Page 61 of Inarticulate

When she returned, Kelly and Grant were in the lobby, asking questions as she passed. No matter how scripted her reply should’ve been from the hours spent reflecting, she mumbled incoherently and continued walking into the seclusion of the elevator.

There was no peace to be found in her room. She’d kicked off her shoes, ignored the landline phone as it wailed its incessant call, and packed her belongings. One by one she placed everything into her suitcase—her beauty products, her clothes, her laptop.

The few remaining items she left accessible were her toothbrush, pajamas, and the box of lingerie—that stupid gift. She couldn’t bring herself to look toward the silver package. It was proof of how blind she’d been.

The suite phone rang again, and she closed her eyes in a losing battle to remain strong. She’d already broken her promise to answer all staff calls, no matter what time of day or night. But her cell held unread messages from Keenan. She sensed it. Which meant her only option had been to turn it off.

The trill ended, leaving her in thankful ear-ringing silence.

She did want to speak to someone. Her insides were waging war, the need for verbal therapy fighting against shame that demanded silence. The perfect candidate to receive her info dump didn’t exist anyway. There was nobody in Seattle she could chat to face-to-face. And friends and family back home seemed a world away.

The phone trilled again, this time poking at her frustration. She trudged for the bedside table, yanked the receiver and snapped, “What?”

“Ahh…” It was Kelly. Sweet, innocent Kelly. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” Eventually.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No. I’m good.”

There was a beat of silence, a slight pause that made Savannah nervous over where the conversation would lead.

“Well, I’m knocking off for the night and you sound like you need a drink. The location is your choice. I can either create my own room card and bring up a bottle of wine, or you can meet me in the bar. Which is it?”

“No, honestly, I’m good.”

“Savannah,” Kelly lowered her voice, “I’ve spent a lot of spare time in the hospital watching people die beside my mother. Almost every day I hear people reject the offer of help. I know the difference between someone who truly doesn’t need support, from those who are too scared or full of pride to accept it. So, I’ll ask again—your room or the bar?”

Savannah turned to face the small space that had become her temporary home. Daylight was fading, casting the furniture in varying shadows. There was no life in here. No warmth. The room was devoid of possessions. Everything was packed. Her suitcase was on the bed. All signs pointed toward her departure and she wasn’t ready for the staff to know.

“I’ll meet you downstairs.”

She hung up and didn’t bother to look in the mirror as she walked from the room. There was no way her appearance was stellar, and no possibility that she could reach that point no matter how much prep time.

Kelly was already waiting for her at the bar, two glasses of wine seated in front of her. The area was almost empty with the faint mumble of guests floating in the air as they ate their dinner in the adjoining restaurant.

The receptionist swiveled on her stool and gave a sad smile in greeting. “I guess the meeting didn’t go well.”

Savannah used the bar to pull herself onto the cushioned seat as a glass of wine slid toward her.

“Thank you.” She sipped the liquid, letting the sweet reassurance of alcohol tingle on her tongue. “Actually, the meeting went well for Rydel staff.” Her voice lacked enthusiasm. “The CEO has been busy with other projects and was surprised by my concerns. He assures me he’ll get to the bottom of the emails and that you’ll have no trouble in the future.”

“You say that like you’re not going to be here.”

Savannah stared at the golden liquid in her glass, the throb, throb, throb under her sternum demanding she release some of the built-up pressure. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow.” Once morning came, she’d look for an available flight. A phone call was too impersonal to announce her downfall. It was best to speak to Spencer in person. Mathew, too. She deserved the 3D version of their ire, after all.

She took another sip of her wine. Followed by another and another. Night was already falling and the time since her last meal allowed for the wonders of alcohol to work their magic quicker than usual.

“I’m actually related to ‘The Bitch’ of Grandiosity,” she murmured. It wasn’t as if anyone apart from Kelly could hear her. The bartender was wiping down tables on the other side of the room. He hadn’t paid her attention since she arrived. “Mr. Rydel thought my presence would have helped the teething problems. Instead, it became clear that this is a personal vendetta against me.”

“Hey, Trent,” a female voice shouted from the restaurant. “Can you give us a hand?”

Savannah swiveled to meet the wince of one of the wait staff hovering in the doorway.

“Sorry, Ms. Hamilton, but we’re swamped in here. People are actually dining in tonight and it had to happen when two of the waitresses called in sick.”

“They’re not sick,” Kelly muttered. “I think they’ll be the next to hand in their resignations. A new restaurant opened on the other side of the city, and rumor has it that Layla and Tammy both had a trial run tonight.”

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