him down the hall, rezipping my dress as I moved. Logan punched open the emergency exit door and we froze, staring down the barrel of eight long flights of stairs. Curse the governor’s suite and its posh elevated address.
“Take off your heels,” he said. “You’ll never make it down.”
“I’ll be fine.” I shoved him forward. “Now go—we’re the last people.”
He took off down the stairs like a football player in training, hitting every step with speed and precision. As for me, I’d been lying about the heels. I never wore them and was lucky I hadn’t tripped while sitting at the bar. I clutched the railing and tried to shimmy down sideways as best I could. Occasionally I could hear Logan grumble things like, “Of all the nights I’ve begged for an alarm to save me, you chose this one.”
Then, somewhere between flights five and four, I landed too hard on the side of my foot and crumpled to the stairs, sharp pain shooting through my ankle. “Shit!”
Half a staircase below me, Logan whipped around and dashed back up. “What happened?”
“Twisted it,” I yelled. The fire alarm was still going, and even in the enclosed staircase, the shrill blast rang in my ears. I fought the sudden urge to cry—not because of the pain, but because I’d committed the mortifying faux paus of becoming a burden. “Go on without me,” I called.
“Oh, for the love of God.” Logan swooped down, scooping me into his arms. “Hold on.”
This was completely unnecessary. Humiliating, even. I clung to him as we bounced down the stairs at a remarkably fast clip, trying not to feel indecent as I pressed my cheek against his chest, still bare thanks to his unbuttoned shirt, and snuck secret hits of his woodsy-berry scent. Finally, we hit the end of the staircase and Logan kicked the door. It didn’t budge.
“You picked the wrong night,” he yelled, and karate kicked it. The door flung open.
Lights, sirens, and people flooded the street. There were firetrucks and ambulances everywhere, pajama-clad hotel guests and frenzied hotel staff buzzing around, resisting attempts at being herded by firemen. Across the street, a crowd of spectators had gathered, their heads tilted up. Logan and I turned in the same direction and found the magnificent spired top of the Fleur de Lis ablaze, flames lighting the night sky.
“Oh my God,” I murmured. “It really is on fire.”
Logan squeezed me tighter. “Hey,” he called to someone who looked like a hotel employee. “What happened?”
“They’re saying it was a freak lightning strike during the storm.” The man shook his head. “What are the odds, right?”
“What storm?” I asked.
The hotel employee frowned at me. “It rained for hours. You didn’t hear it?”
Chalk one up to the power of the Logan-and-booze bubble. Speaking of. I tugged his shirt sleeve. “You can put me down now. It’s getting embarrassing.” I didn’t tell him my ankle barely throbbed anymore, for fear he’d think I’d orchestrated the whole thing for a free ride.
“Hold that thought,” he said, and took off in the direction of the ambulances.
I pushed at his shoulders like he was some sort of vehicle I could steer. “I said I’m fine!”
Fine or not, the next thing I knew, I was sitting on the edge of an ambulance with my arms crossed while a paramedic turned my ankle from side to side, examining it. “Minimal swelling,” she pronounced.
I gave Logan a pointed look, but he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I too am an adult who prides myself on shirking my health, but—” His attention caught on something behind me, and he trailed off. I leaned out of the ambulance to get a look, and jumped back when lights flashed in my eyes. The wall of people across the street were taking pictures. No wonder—the hotel fire was a sight to behold. It would probably make the news.
I turned back to find Logan white as a sheet. He clawed at his shirt, scrambling to rebutton it. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“What’s wrong?”
He ignored me and turned to the paramedic. “She’s going to be okay?” He spoke at twice his normal volume and with a rushed franticness, like he was hopped up on speed.
The paramedic nodded, eyeing him quizzically. “Right as rain in a day or two.”
“Okay.” He gripped my shoulders. “Sorry, I have to go. Right now.”
My eyes had to be wide as saucers. “What’s happening?” He was going toleave?
No, he was currentlyleaving, already twisting away from me. I watched in open-mouthed amazement as the man I’d been about to sleep with turned his back on me and bolted away as fast as his legs could carry him.
As he rounded the block, the paramedic and I turned to stare at each other. “Girl,” she said. “What did youdo?”
