Page 6 of Burn

Famous last words. Never say “only one” because those are the nights that usually end with you beside the toilet praying to the porcelain gods, or in handcuffs.

Exposure

Property near fire that may become involved by transfer of heat or burning material from main fire, typically little or no outside logistical support.

Christmas.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year. My ass it is.

Anyone who really believes that never walked in on their boyfriend fucking the neighbor two days before Christmas.

And to top it all off, when I went to break up with the bastard, he dumped me before I could get a word in and asked me to move out.

What the shit?

How does that even happen?

To make matters worse, I’m standing in the lobby of the hotel I work at wondering what the fuck I’m doing here on Christmas Eve. I could have stayed home, or rather at Scarlet’s apartment, because as I said before, cheating, bastard boyfriend equals homelessness for me.

But, unfortunately, being part of the hospitality industry means we’re never closed, so here I am going to work on a holiday.

I’m still pretty new at my job, not to mention the owner’s daughter, so I figure it’s better to be here and prove I’m dedicated to my job.

Standing in the lobby of The Wellington Plaza, I’m reminded of the fact that my dad doesn’t go halfway on anything, and he certainly didn’t half-ass anything when he built this hotel. The Wellington Plaza is a five-star luxury hotel consisting of thirty-one floors, one thousand guest rooms and suites, eight restaurants, three bars, four pools, a salon and spa, eight meeting rooms and two convention centers.

When you walk into the lobby, rich, bold colors greet you. Pops of red and black walls—my father’s favorite colors—meet sleek polished black marble floors. It sits in the outskirts of the city on Capitol Hill and boasts breathtaking views of the Space Needle, Elliott Bay, Lake Union and Union Bay.

Turning to walk toward the front desk, my heels click against the marble and I can’t help but think even though I’ve been walking through these doors since I was a little girl, I still find myself stopping to appreciate the visual impact this place has on a person when they enter.

It’s pretty damn spectacular.

“What are you doing here?” Tom asks, standing to the side of the front desk with two sets of keys in his hand and running his hand over his scruffy cheek. There’re some people who shouldn’t be a valet driver, and Tom Chase is one of them. Not to mention he’s too pretty for his job and he’s wrecked like four cars in his five-year employment here. “I thought you had the weekend off for Christmas?” he asks, looking at the keys in his hand like he’s trying to figure out what keys go to what reservations. If it wasn’t for Stevie, the other valet attendant, Tom would be lost. Actually, most of the time he’s lost.

I choose not to say anything because Tom is a friend, a friend who knows about my relationship with Judah and more importantly, he knows Judah so if I answer him, it will be glaringly obvious something is wrong. Soon after, he’ll put two and two together and come up with the fact that I got dumped by an asshole who cheated on me.

Keep in mind this is not natural for me. I have to physically purse my lips not to say anything because one of my major flaws is me not being able to keep my fucking mouth shut.

I’m not someone you want to share a secret with. It’s a curse I have.

“I did . . .” I catch myself, digging through my bag for my cell phone as it’s ringing, again, always. “I do. Or I should, but I just . . .” I can’t come up with a good enough lie, so I shake my head and give up.

Turning quickly, I avoid eye contact with him, toss my phone on the counter and pick up a folder in an attempt to at least appear to be reviewing the upcoming reservations for an investment firm looking to book fifty rooms for their employees. It’s also an attempt to distract myself from saying any more to Tom.

A quick glance from the corner of my eye and I notice Tom staring at me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. After a couple of minutes, I turn so I’m stillnotlooking at him, but I can see him looking at me and notice what seems to be understanding taking place in his inquisitive stare.

Stupid intuitive ass.

“I take it you and Judah are having problems?”

Having problems?Oh, isn’t that cute. He’s trying to pass this off as a simple misunderstanding? I think the only misunderstanding involved in what happened with Judah is him misunderstanding he wasn’t supposed to have stuck his pierced dick in someone else.

“Well, gee,Tomif you mean ‘misunderstanding’ in the sense that Judah fucked our neighbor, and then told me I should move out before I could tell him to kiss my ass then yes, yes we had abigfucking misunderstanding!” The moment the words are said, a sharp pain hits my heart. Oh God, does my pride hurt admitting this.

I think it would have been better if I broke up with him first, if for no other reason than my dignity, but the asshole beat me to it, which is justsoJudah Prince. If nothing else his timing is always on and he takes orders from no one.

Tom’s face twists slightly, and he swallows, hard, the kind of swallow where you’re wondering if he’s choking down a peanut without chewing.

I think he’s having this type of reaction and hesitation because he’s in a band with Judah, which is how I met the bastard in the first place. Tom’s attempting to gauge whether I blame him for this whole mess.

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