Page 21 of Return Billionaire to Sender

I go up to the desk.

The woman tilts her head. “Our ten o’clock was already here.”

“Oh, no, I’m not here for the mail. I’m Stella Myers.” Inwardly I cringe, hating to outright lie like that, especially when I have the uniform on. I show her the badge and lanyard that Lawrence created for me.

“Oh, you’re in one of the Blackberg suites.” She hands over a packet with two keycards, and runs through the things like complimentary coffee in the lobby from six to ten. She points me toward the elevators.

Minutes later, I’m flopped sideways on the cloud-like bed in my new hotel room. Just beyond is a picture-postcard view of New York.

I roll over and begin to study the packet that the lobby clerk gave to me, but it just tells about the hotel; I’m pretty sure it’s not the packet that Lawrence was talking about.

Obviously I won’t be able to function without that packet, but how am I going to get it? I could try to get in contact with Stella, but I can’t imagine she’d be very happy about what I’m doing. Which maybe means I shouldn’t be doing it?

I grab my phone and call Francine. Francine always knows what to do.

“Galpal!” she squeals. “How did it go? Where are you?”

“Well, Francine, I’m in my room at the Four Seasons,” I say.

“What are you doing at the Four Seasons?”

“Funny story…” I tell her about the case of mistaken identity, and showing Malcolm the video, and tomorrow’s travel plans, which apparently involve me.

“Oh my god, Noelle. What?!”

“I know. What am I even thinking? I can’t fly to San Francisco with these strangers! I mean, what if they call the Bexley office? I need to get out of here.”

“Wait, hold on, let’s think this through. Why would they call the Bexley office?” she asks.

“I don’t know! I’m just a letter carrier. I don’t know the world of executive emotional intelligence coaching.”

“Just don’t do anything yet.” Voices in the background. I can hear Francine talking to somebody. “…thought she was his executive coach and she went with it!” There’s laughter. The story is repeated. “No way!Noelle?” Murmuring voices. Knocking. The story is told again. More surprise.

“Excuuuuuuse?” That would be Jada. I can hear Tabitha’s laughter. And then Lizzie’s.

I stand at the window.

“Look, sit tight,” Francine says. “We’re coming over.”

“I feel like a hunted fugitive already,” I say.

“We’re gonna think it through,” Francine assures me. “Together.”

7

Noelle

Jada is floppedon my cloud-like bed with Antonio. Her bright blond hair is a perfect contrast to his rich dark curls, and her sparkly boots are on the quilt.

“Don’t mess up the bed,” I say.

“This is your room, you’re supposed to mess up the bed,” Jada says.

Antonio agrees. He swigs water from a plastic bottle.

“Antonio, where did you get that?” I ask. “You didn’t take that off of the dresser, did you?”

“Noelle, those are complimentary,” Lizzie says from the chair by the window. “It’s fine. It would be weird if youdidn’tdrink water or sit on the bed.”

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