Page 15 of Shy Girls Can't Date Celebrities
I pout, rubbing the space over my heart as I watch the devastated boy on-screen, hatching a plan to get the girl of his dreams back. There’s something so cute and innocent about his performance in this movie. Itmakes me gush every time.
My poor Wyatt.
I hope he hasn’t spent the past few weeks scared about who he is.
If I have to, I’ll spend all my time reminding him of how incredible he is.
Three
Throughout the flight, the only turbulence was inside me. The mixture of emotions sent me queasier than any motion ever could. When we disembark the plane, both Claire and Captain Ford ask me to give their best to Wyatt.
On the tarmac, the broad man in black, who spent the entire flight sitting silently in one of the armchairs at the front of the plane, walks us to a shiny black SUV. We’re not in the regular terminal area of the large airport. We landed in a more secluded area that screams of celebrity secrecy.
I’m let into the car first, and recoil at the sight of another person. “Oh, umm, hi.”
The man wears an impressive three-piece suit, and sits with his backto the front passenger seat. He nods at me while having his phone glued to his ear.
Randall gets into the car beside me and motions at the man sitting opposite us. “This is Martin Gilmore, head of financial management. He’s arrived this morning to meet with Erika at the hotel.”
“Will I meet Erika?”
Randall grins. “Of course. She’s excited to meet you.”
The car ride into the city center is mostly silent. Apart from Martin’s phone conversation and Randall hurriedly tapping on his phone. To ease my running thoughts, I stare out the window, hoping the emerging cityscape will be a useful distraction.
As the skyscrapers and oversized billboards come into view, it only serves to spike my anxiety. Instead, I take the opportunity to text Mom and Dad, letting them know I’ve landed in Cherry Beach. I also add, I’ll call them later, because we’re on the way to the hotel.
After the twenty-minute drive, the car slows and Randall announces, “We’re here.”
A doorman opens our car door. “Welcome to the Gran Palacio Hotel.”
Martin nods at the doorman, exiting the car first.
My hand pauses over the seatbelt buckle, too frozen to move.
Randall chuckles at me, gesturing to the open door. “Come on, Josie. This is us.”
I swallow hard and edge my way out of the car.
“This way, miss,” the door man says, gesturing to the revolving door at the hotel’s entrance.
I thank him and enter the hotel with Randall following behind. The expansive foyer is floored with large sandstone tiles, marbled with veins of gold. Overhead, a large five-tiered chandelier hangs from the twenty-foot high ceiling. Red leather armchairs surround glass coffee tables with gold legs. And ahead, well-dressed and professionally welcoming frontdesk staff await behind a tall counter.
Randall motions at the front desk area. “Let’s get you checked in.”
We move over to the counter and a man with slicked back hair greets us. “Hello and welcome to the Gran Palacio Hotel. Do you have a reservation with us?”
“Yes, this is Josie Bartlett,” Randall answers. “We reserved the presidential suite for her.”
My heart misses a beat. It wasn’t a dream. I’m actually staying in a presidential suite.
The front desk clerk smiles at me warmly. “Hello, Miss Bartlett. We’ve been expecting you.” He dings the counter bell. “Someone will be here shortly to show you to your suite.”
“That’s it?” I ask, glancing at Randall and then back at the clerk. “You don’t need anything else from me?”
“Everything is taken care of, Miss Bartlett,” he says, handing me a keypass. “We hope you enjoy your stay.”
I nod, backing away. “Umm, yeah, okay.”
