Page 68 of We Can't Be Friends

“The voicemail box of the person you are trying to reach is full. Goodbye.”

I scoff. “So happy I have a useless landlord,” I say, staring at my phone screen. I attach the photos and videos to an email and send them over, marking the email as urgent. “Let’s update the security but not the piping.”

Crossing off one step, I begin picking up and moving miscellaneous items in my apartment on the floor: Tucker’s toy bin, my plants, and my bar cart.

I enter my bedroom next. Tossing in a change of clothes and sleepwear into a weekender bag before I head to. . .head to where?

My grip tightens on the straps of my duffle.

Where am I supposed to go?

19

CALLUM

There’s something about being in the hotel that rejuvenates me—a replenishing of my energy, and unfortunately, my pride.

When visiting one of our locations, I’m always grounded and left with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. That everything I’ve done, how I’ve put my head down and focused, things I’ve sacrificed is enough.

This is what I’m good at.

It’s why I visit randomly, not even for a work-specific task.

Our Chicago hotel, unbiasedly, is my favorite to visit—and that says something, seeing as we have hotels in London, Paris, Edinburgh, Barcelona, Rome, and Lisbon, just to name a few.

We enclosed portions of the rooftop pool and bar, adding heaters to enable usage into the fall and winter months.

Warm for November, I left the office early to stop by the hotel for a drink and to mingle with customers.

The elevator dings. Stepping off, I feel more relaxed than I did when I arrived. Walking through the lobby, I’m about to pass the concierge desk when I spot dark hair and tattooed hands speaking animatedly.

What is Chloe doing here?

“Liam said he booked a room for me for a week,” she tells the guest relations employee behind the desk. “Would have been twenty minutes ago.”

“Let me reload the system. We don’t have a reservation under Henry, but it could still be processing. One moment,ma’am.”

Chloe gives them a soft, tight smile. Tugging on Tucker’s leash, she pulls him back to where their bags are on the floor.

She takes a deep breath, digging into her purse.

My phone buzzes in my hands. Liam’s name and picture pop up on the screen.

“I’m assuming you are calling me about Chloe,” I greet him with.

“Yeah. Is she there? Wait, are you there?”

“Stopped by for a drink with Flynn.”

“Perfect timing, Chloe should be in the lobby.”

“I have eyes on her right now.” One hand on her waist, tight black jeans that show off her muscular legs and butt, and an oversize shirt bunched under her grasp. The other playing with the strands of hair in a pony.

“She needs a place to crash for at least the night. I booked her into a suite. Can you make sure she gets situated?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you, Cal!” Emerson’s voice echoes in the background.

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