Page 103 of I Think They Love You

“You’re sure there’snothingelse available?”

Kiana, the very patient night manager, whose hand keeps twitching like she might stab Denz with a letter opener, smiles tightly. “That’s correct, Mr. Carter. We have one room left. A deluxe with a gorgeous city view and a king-sized bed.”

“No room with double beds?”

“No, sir.”

“How about a rollaway bed?”

“No, sir.”

“A nice ottoman with extra linen?”

A wild look crosses Kiana’s dark brown eyes. “No, Mr. Carter. One room left. One king-sized bed.”

He groans, almost face-planting on the counter. “What about—”

“It’sfine,” Braylon interrupts. The giddy buzz from the alcohol and dancing has faded. In its place, a grumpy, scowling beast. He holds up his phone. “I checked. Nothing in a twenty-mile radius.”

“Maybe we should try outside the city?” Denz suggests, one eye twitch away from frantic. “I’ll get us a car. A limo. We’ll go to a nice—”

“Denzel,”Braylon says tightly. “Everyone’s booked. We’re already here. Let’s just… stay.”

Denz sags against the counter.

“As I said when you arrived,” Kiana chimes in with the slightest hint of exasperation behind her tone, “it’s the NBA playoffs. The Miami Heat and all their fans are in town. And Ed Sheeran’s performing all weekend at Mercedes-Benz Stadium.”

Which explains the blend of hipsters and people in jerseys spilling into the streets.

“What about,” Denz says, way too hopeful, “a suite?”

He’s not against booking the top-floor presidential. Hell, if it means he can sleep in a bed on one end while Braylon’s at least fifty feet away on the other, he’ll buy out an entire floor.

“Well…” Kiana grins, typing away. “We do have one last city-view, deluxe room with a king-sized bed available.”

Braylon smacks a credit card on the counter. “We’ll take it.”

“Perfect. I just need a form of ID to put on file.”

Before Braylon can fish his license from his wallet, Denz tugs out his own, along with a black AmEx company card. “Our room and whatever else we want is on the CEO.”

Although this isn’t technically a “business necessity,” Denz is positive his dad won’t mind. Or he’ll find a way to bribe Auggie in accounting so Kenneth never finds out. Most likely the latter.

Braylon doesn’t fight him.

A few keyboard clicks later, Kiana hands them key cards and a complicated list of directions to their room. Braylon suggests Denz go up and order room service, since the selection of food at the engagement party hardly soaked up any of the drinks they shared, while he runs to grab essential items.

Denz’s feet hurt, he’s still half buzzed, and in no mood to argue.

“Enjoy your stay!” Kiana chirps, and Denz follows up with an unflattering smile before getting losttwicelooking for the elevators.

As promised, the view is breathtaking. Countless skyscrapers shimmer with artificial light. Centennial Olympic Park’s colossal Ferris wheel glows in purples and blues. Atlanta is a field of glittery neon, and Denz watches from a glass tower.

The room itself is an opulent mix of ivories and grays. The flat-screen is a black mirror reflecting everything back at him: touches of gold and emerald in the furniture. The plush high-back in a corner. A small paper bag with the Mélange’s logo.

Maybe stopping in the hotel’s shop for a couple of…incidentalsof his own was a little presumptuous?

Denz paces the geometric-patterned carpet. He glances at the bag. Shakes his head and paces some more.

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