Page 18 of Kisses and Paperclips

“Hey,” I started, with a smooth, controlled, and breathless tone that would have a man ready to give me his kidney. “Could you call me a cab?”

The wince he gave me? Not a good sign.

“Uh… sorry, ma’am.” He dragged a hand over his closely cropped hair, his face cringing like he was bracing for impact. “The roads are icing over fast. Most drivers canceled or booked rooms for the night. No one’s running right now.”

I blinked.

Once. Twice.

Letting his words sink in, waiting for them to rearrange themselves into something more acceptable. They didn’t.

“So you’re telling me I can’t get a ride?” My voice officially entered my boss lady voice, hoped that would at least light a fire under his seat, even if just a little.

His Adam’s apple bobbed like the words were stuck on the way out. “No, ma’am. But we could have something set up for you in the morning.”

Morning.

The word rattled around in my head like a bad joke.

So, what was the plan now? Stretch out on one of these overpriced lobby couches, clutching my Louis Vuitton like a lifeline, praying I didn’t wake up to find someone had swiped my purse while I slept? Absolutely not.

I exhaled sharply, turning on my heel, already onto Plan B.

A room. That’s all I needed. A safe place to sleep, a minibar, and maybe a bed full of pillows deep enough to drown the fact that I was stuck in this hotel with a man I’d spent the last hour trying to run from.

The woman at the front desk was already typing before I even reached her. She clearly saw this look of desperation, the I’ m-about-to-lose-it panic creeping into my expression.

“Please tell me you have something available,” I sighed, my hands pressed against the counter, begged the marble to magically provide me a room.

She exhaled, her fingers hesitating over the keyboard before she glanced up at me.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice laced with the kind of gentle regret that made it clear she’d been delivering bad news all night. “We’re fully booked.”

I blinked. “Like… fully booked? As in, not a single empty room in this entire hotel?”

She winced. “Not one.”

I exhaled sharply, pressing my fingers to my temples. This could not be my life right now. “Okay, so what about a meeting room?” I tried, pushing past the rising panic in my chest. “Stick a rollaway bed in there, call it an exclusive VIP snowstorm experience, and I promise I’ll act grateful.”

Her brows shot up like I’d suggested she let me crash in the kitchen with the catering staff. “Unfortunately, that’s not an option.”

I glanced around at the elegant but very occupied hotel lobby, where stranded guests were already camped out in armchairs like they’d accepted their fate. Was I about to be one of them? Would I have to curl up on one of these velvet sofas with my Louis Vuitton pressed to my chest like a safety deposit box and hope I didn’t wake up to find my wallet missing?

I glanced back at the front desk, and that’s when I saw it. Her fingers moved over the keyboard, not searching, not scrolling. Just… typing. A little too fast and way too dramatic.

She wasn’t checking anything. She was faking it.

I narrowed my eyes. “You know, if you’re gonna pretend to look busy, you should at least type slower,” I said, arms folding tight.

Her fingers froze for half a second before she quickly resumed her fake-ass typing.

I exhaled slowly, the sigh released when the universe proved it had no mercy. My head tilted back, my silk press laying perfectly around my shoulders. At least I didn’t have to worry about sweating it out, at least that had gone right.

But here I was. Out of options. Out of luck. Officially homeless in designer heels, stranded in a hotel lobby.

I tightened my grip on my purse, less an accessory and more a security blanket, and took a calming breath, trying to push down the frustration bubbling up inside me. But because the universe had jokes tonight, that was precisely when I heard his voice, smooth and entirely too pleased with itself, cutting right through my crisis.

“Looks like you’re stuck.”

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