Fuck. What the hell?
My phone! Where’s my phone?
I rush back to the bed, but my phone isn’t on the side table.
Think Christopher, think.
I rub the back of my neck, sweat dripping from my hair.
I reach for my trousers next to the bed. Nope, not there.
My suit jacket.
I rush over to where it’s hanging over an armchair, almost tripping over my shoes in a mad dash to find out what the hell has gone on. I pull out my phone, and my hope turns to despair when I repeatedly press the screen and side button. It refuses to turn on.
Ugh.
“Do you need any help, sir?” The housekeeping woman putsan armload of towels down on the bed. She still won’t look in my direction. I reach for my boxers, stepping into them and pulling them up.
“Could you type BA210 to Los Angeles into your phone please? And let me know if the flight is still on time?” I frantically grab the rest of my clothes and throw them on.
“It’s delayed, sir. Departing at three-fifteen.” Her gaze collides with mine when I look back to her and reach for Alexander’s T-shirt, sliding it over my head. The smell of his Creed aftershave lingers in the cotton.
I exhale.
At least one thing’s working in my favor today.
“Thank you,” I say, sliding into my shoes. I grab my blazer, shirt, and bow tie, and make a beeline for the main door. I close it quickly behind me, and then am stopped by something dropping to the floor.
A door hanger.
The same door hanger Alexander gave me for Kelly and Daniel yesterday.
We’ve Made A Messstares up at me.
Wait, was it that side or the other side on the door? I reach down to pick it up, flicking it over to theBusy Fuckingside. I stiffen as I flip the door hanger back and forth.
You don’t have time to think about this right now, you just need to get to the airport,I think. I shake my head as I take the twenty steps down to my room. I shove everything into my left hand and pull out the door key, waving it frantically over the card reader. The light blinks red.
For God’s sake.
I wave at another housekeeping staff member down the hallway, motioning at him to help me. He looks at me oddly as he approaches. My disheveled appearance probably makes me look like I’ve just escaped an asylum.
“Can you help me get into my room?” I plead, waving my key over the door.
He hesitates, pulling at the master key clipped to his waistband.
“Please, I’m going to miss my flight.” My jaw tightens as I tap the key on my hip.
I do not have time for his hesitation.
The guy relents and taps the key to open my door.
“Thank you,” I say, banging the door open.
Thankfully, I’d packed all my bags before the wedding yesterday, leaving them all lined up by the desk. My family used to mock me for being overprepared as a child. Sometimes I’d pack days before we left. But right now I’m grateful that it’s one less thing to deal with.
I strip out of my clothes and shoes and change into the sweatpants and polo shirt I’d left on the armchair, before unzipping my suitcase and throwing everything else in.
