Page 115 of Hate to Love You

Natalie

As the cab pulls up to the curb in front of The Park Hotel, I throw a wad of bills at the driver and tell him to keep the change. Was it really six hours ago when I raced home from the hockey house and searched for flights to Milwaukee on my laptop? Before I could overthink it, I pressed purchase and printed off the plane ticket. Then I grabbed an overnight bag, stuffed some clothes in it along with a toothbrush, and called a taxi to go to the airport. Three hours later, I lifted off, bound for Milwaukee.

If I’d thought I was nervous driving over to Brody’s house earlier, it’s nothing compared to what I felt during the two-hour flight north. I barely had time to concoct a plan in my head before the stewardess told us to buckle up and prepare for landing. Without luggage to wait for, I ran through the airport and found a cab.

And now here I am.

Huffing and puffing like a lunatic.

Repositioning my bag on my shoulder, I walk through the revolving glass doors and head toward the posh check-in desk at the other end of the lobby.

A woman dressed in a tailored gray suit with perfect makeup smiles. “Welcome to The Milwaukee Park Hotel. Will you be checking in with us this evening?”

I suck in a breath, hoping to settle my careening nerves. Now that I’m actually standing here, I’m shaking in my shoes. “No, I’m not. One of my friends is staying here, though, and I was hoping you could tell me what room he’s in?” I end the sentence on a hopeful note.

I’m not above begging and pleading, if that’s what it takes.

If she refuses to give me the information, I’m screwed. What am I going to do? Camp out in the lobby and hope Brody walks through at some point? I glance around, taking it all in. This is a pretty swanky place. They’ll probably kick me out within fifteen minutes.

Her face turns sympathetic, and she shakes her head. “Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t do that. It’s against hotel policy for us to give out any guest information.”

My spirits nosedive. “Is it possible for me to leave a message?”

“Absolutely, but I can’t do anything more than that,” she adds firmly as if I might argue.

“Okay.” I sigh and root around in my purse for a pen and a piece of paper. Of course, I can find everything else under the sun but that. Feeling like an idiot, I glance at the woman behind the desk. “I’m sorry. Could I use a piece of paper and a pen?”

“Certainly.”

Just as she reaches under the long stretch of glossy counter, a deep voice says, “That won’t be necessary, Abigail. I’ll take care of this.”

My belly spasms as I spin around and find Brody’s father a few feet from where I’m standing. He’s the one person I was hoping to avoid and the first I run into.

That’s the kind of luck I’m having.

“Of course, Mr. McKinnon,” Abigail says. “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can assist you with.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” he says, his eyes never deviating from mine. “Natalie, what an unexpected surprise.”

And not a happy one, if his stoic expression is any indication.

I straighten to my full height, which is still a good six inches shorter than him. I allowed this man to intimidate me once, and I refuse to do it again.

“I’m here to see Brody,” I say, keeping my voice firm.

His gaze flicks to Abigail, who is busy helping another customer. “Perhaps we can move this conversation somewhere else?”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond and simply walks away, leaving me to trail reluctantly after him as he takes a seat at one of the groupings of chairs and couches scattered throughout the enormous lobby.

He settles on the couch, and I’m forced to choose between the chairs flanking it. Feeling ill at ease, I sit on the very edge. “Look, Mr. McKinnon, I know you don’t like me.” I have no idea if what I’m about to say will make a damn bit of difference, but I have to try. His mind was made up before he ever met me. “But I love your son.”

He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, loosely knotting his hands together in front of him. “I can appreciate that you have feelings for Brody, I really can. But I know what’s best for him. I’ve been in his position. I understand what he needs to do to be successful. And that’s staying focused on finishing his degree and preparing for the NHL.”

My tongue darts out to moisten my lips. “I’m not trying to get in the way of that.”

“Natalie, you’re young.” His tone is placating, as if I’m a child. “You’re going to fall in and out of love several times before you find the right man. What are you? Twenty-one or twenty-two years old?”

“Twenty-two,” I whisper.

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