The guy finally looks at me then around as if he’s questioning what he should do. “She’s mad at me. I said something stupid,” I confess so he will move things along, but it’s the truth too, even if I don’t want to admit it.
“She seems pretty pissed. You should have seen her face when you called her sweetheart,” he replies conversationally, as if my lame excuse is more than acceptable. “King?” He lifts one eyebrow suggestively.
“I… No.” I shake away the temptation. I’m not going to force her to sleep next to me. At least this way I can make an excuse as to why I should stay.
“Your loss.”
His words trigger something in me, making me remember the text from Chloe. Would I have been able to ignore a text like that from someone of the opposite sex on her phone? I get pissy, and not for the reason I should. I get pissy because I know the answer. If I would have seen messages on her phone like the ones she saw on mine, I wouldn’t have been able to pretend everything was okay last night. I would have demanded to know right then what the hell was going on. She didn’t. Does that mean she didn’t care or was she too afraid to say something and worry I would ditch her?
“I’ll need an ID,” he says, already two steps ahead of me. We go through the motions, and I sign the credit card receipt for way too much money before he hands me a small pamphlet with two key cards tucked inside. I slide one into my front pocket before I turn around and find Harlyn with her back to me, staring out into the glass atrium.
I approach slowly, but she still shifts to look over her shoulder as if she can easily sense me. She eyes me then the colorful paper in my hand.
“I can give you your money back as soon as my card gets delivered.” She tucks her hair behind her ear nervously. “It should be delivered to your apartment in a day or two. Bad planning on my part,” she states sheepishly. “I’ll get a hold of Liv once I get to the room to take care of everything else until I can get out of here. If you wouldn’t mind, please leave the mail at the concierge desk or somewhere I can get it.” Her face is even redder as she rambles, and the last vestiges of anger I had leave me until I feel like utter shit.
“Harlyn,” I start.
“Thank you again. I really mean it. You’ve done… Gosh, this is selfish to ask, but if you could still find a way to look into Hayzel’s case, that would be…” She swallows roughly. “Or hand it off to someone else, that would be really great.” She’s fighting tears. It isn’t the first time I’ve seen her cry, but it’s the first time it feels like it’s my fault.
My throat is tight, so I end up just staring at her as her heart tears open in front of me. She’s the first to break eye contact when she glances around, probably looking for an escape.
I need to get her up to the room without an argument or it seeming like I’m forcing her to do something she doesn’t want me to in the middle of the hotel lobby. “There are some logistics we should probably talk about. I’ll see you to the room.” It’s not a question, and I think I know Harlyn well enough to understand she’ll go along with it if she thinks it will help her sister’s case.
CHAPTER 25
Harlyn
“Uh…” I look around for some semblance of privacy in the lobby. I don’t trust myself to be alone with Boone. I feel like I’m only seconds away from begging him not to drop Hayzel’s case or me.
“Come on.” He lifts his hand in the direction of the bank of elevators.
Grasping for straws, I remind him, “What about your car?” while allowing myself to be towed along behind him just by his presence.
“It’s fine. They gave me at least fifteen minutes to register.” That makes me feel a little better, since there’s a limit to how long he can be here. Plus, half that time has already been eaten up. He can probably say anything he wants to me in the elevator.
I see myself wringing my hands in the shiny surface of the doors after Boone pushes the up button and force myself to drop my arms to my sides, so I don’t look crazy. Crazy… I can’t believe he called me crazy.
After a soft ding, the brassy doors peel back, revealing a glass lift that overlooks the large atrium. Stepping inside, I get a good look at the shops and restaurants stationed throughout the different levels.
My stomach drops as we ascend quickly, then it flops when we bounce to a stop on the eighth floor. I go to step out, but Boone grabs my hand, tugging me back as another couple enters the car. I retreat out of habit, bumping my shoulder into Boone’s arm in the process. I start to pull my fingers from his, but he tightens his grip, so I stop resisting. I’m not going to make a scene.
I do the weird flat smile head nod thing that happens when you get too close to strangers and look into their face, then I internally scold myself for doing it. Boone steps forward, urging me with him as the elevator bounces again, this time on the eleventh floor.
As soon as the door closes and we’re alone, I yank my hand out of his, causing Boone to look down at me. “What’s the room number?” I look at the little plaque on the wall with arrows and numbers.
“This way.” He heads to the left.
“You’ve been here before?” The question comes out snarky.
“No, just read the sign,” is his simple response, but it still manages to irk me.
“What did you want to talk about?” I quicken my pace to catch up with him, hoping to get it over with before we reach the room.
“Here we go.” He slides a card out of the folded paper he’s holding. When the light turns green, he pushes down on the handle, then he presents me with the card while stepping over the threshold to hold the door open for me.
“Boone, what did you want to talk about?” I don’t even bother looking at the room, just turn to face him again, but I’m forcedto hurry backward when he encroaches on my space and lets the door slam closed behind him.
“I’m Boone again?”
