Page 2 of Slumming It
As for myself, I was going up.It wasn't a rescue.
It was something else. I just didn't know what. AllIknew was that Emily Ann Quinn had made one hell of a mistake by hiding under the wrong bed –mybed – in that shithole she called a hotel.
Chapter 1
Emily
Earlier That Week
From under the bed, I hissed into my cellphone. "I need help."
On the other end of the line, Vivian paused for a long, dreadful moment before mumbling, "Sorry, what?" She sounded distracted.
I almost envied her.
Me? I was focused like a laser on the sight of male shoes within grabbing distance. The shoes were black Oxfords – maybe Italian, definitely pricey – not that I cared about the cost.
No, what I cared about was the fact that the shoes weren't empty, and the guy wearing them was standing so close, I could smell his cologne, faint but woodsy with a hint of sage.
It was nice. Or at least, itwouldhave been nice under any other circumstance.
I winced, making my cheek rub against the threadbare carpet.
This was bad.
From my hidden vantage point, I couldn’t see the guy's face. I couldn't even see his knees. But Icouldsee maybe an inch or two of his dress slacks, also black and surely expensive.
ThiswasReese Murdock after all.The Jackhole Billionaire Himself.Or at least, it was probably him.
I mean, this was his room, even if he was slumming it.
I clutched my phone tighter and tried again, forcing a whisper when I wanted to scream. "IsaidI need help."
Vivian sighed. "If this is about the towels, I already told you, they'll be done in twenty."
Oh, for God's sake."Forget the towels," I hissed. "I need a distraction." A shot of vodka wouldn't hurt either.
From somewhere outside, the sounds of a lawn-mower grew just a little louder, edging closer to the room's only window.Thank God.The noise – it was my only saving grace.
On the phone, Vivian asked, "What kind of distraction?"
Today, Vivian was working the front desk of the little hotel we hoped to buy. The desk was located just down the hall – a five-minute walk, maybe less – not that it mattered.
I couldn’t walk anywhere until afterheleft.
The thought had barely crossed my mind when he strode closer to the bed, pivoted on his pricy shoes, and sat directly above me, making the bed springs creak under his shifting weight.
My gaze shot upward, and my nose wrinkled as I tried not to sneeze.When was the last time we'd vacuumed under here?I frowned.Had we ever?
The carpet hadn't looked dusty, but now that I was up close and personal, my nose told a different story. I gave a hard swallow and then another.
If I sneezed, I was so busted.
Normally, I wasn't the sneezing type, but today I was doing a lot of things I didn't normally do, which is how I'd ended up down here in the first place.
But in my own defense, none of it was illegal or even the least bit immoral. Of course, it was doubtfulhewould see it that way.
My gaze drifted back to his shoes, facing away toward the door. His feet were still in them, so that was good. Maybe he'd just popped in to wash his face or grab a forgotten whatever.
