Page 91 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
“Oh,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. It’s, uh, a reality show pilot.”
“A what?” Marjorie asks, clearly not expecting that.
“A reality show. Something about…” He gestures vaguely, as if he’s still trying to make sense of it himself. “I don’t know. The hotel and all that. They’re filming a series about, uh, transforming the place. You know, behind-the-scenes kind of stuff.”
“Transforming the hotel?” Marjorie repeats, full of disbelief.
The cameraman nods. “Yeah, the producer wants to focus on the challenges of running a place like this. There’s some drama, some light conflict, you know how it goes.” He gives a little shrug, as though it’s completely normal to turn a hotel into a reality show.
I can’t help it. I feel my face heat up. “So, like… me?” I blurt.
“Erm… I think the actor guy. The Christmas Prince, or whatever.”
That’s when I see her.
Elaine.
I’m sure Ryder told her she couldn’t come back, but here she is. Standing at the front desk, ignoring everyone of Pearl’s glares, and running the show—but in a way that’s just a tiny bit too overenthusiastic.
Her voice is too loud, her gestures too grand. She’s ready to drop a big reveal any moment now.
“Perfect! Perfect! We’re all set here!” she practically shouts to a poor assistant who’s just trying to make sure the camera isn’t too crooked.
I freeze. She must know this ismyhotel, right? I mean, I did meet her here a few weeks ago. But I don’t think she’s the sort of woman who cares.
The last thing I need right now is this… this circus. I was planning on figuring out how to tell Ryder about the babies. You know, in a calm, collected, and totally not disastrous kind of way.
Instead, I’ve walked into a nightmare where reality TV meets the world’s most chaotic morning.
Naturally, my first instinct is to look for an escape route. But where do I go? The cameras are everywhere, and I can practically feel their lens zooming in on my every thought.
The whole telling Ryder thing just got ten times harder. This is not the moment.
“Sunny?” Marjorie breaks through my fog of panic.
She looks over at me, her eyes wide, clearly unsure if she should be more concerned about my stress levels or the bizarre production happening in front of us.
“Marjorie,” I mutter, barely able to focus. “How the hell am I supposed to tell Ryder about the babies in the middle of this?”
She looks at me with sympathy. “Well, you can’t tell him in here, for one.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” I mumble, a deer caught in headlights. “You think I didn’t know that?”
Before Marjorie can respond, I hear the unmistakable sound of a yowl. A deep, rumbling, “you’ve made a grave mistake” kind of yowl.
I glance to the side, and sure enough, there she is.
Tinsel.
She’s darting around the lobby, acting as if she’s starring in her own action-packed movie. The camera crew swerves out of her way as she speeds past, weaving between legs and under tables.
“Tinsel!” I shriek, way louder than I intended.
But of course, no one else seems to be paying attention.
“Oh no.”
Marjorie’s eyes widen in horror as she watches the cat streak toward a large Christmas tree in the corner. I can practically hear the naughtiness brewing in her little feline brain.
