Short and sweet. Well, I know his name now. And I don’t think there’s going to be any luck in shaking it from my mind. It’s filed away now, and the panic from this delivery wasn’t enough to cloud it. In fact, I think it heightened my attention to it.
It’s a nice note, I have to admit. Nothing about it is innately creepy, not really. Other than the fact that he knew my room number and all that. But it stillfeelscreepy.
But hey, he’s also a powerful man with a lot of connections. Maybe he doesn’t realize how it might come across.
Or he did, and it’s a threat. Or some kind of power move. I mean, he’s already doing that with my grandfather, why wouldn’t he do it with me? Put me in my place and set expectations from the start?
I suspect that’s exactly what he intends to do.
I peek around in the flower arrangement to look for any sort of listening devices or cameras, just in case. That’s what these people do, right? Not that I would know, my information is mostly from movies.
My phone dings and I rush to it. My grandmother finally replied.
Accept it. Quickly. To reject it would be highly offensive.
Well, it’s a good thing I did. But clearly she didn’t have concerns about me being kidnapped or murdered. Not sure if that’s because there’s actually no threat, or if it’s just apathy on her part. It’s a callous thought, but this situation has me rethinking how much they ever really cared.
It’s strange that the man called the Irish Demon is the one who’s been the nicest to me so far, just by sending me flowers.
The bar is so low, it’s in hell. But apparently Mr. Demon is, too, so he can reach it.
6
Amy
It’s been three days since we arrived at the hotel. And I, admittedly, am bored. The first day I was so terrified that I didn't leave my room. My grandmother took me down for dinner at the hotel restaurant since I didn’t bring any clothes for anything fancier. As it was, no one seemed to take me seriously in the restaurant in my jeans and nice blouse. I’ve never really needed to bring anything beyond that when I stayed with my grandparents since they have a personal chef.
My grandmother noticed, and seemed upset about it. She instructed me to go shopping in the hotel’s shops and have it charged to the room. I didn’t even realize that hotelshaveshops. Another world, indeed. Apparently I need at least three new outfits that areappropriateforbusinessmeetings.
I hate this, how much I’m being forced into a mold. I hate being forced to be something I’m not, no matter what it is, but this feels particularly bad. But there’s no use crying over spilled milk, right? I’m trying desperately to remain positive here.
I didn’t have the courage to do much on the second day, either. I went down just to explore and see what the setup of these shops were, but the attendants were dressed so fancy and looked hungry for sales, which intimidated me. My grandmotherhadn’t given me a budget, but surely there was one. How was I supposed to know what to buy and how much to spend?
Apparently, I’m just supposed to know what’s expected of me. Per usual, I don’t.
The amenities of this hotel are unreal. Even the gym has a chandelier in it. Seems stupid to me, but there’s a lot of things that are stupid in my opinion that others find glamorous.
But let me tell you whatisn’tstupid.The pools. My god, are they beautiful. There’s multiple of them, including a whole lazy river that looks like it’s going through a cave system.So.Cool. But most people didn’t seem to be using that. Instead, most of them are swimming laps in a long, square pool, the most boring one of all. Yeah, it’s probably the one that’s best suited for exercise, but still. Boring.
I’m not wearing my bathing suit, so I just look around, admiring the sights. Some people give me weird looks, but I just smile at them and keep going. I’m a guest here, too, so I should be able to do what I want.
I did bring my bathing suit, but I’m not so sure I’ll be using these facilities, because, let me tell you, everyone in here isgorgeous.I’m sure people who recruit models wander around here and look for potential swimsuit models because this seems like the perfect place to find them. Maybe that’s why people are giving me weird looks, because I don’t belong. I can’t say I blame them.
As I walk around the pool to get a better look at the lazy river, a man walks out of the pool, passing by me as water drips off of him. He’s gotta be an actor or something, because with a face like that? Hehas tobe. He flashes a dazzling smile at me and I return it with a tight-lipped smile of my own, my classic go-to for strangers.
I move around him to continue on my mission of exploring this massive pool area. They really have the landscape aroundthe pools nicely decorated, too. It seems to be kind of tropical themed, with birds of paradise, orchids, and other tropical flowers.
Eventually, I see all I can of the pool area without actually getting in any water, so I head back out to glance at the shops again. I have the place better mapped out, so when I actually do get the courage to go shopping, I know where I’m going and what it’ll look like. Then I return to my room to be a hermit again.
And that’s how we got here, three days after we arrived at the hotel, and I’m getting ready to go shopping forrealthis time. My grandparents have barely spoken to me, apparently busy with ‘preparations’. I don’t know what that means and I’m not sure I want to. The prospect scares me.
And, as far as I know, there’s been no word from Curry Alldare or whatever his name is. Obviously, I know that’s not his name, and honestly, it’s offensive to curry, which is delicious. However, a bit of humor is all I can do to cope.
I dress in jeans and a t-shirt from one of my favorite k-pop bands. What do rich people wear to shop? Surely they don’t just wear Gucci the entire time.
Okay, maybe they do. But don’t they like wearing band tees, too? I feel like they do, even if they don’t know the bands. Because it’s edgy or cool or something. But they probably don’t wear jeans from Walmart, which is what I’m wearing now. No one can tell, anyway, that my jeans aren’t designer just from a glance. All jeans look the same, right?
Wrong.
