Page 11 of A Forgotten Promise

Another security guy. “Are you okay?”

Wow, this place really takes women’s safety seriously. I smile at him. “Yes, I’m fine.”

What I want to do is to snarl that I can take care of myself. I don’t. Even with my head buzzing with fatigue, I behave.

I’m skilled at keeping my feelings, commentary, and needs in my head. That’s the only way to survive in my industry. No, not mine anymore. Goddammit.

I’m about to turn, but I glimpse the security guy looking up and giving a slight nod. I follow his gaze and groan.

Of course, Cormac fucking Quinn is involved in this nightclub. I’ve purposely avoided all my usual hangouts. Mostly because my friends don’t know I’m in New York.

I’m not ready to talk about my situation and deal with their sympathy or pity. I’m not even sure how to deal with it, and I don’t want to get anyone involved. Especially since my best friend, Celeste, is now married to my brother.

The last thing I need is Finn and Cal snooping around and asking why I don’t work. Or why I need money.

But as it turns out, the last thing I needed was Quinn saving me like I’m some sort of damsel in distress.

It’s funny how our path keeps crossing. It’s definitely not funny how I grew to hate his guts.

And now, he’s Cal’s business partner. Every time we run into each other, he attempts to flirt with me. More like taunting me to prove I’m just a pretty face with no substance.

His gaze meets mine—dark and… well, blank. That’s new. Usually, he rakes his eyes over me like I was his meal.

Perhaps he’s high, but if I ever saw a look void of emotion, that’s the one he’s giving me right now.

He breaks our stare like he’s bored with me already—asshole—and turns back to his companion, a woman with breasts so large I wonder how she keeps from tipping over.

Okay, another club to take off my list of places to get lost in. Does he really own most of them? Is this his pastime? Like that company he started with Cal doesn’t make them busy or rich enough?

After a short cab ride, I arrive at my hotel. Fully awake. Fuck. I don’t know if it’s the Grabby Hands or Quinn’s dead gaze that pumped enough adrenaline into my veins to wake up my brain.

Or I might have just done it myself by not leaving sooner. Now I’m probably so tired I won’t be able to sleep.

I don’t. I stare at the ceiling, trying to quiet my thoughts. The shadows change the white walls while I watch the night meet the dawn, and the streets awakening slowly.

At seven in the morning I take an hour-long hot bath, and finally feel my body and mind shutting down.

Wrapped in my towel, I shuffle toward the bed and fluff the pillows. I drop the towel, enjoying the freedom of being bare, and with a sigh, I sink into the soft sheets. Only to groan right after because the house phone rings. What the fuck?

“Yes?” I snap.

“Ms. van den Linden, I’m sorry to bother you. I’m Roger, the day manager. I regret to inform you that your credit card charges have been declined. Do you happen to have another card we can use?”

“Come again?” I must be delirious with fatigue.

“I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Roger—” He takes my damn question literally.

“Okay, Roger, I haven’t slept all night. It must be some sort of a mistake. Just try it again.”

“We tried multiple times and contacted your bank before we bothered you. This card has been canceled. I’m really sorry, but I’ll have to insist you get us another one.”

“I’ll come down.” I hang up and stand.

The ground swirls, but I find purchase on the edge of the bed to steady myself. Shit, I stood up too fast. When was the last time I ate?

Clearly, years of modeling robbed me of basic habits. Fuck. Not bothering with the underwear, I slide into a T-shirt dress I find on the ground in the corner and grab my phone.

While I wait for the elevator, I dial my manager.

---