Page 43 of Let Me
It’s the gym I’ve got to worry about, so I shoot my boss, Shane, a text to let him know something has come up. Something almost never comes up, so I’m not surprised when he sends me a text back to ask if I’m dying.
I laugh (lol, as if this is one big goddamn joke), tell him no, explain I’ve got more business to take care of in Toronto than I initially thought. He lets me off the hook with a frown-face emoji, but says he understands.
I doubt it.
Shane is married with no kids and too much money for his own good. He’ll either work the gym himself, because he can, or he’ll order one of the other university students I work with to do it, and his life will carry on.
Meanwhile, I’m just trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to get home from here.
Just when I see Tyler calling me back, his goofy grin popping up on my called ID, The Villa’s gates come into view. Because of course it’s gated. It’s a 5-star hotel. Something I conveniently forgot when I begged Morgan to let me stay here. For free.
A golf cart pulls up at the gates and a man in a tight security shirt asks if I’m Morgan’s friend, Riley. I can’t stop the smile on my face from her thoughtfulness, and nod, then take Tyler’s call while I ride in the backseat, around the gated, Olympic-sized pool and under the awning of the hotel.
“What’s up?” Tyler asks, skepticism and sleepiness in his voice. “You never call.”
I sigh. “I know,” I say. “It’s nothing. I was just…bored.”
He isn’t buying it. “I know you, Ry. You don’t call people when you’re bored. You read books or go work out or listen to death metal or do something else strangely obscene. Did you sleep with him?”
“Who?” I choke out as the security guy shoulders my bag and I nod my thanks. I usually don’t talk on the phone when I’m dealing with other people, because it’s rude. I know, because it happens at the gym all the time. But I called Tyler. He deserves to know why.
Or at least…the lie of why.
“Stop playing stupid. Did you fuck Caden?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I gotta—”
“Ah, that’s why you called. To know if you should. You two are toxic. Gasoline and…no, scratch that. You’re like a nuclear power plant and he’s a bomb about to drop on top of it. And there’s no iodine for the people in your path. You and he are like Chernobyl, and the Russian government, lying off what really happened.”
I laugh out loud, despite myself.
“That’s not a good simile,” I say. “I gotta go. Text soon.”
I hang up as I get to the check-in. The black marble floors and chandelier make me wish I’d put on something other than jeans and a t-shirt, but it’s too late for that now.
The receptionist is beautiful, her sleek brown hair pulled up in a high ponytail, which reminds me that my own hair is a wavy, sweaty mess around my face from walking in the summer sun.
“No need to check-in, Miss Larson.” She slides a key across the marble counter. Rich people and fucking marble. “Second floor, room 207.”
I smile, nod my thanks and turn to go, my bag back from the security guy. I think I might take advantage of the amenities, get a workout in to keep my anxiety at bay.
I hear a woman giggling at my back, a too-loud sound that means she’s trying to impress someone, or she’s utterly punch drunk in love, but I ignore it, heading to the curving staircase that bisects the large foyer.
“Riley?”
I freeze.
The laughter behind me stops.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
I don’t want to turn around, but I’m too far from the steps to walk up them without looking back, and I don’t see the damn elevator, so I turn.
My eyes lock on Caden’s light blue ones and everything goes out of my head. Words, logic, rationalization. Everything.
He’s wearing a grey blazer, a crisp white shirt with two buttons undone, his tan, muscled chest visible beneath. And on his arm is a girl with flowing blonde hair and a frown on her overly done lips. She steps a little closer to him, so her body is flush against his arm, and she’s wearing a short red dress.
That’s when my mind decides to work again.
