Page 14 of Framed

A two-finger salute was all I got in return and I took that as my cue to shut the large door.

chapter five

Scarlett

“WelcometotheOnyxCircus Hotel. Are you checking in or booking a reservation?” asked the smartly-dressed receptionist as I walked through the expensive golden sliding door. The second thing to greet me was the strong scent. It alluded to the wealth that oozed confidently from the walls.

This wasn’t what I expected from a man who ran a jail and looked as if he’d walked off the set of a Western movie.

The receptionist was immaculate. The form-fitting navy-blue dress she wore was moderate but elegant, long sleeves paired with a silver name tag that read “Siobhan.” Her dark brown hair was curled to perfection, not a single flyaway to be seen. I was half tempted to ask her the name of her hair spray when her professional smile turned expectant, making me aware that I was staring at her like a loon who just got out of the loony bin.

It wasn’t too far off, come to think of it. But still, I bet her finger was hovering over her panic button right now.

“Checking in,” I replied, glancing around the expensive-looking lobby until settling back on her. Everything here looked larger than life. The marble floors and high white crystal chandeliers were a far cry from Tuscaloosa Inn, a popular hotel in my hometown.

And of course, everything was a far cry from where I’d spent the last few years. I couldn’t get over how many large windows there were in regular buildings. It felt like I’d forgotten that fact.

She eyed me warily, scrutinizing my appearance in a way that made me feel as if I didn’t belong. As if I wasn’t supposed to be here.

That soured my mood. I knew her type and I hated it.

I hated how quick people were to turn their noses up to you the second they deemed you insignificant.

Her smile was tight when she asked, “What is your name, ma’am?”

“Savannah Briggs,” I recited the name I’d forced myself to practice. I wasn’t quite sure why Briggs left me his last name in that envelope or if I was an accessory to identity theft now. But it was too late to ask. I was already here, so I was going to have to trust him.

The change in the receptionist’s demeanor was palpable. Her smile grew larger and spurious, as if a switch went off in her head at the mention of that fake name.

“Ms. Briggs, of course. Mr. Briggs called us a few days ago and informed us about your upcoming stay. We have the penthouse suite ready for you.”

The penthouse suite?

“Surely you’re mistaken,” I said. “Could you check again? It’s under Savannah Briggs.” I wasn’t trying to cause commotion, but I couldn’t quite wrap my head around why Briggs would book me a penthouse suite. Wasn’t he trying to be discreet? My eyes scanned the rest of the lobby, there was no one else outside of a few patrons at the bar, and a security guard standing by the elevator watching the arrangement with growing suspicion. He could take me down with one push of his pinky if he wanted to.

Great.

She looked at me as if I was crazy. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t starting to feel a little crazy myself. Just two days ago I had still been incarcerated for my former best friend’s murder. Now I was standing in the most luxurious-looking hotel I had ever seen. Booked to stay in apenthousesuite. This all felt so bizarre.

The woman must have decided to humor me because her fingers started moving on her keyboard again. “Yes, ma’am. Savannah Briggs, main penthouse suite. Would you like me to have Paul,” she gestured to the large security guard I spotted a second ago, “escort you to your room?”

I plastered on a fake smile of my own. “No thank you, I’m good. I’ll just take the keys.” My chin lifted a little higher and my posture straightened.Screw this lady and her judgmental looks.

Just because she was acting friendly now didn’t mean I’d forget how she’d treated me at first glance.

There went that look again. But I kept my tight smile in its place as she walked through the office door behind her. A few seconds passed and she appeared again, carrying a set of keys with a silver magnet fob attached to it.

“Please use the fob for elevator access to the penthouse suite. You have a full bar, access to the exclusive rooftop restaurant, and an unlimited tab. Feel free to utilize the amenities as you see fit. Mr. Briggs did inform us that you plan to have a visitor. Her name is on the list and I will send her up once she arrives. However, should you expect more company, please call down and leave their names with me or anyone who is working the front desk. I hope you enjoy your stay here with us at the Onyx.”

The security guard didn’t smile, greet me, or even look in my direction as I entered the elevator. I tried not to think too hard about it on the way up, but I failed miserably. It was as if I were a ghost, nonexistent. As much as I hated to admit it, it made me think of my last year at Tuscaloosa County High School.

You’d think that the trauma of being locked up for years would have erased—or at least overshadowed—all those terrible high school memories. But it turned out more things could hurt a person all at once than you might think.

I turned the key in the lock and paused on the threshold of the room. If I thought the lobby was larger than life, the penthouse suite was out of this world.

Four steps were all it took to be greeted with that wealthy-smelling aroma again. Five steps and I was enamored by the eclectic artwork that adorned the walls. This penthouse had to be at least ten thousand square feet—the size of the living room alone was staggering. You could have fit our entire correctional facility cafeteria in here.

The aristocratic dark grey couch, with its solid fir wood base, was modern yet regal. Something I’d think I ruin just by sitting on it.

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