“Ready, as I’ll ever be,” I reply, following him out.
As we make our way down the hallway, my heart sinks at the sight of the Do Not Disturb light shining on the gold plaque beside elevator guy’s door. So much for potentially bumping into him in the gym. Aside from the cleaning trolley halfway down the hallway, it’s eerily quiet in the hotel this morning.
When the elevator door opens, a Chinese family holding their luggage steps to one side to let Rob and me in. Their little girl looks up at Rob and quickly reaches for her mom’s hand, as if scared of him. Rob instantly notices this and slides a hand into his pocket, withdrawing a candy and offering it to her. I smile. Rob has a softer side that very few get to see. The elevator stops to let them out on the ground floor, and the little girl waves goodbye. I glance over to see a huge smile on Rob’s face while we continue down to the basement.
When we get there, I’m relieved to find there’s no one else in the space aside from the three young women checking guests in at the desk, giving me free rein to use whatever equipment I wish. Rob leaves me to it, standing watch inside the pool room and keeping an eye on me through the glass window that looks into the gym.
I step onto the treadmill with a cup full of water and pop in my earbuds as I fire up the speed to nine miles per hour,cranking upSex on Fireby Kings of Leon. Thankfully, the headache has subsided with the coffee and ibuprofen, but a wave of nausea has emerged in its place.
I probably shouldn’t work out while feeling like this, but I don’t want a repeat performance of last night’s inadvertent strip tease, and if that means doing a load of cardio and feeling slightly nauseous while doing it, then so be it.
No pain, no gain after all.
With each successive mile, the nausea gets stronger. Sweat drips from my body all over the treadmill. A cramp forms in my leg when I hit the four-mile mark, and it feels like every stride is pushing whatever’s in my stomach up through my esophagus. The burning sensation reaches my throat as the five-mile mark approaches.
I crank the speed up, hoping that if I can just make it another minute the sensation will subside, but my body has other plans.
I desperately reach for my cup of water, trying to hold it steady and drink while my legs run away from me, but I can already tell it’s too late. I reach for the emergency stop button, but just as my hand comes down on it, the wave of nausea turns into a tsunami. Dread washes over me.
This.
Is.
Not.
Happening.
Right.
Now…
4.Christopher
Friday
At first, I thought it was just hunger pains. But when I smelled the coffee and saw a short brown-haired woman walk past my room and into Alexander’s room next door with a croissant, the pang in my chest tells me otherwise.
I’m sure she’s just part of the team, but a quick look at my watch tells me it’s just past nine and the bald guy had said Alex’s glam wasn’t till ten. Shaking my head and closing my door behind me, I try to stop myself from thinking that she, rather than an alarm, is his morning wake-up call.
By the time I make my way down to the elevator, a flurry of activity is happening in the Tower Suite opposite of my room. Three different entrances are being used to load things in—makeup cases, clothes, and a variety of food and beverages, including a tray of pastries and fruit. The gold plaques on either side of the suite’s main door screamNotice Me!and seem more befitting for a pop star of Alex’s popularity than the room next to mine.
But then as my therapist says, when we assume, it makes an ass out of u and me.
When no one’s looking, I nick a jam tart and escape into the elevator, smirking at my reflection in the gold-plated doors as they close.
I slide the tart into my mouth. I need all the energy I can get today.
Another yawn escapes my mouth involuntarily as I reach the gym reception, reminding me that the sleeping pills, peppermint tea, and blackout blinds all failed to fight off my jet lag and insomnia and allow me to sleep.
You’d think, given my travel-heavy job in international marketing, that I’d have found something that works by now, but no.
For a hotel, the gym reception seems over staffed. Two women who’ve clearly spent a bit too much time with a cosmetologist are crammed behind a small white desk. A third hovers against a shelf full of towels, reapplying lipstick. All are preoccupied with each other, gossiping like girls at a prom. They don’t notice me until I approach the desk.
“Can we help you, sir?” one asks when I pause, trying to work out where the gym is. She gives me a wide smile.
“First time here?” another asks. She bumps the first girl out of the way with her hip, and throws her a side eye, wiping the smile from her face.
“Yes,” I respond bluntly. I’m in no mood for this.
