Page 90 of Shy Girls Can't Date Celebrities
I raise my palms defensively. “I don’t have anything to do with you getting a key.”
“But you’ve been with him? You’ve been in the penthouse?”
“Yes. I went to the clinic this morning so I could travel here with him. You could’ve done the same.”
Malice strikes through her glare. “Are you trying to guilt me? You don’t think I love my son?”
I back away, crossing my arms in front for self-protection. “I didn’t say anything like that.”
She shoots out her hand. “Give me your passkey. I need to see Wyatt.”
“I... I... I don’t know if I can.”
She snorts in contempt. “You guilt me for not seeing him, and now you won’t help me get upstairs?”
“No, it’s just I need the key. Once I get my bag, I’m going back upstairs.”
“You can have Randall get you another passkey. Wyatt’s father and I need to get upstairs now.”
“But Randall could give you...”
“Now, Josie!” she snaps. “Hand over the key.”
Her threatening tone chills my blood to ice. My knees knock together as I hand over the passkey.
Mrs. Hayes snatches it and turns on her heels. “Thanks.”
My hand tremors as I pull out the passkey to my suite and unlock the door. I get inside and plant my back against the closed door, panting for breath. Her mood snapped so fast. I wasn’t expecting such a severe reaction from her.
Instinctively, my eyes lift to the ceiling.Crap. What mood will Wyatt be met with? Will she tone it down with him and be gentle? Or will she rage about not being notified he was in the hotel?
Should I tell Randall? I have to ask him about getting another passkey, don’t I? Or can I just call the front desk and ask for another key? Would they just hand it over to me?
Somehow, I doubt it.
I peel myself off the door, fanning my face as I walk further into my suite. I enter the bedroom to pack my bag, but I’m too flustered. There’s a horrible mix of heat and ice inside me, so I decide to refresh with a shower. When I’m under running water, it’s hard to gain the willpower to turn off the taps. The temperature and pressure is a renewing comfort, and I want to stay safe in this place. But when my mind shifts to Wyatt, the need to get myself back upstairs fills me with purpose.
Hurriedly, I pack my makeup and skincare products from the bathroom counter and dump them into my carry-on bag. With a brand new outfit on, I chuck the rest of my clothes into the bag without care of creases and wrinkles. Slipping the bag over my shoulder, I move to the landline phone in the living area.
“Hello, front desk,” a male voice says on the other end of the call.
“Hi, it’s Josie Bartlett in the presidential suite.” Gosh, I sound so full of myself.
“Yes, Miss Bartlett. How may I assist you?”
“Umm. I need to get in touch with Erika or Randall. You know, the people who work with Wyatt Hayes.”
“Yes, Miss Bartlett. I believe they’re having drinks in the bar. I canpatch you through and have the bartender notify them of your call.”
“Thank you. That’d be great.”
As I’m placed on hold, knots tie through my abdomen and twist around my spine. I hope Erika and Randall aren’t super peeved I gave Mrs. Hayes my passkey to Wyatt’s floor. Maybe they’re well aware of her manic tendencies, and that’s why they prevented her from visiting Wyatt today.
But that’s no reason to keep Wyatt in the dark. He was left thinking his parents didn’t care about him.
After ten minutes of on-hold music, someone finally answers. “Josie?” Erika’s tone is matter-of-fact.
Dang. I was really hoping for Randall. He’s less intimidating.
