Page 41 of Wicked Duty
“We’ll be safer at a hotel.” He backs out into the hall, and I follow him.
He grabs his duffel and the second bag he brought and rifles through his belongings to see if someone searched his things as well. “You’re right, Lucy. I should’ve noticed sooner. Let’s get out of here.”
The part of me that bristles at his alpha approach wants to argue, but the thought of someone pawing through my stuff while we were at Runway Revolution sickens me enough to give in without a fight. It also helps that he took me seriously instead of treating me like a petulant child, the way he has since the moment we met.
In ten minutes’ time, I pack a bag and abandon my home. I can’t help but wonder when I’ll return. Or who will water the plants. I try not to fixate on the uncertainty during the trip to a massive hotel downtown, or when Callum leads me through the elegant lobby.
Chandeliers glitter from the ceiling as their golden light casts the entire first level in a warm glow. Open, spacious seating areas abound in every direction. A restaurant and a separate bar flank either side of the mile-long reception desk.
Callum doesn’t bother with the steadily growing line of guests. Instead, he strides straight up to an open VIP check-in counter.
I struggle to picture this dangerous man as VIP material, but I guess when you have connections to the mob…
“We’re checking in.” He drops his bags on the floor with a thump, intimidating the hell out of the mousy, bespectacled hotel receptionist in front of him.
Her voice is barely a squeak. “What’s the last name?”
“Our room is reserved under Gallagher.”
That little tidbit of information causes her eyes to all but bulge out of her head. “O-oh, yes. Right this way, Mr. Kavanagh. We’ve been expecting you.”
Awed by the hotel’s ritzy splendor and the obsequious service, I trail behind Callum and our personal tour guide to the forty-eighth floor, where I unhappily discover we checked into a suite. The kind with a kitchen, a living room, a half-bath, and a separate-but-singlebedroom. Not to mention there’s only one full bathroom with a shower, albeit a giant one.
Absolutely not.
“Excuse me?” I pull the hotel employee aside, though the way she flicks a constant stream of nervous glances at Callum has me wondering if she’s allowed to speak to me. “I’d like a separate room, please.”
“Ignore her.” Callum slips the woman a small wad of cash. “That will be all. Thank you, Teresa.”
Teresa?What, are they close personal friends now? When did that happen? During my five-second inspection to check for a hidden second bedroom? “I’m entirely serious.” Apparently, I’m talking to myself, because Teresa’s already fled with her tip.
Callum sets his duffel on the low leather couch. “Darren and Veronika booked the hotel.”
My jaw twitches as irritation prickles through me. “And they thought one bedroom was sufficient forboth of us? Or was that your bright idea?”
His shoulders lift in an indifferent shrug. “The couch pulls out.”
“So do irresponsible teenage boys.” I glare and fold my arms over my chest, refusing to be charmed by the way his eyes crinkle at my joke. “You can’t make me stay here with you!”
Great. We’ve reached the portion of the evening where I sound like the five-year-old brat Callum believes me to be. With a huff, I march over to the hotel phone nestled on the breakfast bar.
I realize we were already having sleepovers at my apartment, but sharing a hotel room feels different…especially when Callum needs to walk into my bedroom to shower.
Considering bad guys just chased me out of my home, surely the least I deserve is a little privacy.
He groans and rakes his fingers through his short auburn hair. “We’re already here, Lucy.”
“Yep. And you should stay right where you are.” I dial the front desk. “I’ll get a room of my own, and you can protect me from a safe distance of about…twenty floors. How about that?”
An employee picks up almost immediately, but before I can issue my request, Callum rips the phone line straight out of the wall.
I gawk. If I’m the child in this scenario, then he’s the misbehaving rockstar, sniffing coke off the remains of a destroyed mirror. “What the hell is your problem with phones? You weren’t hired to annoy the living crap out of me, so why can’t you just leave me alone and do your job? Haven’t we suffered through enough together-time yet?”
“Look, Marlow?—”
“You murdered my phone. You embarrass and insult me every chance you get. Every time I think there’s a sliver of a human being under that robot face you wear, you gift me with some new level of what-the-fuckery, strutting around barking orders and then acting like I’m supposed to be grateful!”
Callum sighs, rubbing the spot over his nose.
