Page 90 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
I exhale slowly, the tension in my chest tightening with every word. “Goddamn it. I should’ve figured this out sooner.”
“There’s still time,” Marco says. “I’ll keep digging, Ryder. But you need to be careful. You’re already walking a fine line here. If you push too hard, too fast, you could make things worse. He could come up with a plan of his own that would backfire on you and the hotel completely.”
I rub my temples, feeling it all crashing down on me. He’s right. But what choice do I have?
I walk to the window, staring out at the city again, my mind a mess of strategy and fury. “I don’t care how hard it gets. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, then Marco’s voice cuts through again, softer this time. “Just make sure you’re ready for what comes next, Ryder. This isn’t gonna be pretty.”
“I know,” I mutter, my eyes locked on the skyline. “But I’m ready. I’ll handle it.”
I hang up, the finality of it settling in. There’s no going back now. I’ve crossed the line. Vincent Lang is my enemy.
She might not have told me everything because, at the time, she didn’t understand it herself.
But I know who the villain is. I know who’s to blame for everything going wrong.
I don’t know if this will fix everything with The Garland Rose, but it’s got to be a start in the right direction.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Sunny
December 19th
I can’t breathe.
That’s the first thought I have as soon as I step into the hotel lobby. It’s like someone slapped a ginormous Surprise! banner over the door and left me to flail around trying to make sense of it all.
Cameras. Lights. People.
It could be a weird reality show nightmare—only it’s real, and it’s happening right now.
It’swaytoo early for this.
Marjorie’s right next to me, her hand gripping my arm as if I’m about to get swept away by a tidal wave.
Honestly? I might be.
The place has the look of a war zone. No, a festival. And I’m not talking about a cozy, homemade gingerbread kind of festival.
More of an over-the-top, all sparkles, big cameras, and the sound of production assistants shouting “action!” at random intervals kind of festival.
“What is this?” I whisper, barely able to process the madness.
I blink twice, rub my eyes, but when I open them again, it’s still just as crazy.
“I… I don’t know,” Marjorie says, tight with confusion, her eyes darting around. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the lobby like this. It’s… a lot.”
“A lot?” I croak, staring around in horror. “You think?”
She steps away from me, walking up to a cameraman who’s busy adjusting his gear. He’s got that “I’ve been awake for far too long” look on his face, one espresso shot away from a complete meltdown.
Marjorie taps him on the shoulder.
“Excuse me,” she says, her tone polite but clearly on edge. “What’s going on here? Is this some sort of, I don’t know… filming or something?”
The cameraman looks at her, shocked, he’s just realized a person is standing next to him. He blinks a couple of times, then seems to wake up.
