Page 10 of Wait For Me

“George and I are in a partnership. Aren’t we George?”

I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but I know George is in over his head, and somehow, this guy is running the show.

It’s that that makes me bite back everything I was about to unleash on him.

He’s not the one who signed my release forms—I don’t need to convince him to let me take the photos of the abandoned east wing. I’ll just find a way to get the shotsthe way I do when things get sticky on any shoot. I’ll get inside on my own. If I get caught, I’ll show them the paperwork. Which should work for any legal issues when the images are published too.

I think.

“Fine. It was nice meeting with you,” I tell George, ignoring the slime ball.

George doesn’t even question how easily I back down, but he looks like he could weep with relief that I do.

I head back to my room to get my laptop to print off the agreements, which I’ll stick in my back pocket before heading back outside to pick the lock where I’d met the security guard. Maybe I’ll email my buddy Jude while I’m at it, let him know what’s going on in his family’s hotel, and tell him what I’m planning on doing. Jude Kelly is one of the few people I’ve kept in touch with from home. He’s the reason I found out about Shannon Kelly–his mom–passing. Jude won’t care if I take the photos–or if I have to sneak into the building to do it. He, Sam, and I used to get up to all kinds of mischief when we were kids; he’d probably give me a high five. These days, Jude’s removed from the resort, having spent the past decade playing pro tennis. But it would still make me feel better to be open about it.

There’s a maid cart down the hall from my room, but I hung thedo not disturbsign on my door before I left. So I nearly jump out of my damn skin when I push open the door to see someone whirling at the sound of the latch opening.

And I nearly drop my damn camera when I see it’s Cora Caplin, holding my blue T-shirt in her hand.

CHAPTER 5

Cora

Panic rocks through me, followed by a swell of mortification.

“Oh God,” I say. My heart thuds against my ribs. Tristan—or world-famous photographer TJ Galloway, as last night’s internet scouring revealed—stares at me, frozen at the door to his room. A newly clean-cut Tristan who, though he’s clearly a man now, is also instantly recognizable as the subject of my deepest, most aching-heart teenage dreams.

“Tristan, I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing here?” he asks. He sounds upset.

Of course he is. But it’s not until I follow his gaze that I understand just how bad this is.

His eyes are on the shirt in my hand.

Oh God.I toss the shirt onto the bed, my mortification deepening. I didn’t mean to snoop in Tristan’s room. I definitely didn’t mean to pick up the shirt I’d left for him on the door of my apartment building last night. The one that’s kind of stiff now, like he used it for…

I cut my thoughts off. “I didn’t know thiswas your room. I just get the list of refreshes and I happened to get this floor…”

I also scanned all the lists this morning and chose the one that had more than one person checking out the day I thought Tristan might be leaving. Just in case I might come across his room.

“You work here,” Tristan says. It’s more of a statement than a question. “That’s how you know George.”

“Yes,” I say. “Unfortunately.” I look down at my uniform. I refuse to be embarrassed about my job, even though it’s my brother Mom brags to her friends about. “I mean, I always wanted to work here, because of Eleanor.” It had been perfect for me, actually, until management changed hands. “But I’m looking for something else. Shannon Kelly hired me last year. She was lovely, but now she’s dead and George sucks.”

What is wrong with me?

“I’m sorry. I can… I’ll ask someone else to clean the room.”

Tristan runs a hand through his hair, looking confused. “I left a sign up.”

I cringe. He did. I knocked, and hearing no answer, I’d poked my head inside. I saw the camera lenses on the desk and thought it had to be his room. Then I saw the shirt. I pinch my lips between my teeth.

“I’ll go now.”

Except, Tristan hasn’t moved from the entrance, so I can’t exactly get out without moving close to him. He seems to catch the hint though, so he lets the door close behind him and walks in so he’s in the main bedroom area.

Thank God I made the bed already. Seeing the strange intimacy of the rumpled sheets the way it had been when I came in with him here might do me in. Still, I glance at the place he slept last night.

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