Usually, I’m grateful that Lucy runs a tight ship. She prevents me from getting caught up for too long with people or in situations that I want or need to be rescued from. But this time, her efficiency is working against me.
I force a smile on my face as I walk past the film crew and into the bathroom, but I don’t lift the toilet lid. Instead, I sit down, pulling my phone out of my pocket and turning Airplane Mode off. A bunch of messages and email notifications flood my screen. Ignoring them, I scroll to my “I Am Social” folder, where I keep all my social media apps, and open up Instagram.
I hit the search tab and enter Christopher’s first name, thenrealize that’s all I have to go on. Other than his name, the fact that he’s originally from London, and he’s here for his sister’s wedding, I don’t know anything else. I look at posts tagged with the Landmark Hotel, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but all I see are a flurry of videos of me leaving the hotel, interspersed with images of guests underneath the palm trees in the atrium or from their balconies. None feature Christopher.
Why do they make it look so easy on TV shows to find information on someone?
I look to the right, where a landline is attached to the wall, next to the toilet paper. It’s a strange place to take a call, but a lightbulb moment hits me.
I reach for the phone and dial zero, automatically getting an answer.
“Concierge, how may I assist you today?”
“Hi, yes. Can you put me through to Christopher’s room please?” The way the words come out of my mouth makes it sound like I have a stutter.
“Do you have a surname, sir?” comes the response.
“I don’t, but he’s in the room next to me…” A beat passes while I try and work out the number. “Room 506.”
“One moment.”
The line goes silent for a moment, then connects, and my heart begins to beat harder in my chest. But after twelve rings, I admit defeat and hang up. I pull myself up off the toilet seat and flush, pretending that I haven’t just spent the last couple of minutes acting like a stalker.
Is this what Rob has to contend with? Is this the level my fans go to just to try and get in touch with me?
Rob greets me when I open the door, making me jump.
“Lucy said you needed something from your room?” He rubs his hands together.
I motion him to one side of the hallway, out of earshot of anyone else, and lower my tone to a whisper.
“Not exactly. I need you to find out more about that guy from the gym earlier.”
“Is there a problem?” Rob’s posture snaps upright and his eyes narrow.
“No. The complete opposite. I was a dick earlier when we left the gym and I want to apologize, but he’s not answering his room phone, and I only know his first name, so I can’t message him on social media.”
“Want me to get the team to run a background check on him, get you all the information you need?” Rob cuts me off, his eyes widening in eager anticipation.
I know it’s standard protocol to run a background check on anyone I work with, but it does feel a little too invasive for a guy I’ve just met.
“Can you just keep an eye out for him in the corridor to see if he returns?”
The eagerness in Rob’s eyes disappears.
“That all, boss?” His chin tilts down toward his chest, like a puppy wanting to be thrown a bone.
Maybe Icoulddo with a little help. After all, one quick google search by Christopher will bring up pretty much anything he’d want to know about me. It’s not like I can do the same for him.
“Whatever you can find would be great. Oh, and I guess we’ll need to get something from my room, so Lucy doesn’t catch on.”
Rob gives me knowing look and a tilted grin, hinting at mischief.
“Sure thing, chicken wing.” He elbows me in the side and lets out his infectious laugh as he walks away.
I desperately want to chuck something at him. Damn him and that awful nickname. He still uses it regularly, despite myarms no longer being as scrawny as they were ten years ago. But, next to his, I guess they’ll always be puny. And I’ll always be that wiry kid he was put in charge of protecting, and a part of me likes that.
As I make my way back to the interview chair, I see Connie sitting on the armrest. She greets me with a half smile before returning to her usual neutral expression. She briefs me quickly before the next interviewer comes in.
