Page 92 of Playing for Keeps
“Ugh. The Wyndham. She’s going to kill me.”
“Thanks, Ash. I owe you.”
“Just tell her how you feel.”
“I will. I promise. Love you.”
She exhales. “Love you too.”
The call ends, and I toss the phone onto the bed. I turn to Ronnie.
“You should head out. I’m going to take a quick shower and then go find Ivy. It’s probably best you’re not here in case she decides to come back with me.”
Ronnie gives me a soft nod. “Okay. I hope you two work things out.”
“Me too.”
She steps up on her toes and presses a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll call you next week.”
I nod and head into the bathroom. I still feel like hell, but none of that matters right now.
I just need to get to Ivy.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m striding through the lobby of The Wyndham Hotel, heading straight for the reception desk. My head’s pounding, and I’m sure I look like shit, but I don’t care. I just need to see Ivy. I don’t usually throw around my name to get what I want, but today, I’ll take any advantage I can get. Winning over the woman behind the counter is my only shot at finding her.
“Hi, welcome to the–” she pauses mid-greeting, her eyes going wide as she looks up from her screen. “Oh my God. You’re Wyatt Brookes.”
I flash a quick grin, feeling like I’m going to pass out. “Guilty. You a Cardinals fan?”
She shakes her head, smiling. “Not me, my boyfriend. He’s obsessed.”
“Well, then it’s your lucky day. I need a favor. And in exchange, I’ve got my agent’s business card. Email her, and she’ll hook you both up with tickets to the first home game this season.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
She leans in a little. “All right, what’s the favor?”
“I need the room number of a guest.”
Her smile falters. “That’s against company policy.”
I lean in too, lowering my voice. “I won’t tell if you don’t. And let’s be honest, those tickets have to be worth a little rule breaking, right?”
She bites her lip, clearly torn, then finally gives a sly smile. “Okay. What’s the name?”
“Ivy James.”
Recognition flashes in her eyes. “Your girlfriend, right? I saw the photos. I actually checked her in myself. She looked heartbroken. I hope you’re here to fix that.”
A pang of guilt punches through my chest. “Yeah. That’s exactly why I’m here.”
As she glances at the screen, I press my hand to my temple, wincing against the headache.
“Room five,” she says. “Through those doors. She asked for a first-floor room.”
I nod. “She hates elevators. Thanks. Here, email this contact. She’ll take care of you.”
