Page 8 of The Widower's Girlfriend
6
Jemma
My suitcase is heavy, and given the wheels don’t work any longer, I have to pick it up and carry it. And Walker is darn tall. His legs eat up the covered driveway and he’s in the hotel before I’ve had a chance to argue about the cab fare. Somehow I think that was part of his plan. Contrary to the state of my bag, I’m not completely destitute. I can pay for my own portion of the cab fare.
“Mr. James! Lovely to see you, sir. Can I get your bag to your room for you?” The bellhop is hovering like a busy bee, acting like the president himself has arrived. Gee, where’s my personal bellhop ready to take my exploding bag off my hands?
Walker chuckles, but it sounds different somehow, like he slipped into a different skin the second we left the cab. “No, thank you. I’ve gotta keep my muscles somehow, huh?”
The bellhop guffaws like Walker’s said something particularly hilarious. I mean, I get it. The man’s charming and good looking. But he’s acting like Walker’s some sort of celebrity, which is weird.
“Welcome, Mr. James. We have your room all ready for you. Top floor, beautiful view of the city.” The front desk attendant smiles warmly at him from behind her desk and I’m thinking maybe they know each other. I don’t like her smile. Something about it rubs me the wrong way.
“Perfect, thank you so much.” Walker beams right back at her and there I stand, by myself in the lobby like I’m invisible, wondering what the hubbub is all about.
He pockets his key card and spins around to see me. He’s about to say something when two men approach him from the side. He drops my gaze and vigorously shakes their hands while introductions are made and then glances over at me to discreetly make the universal sign to call him, pinkie and thumb extended by his ear. After that, I’m ignored, which is fine by me. I have a room to check into and friends to impress. Yep, totally fine being ignored.
“We’ll need to see your ID and a form of payment for incidentals, please.” The front desk attendant gives me a practiced smile, one that’s several degrees cooler than the one she gave Walker. Practically glacial if I’m being honest.
I hand over my driver’s license and my one and only credit card. The snapping of a photo behind me piques my interest. Walker and the two men who greeted him are huddled, one of them with their arm extended, snapping selfies. I frown, not understanding why total strangers would want a selfie together. It’s like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole and I’m left bewildered in a strange new world like Alice.
“Miss?” The attendant is trying to hand my cards back to me.
“Sorry.” I put them back in my wallet and chance a question. “Do you know who that is? Mr. James, I believe they called him?”
Her eyes light up and she leans closer to whisper. “Good looking, right?”
The warmth that flooded my system just minutes earlier in the cab with Walker has dissipated. Like that version of Walker, the one who told me all about his late wife, never existed. “Um, yes, for sure. But why are they taking selfies with him?”
She’s frowning at me now, like I’ve completely lost the plot. “Well, he’s pretty famous, you know?”
Mentally, I’m eye rolling at her inability to answer a question without making it a question in return. On second thought, she might make a great therapist.
Then it hits me she’s said he’s famous. And just like that, all the butterflies and warmth are gone, replaced by a creeping coldness that leaves me wanting nothing to do with Walker. Pretend boyfriend? Not a snowball’s chance in hell.
The attendant slides my room key across the counter and I snatch it up. Escape is near. I attempt to get to the bank of elevators, careful to keep my gaze away from Walker. His type loves attention and I’m unwilling to give it to him, even as I have to walk right by him. Of course, my grand exit is marred by my stupid suitcase, the sound of it dragging across the marble floor letting out a screech that brings all eyes to me.
I lift my nose an inch higher in the air and continue on, like I don’t feel the weight of their pity stares. Yes, my suitcase is a disaster. Let’s move on, shall we?
Jabbing the up button on the elevator panel a little harder than necessary, I remember a particularly sweet little boy two years ago when I first started working full-time at the Cancer Center. He had a rough case of brain cancer and his greatest wish was to meet a professional football player from his local team. After lots of emails back and forth with the player’s agent, we had his wish all set up. We knew schedules with celebrities were often tough to stick to, so we didn’t tell our patient about his surprise until the day before when we knew for sure it was going to happen.
His excitement was contagious, the entire Center joining him in celebration. The little boy put on his team jersey and waited for hours. Frantic calls and emails behind the scenes on our end went unanswered. The player no-showed. No excuse, no warning. Just left a sick little boy hanging.
Our patient was devastated, crying himself to sleep that night, no amount of consoling from our staff or his family making a dent in his sadness. Later, we found out the football player went and partied too hard the night before, too hung over or strung out the next day to remember where he was supposed to be.
That was the day I decided celebrities did more harm than good. They wielded too much power simply for being able to recite a line on camera or throw a ball downfield. They got paid millions for their skill. Wasn’t that enough? Did they need our worship too? For me, the answer was an absolute no.
So finding out Walker was a self-absorbed celebrity? That was a distinct turn-off. A huge red flag telling me to stay away, steer clear, do not pass go. And definitely don’t pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend.
The only problem is the realization that Walker’s one of the bad guys makes my heart sink. Takes the wind out of my sails and leaves me deflated. He seemed so genuine when we talked in the taxi. Not self-absorbed at all. Bizarre that my intuition was so off.
The elevator dings its arrival and I hurry to get on, wanting the peace and quiet of my hotel room to sort through my conflicting thoughts. Needing to get myself together before I went to battle with my high school friends.
Just before the doors slide shut, I lift my gaze one last time, the temptation to see Walker again too strong to deny. One last look to remember him by.
He’s still talking to the two men, but he’s staring straight at me, his intimate gaze so at odds to how I’m feeling about him right now.
And then he winks.
