Page 86 of Tattletale

“Thank you,” I reply. “That’s really nice of you.”

“Of course.” She flashes me a toothy smile. “How can I help you?”

“I’m having trouble with my room key. I’m staying in junior suite 4489A. My key’s not working.” I hand her the plastic card that failed me moments ago.

“No problem. Sometimes these pesky things deactivate.” Crystal begins typing on her computer. “Let me just grab you another—oh.” Her eyes widen.

“Something wrong?” I ask.

“Um… You’re Ms. O’Leary?” she asks, suddenly full of apprehension.

“Yes.”

“There’s a note here for you. Um, it seems Mr. Lochland has ended your reservation.”

I exhale, rolling my eyes. Under my breath, I mutter, “Passive-aggressive son of a—”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupts. “To clarify, I meant he upgraded you to the penthouse suite. I should have a folder here.” She spins around in her chair and flips through some paperwork in a metal mesh paper tray. “Here we go.”

She hands me a new hotel key—it’s black and unmarked. “What about my stuff?”

“It’s already been packed and moved.”

My heart drops.Fuck.I got rid of my passports and extra credit cards weeks ago. There shouldn’t be anything incriminating in my belongings, but it worries me that Gabriel and his staff had access to my personal things.

Crystal points to the new key in my hand. “Scan that in the elevator for access to the top floor. It’ll send you straight to the penthouse foyer. There’s a twenty-four-hour butler service if you need anything—refreshments, toiletries…entertainment.” She grimaces, like the last part was difficult for her to stay. “Just use your hotel phone and dial option one. Borris is at your service.”

I thank Crystal and walk toward the elevator, but halfway there, I change my mind. My heels click loudly against the marble floor as I head back toward the desk. “Crystal, is Mr. Lochland still checked into the penthouse suite? Or did he vacate the suite for me?”

She shrugs. “That… I’m not sure. I could call Borris if you’d like?”

I wave her off. “No need.” Glancing toward the elevators, I sigh. “I’ll head up and find out myself.”

My feet are starting to ache in these shoes. I force them forward to the elevators to face my fate. This either goes one of two ways: either Gabriel is actually falling for me, and he’s tryingto force our relationship forward. Or, I’m walking right into a trap.

I suppose I could run, but that’s not really my style. Stepping into the elevator, I draw in a deep breath and place the plastic card against the censor by the long row of buttons. A small green light blinks, then I’m propelled upward to floor “P” for penthouse.

It dawns on me as I ascend that I’m unarmed. Fuck. I’ve actually gotten used to it. Being around Gabriel and his curious hands, I can’t exactly keep my knife and pistol strapped to my thighs like I used to. I should’ve had the sense to ask Vesper for something a little more subtle. Eden’s lipstick taser gun doesn’t seem so silly at the moment.

Being a spy is a different skill set than being an assassin. When a kill is the end goal, the mission is clear. There’s only one way to succeed: someone stops breathing. I’m usually in and out within minutes. If I’m sniping, even less. The preparation takes far more time than the job itself.

I’m a superior assassin.

I’m a subpar spy.

I still don’t really know what the end goal is with Gabriel. I’m supposed to assess the situation and determine for Vesper if he really is a threat… But honestly, I still have no idea. All I see is a broken man. All the money in the world can’t bandage his broken heart. He wants her attention.Her love.

And right now, I am wholeheartedly convinced of two things: the woman he calls sugar is the First Lady. Also, Vienne wants him dead. There are so many questions that remain.Why does Vienne want to get rid of him? Does she love him back? Does he know she’s put a bounty on his head? Is he actually dangerous?

The elevator stops with a muted beep. The doors peel open, and I walk out into a private foyer about ten feet by ten feet. Outside of a slim credenza that holds a hardwired phone, thefoyer is empty. The only place to go is back down the elevator or through the double doors in front of me.

There’s nowhere to scan my key card. My gut tells me the doors are locked, but I tug on the handles anyway and prove my instincts dead wrong. I push the double doors open and enter the most grandiose penthouse I’ve ever seen. And yet, it’s rather quaint.

I sort of pictured Gabriel residing in a home that looked similar to Beast’s castle: a two-story library, ballroom, and talking utensils included. Instead, this place looks cozy and warm, even with the open layout. The cream-cloth couches are all gathered around a see-through fireplace. There are magazines and books on the coffee table, but no TV in sight. The built-in bookshelves are filled with encyclopedia sets—some in foreign languages. This is a scholar’s living room, which is another prominent reason why Gabriel and I could never be. Yes, I’m in love with another man. I’m pretty certain that he’s in love with another woman. But it’s the idea of sitting around on date night and reading old encyclopedias together that is really the deal breaker here.

“Gabriel?” I call out as I pass the living room and venture down a hallway to another set of double doors, leading to what I’m assuming is the master bedroom. The doors are cracked ajar, and I can already see my purple hardcase luggage sitting at the foot of the bed.

I’m reminded of how annoyed I am at Gabriel’s power move. Not as an assassin, but as a woman. Kicking me out of my suite, which I’m spending a small fortune on, is ridiculous. Making the decision to move me into his penthouse is a whole new level of possessive.

---