“You okay, Ted?” Roarke leans over the counter.
“Roarke Baldwin?” A short-statured, round-bellied, bald-headed man emerges in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. “I saw your name on the list and thought maybe I missed you. My shift started an hour ago.”
Roarke holds his hand out and the man wipes his on his stained wife beater before accepting the offering. “Chicago did you good, huh?”
Ted isn’t looking at Roarke’s three-piece suit or the Range Rover parked outside. Nope. His eyes are on me. On my breasts to be precise. He licks his lips and my stomach clenches.
Roarke steps in front of me, cutting off Ted’s line of vision. “I have. This is Hannah, she’ll be staying here.”
“Sorry about booting you out of the other room, but Wyatt’s granddad and all.” The two men speak in a language I’m unfamiliar with.
“Yeah, I get it. I’ll be at my mom’s.”
“All the way in town?” Ted asks. Twenty minutes is all the way? Twenty minutes could be one block for me at the height of rush hour in the city.
“Yeah.” Roarke shrugs.
“So, she’s not yours?” Ted points to me as though I’m a dog or a piece of property to be owned.
My fists clench at my sides and I bite the inside of my cheek.
Roarke glances back at me, the side of his lips ticked up into a smile. He’s probably already guessed that I’m fuming on the inside. “Not yet, but soon.”
“Can we please get the keys?” I ask, done with this whole conversation. “For future reference, I’m nobody’s.”
I spin on my heel and exit the lobby and sit and wait in Roarke’s car. The two men carry on their transaction and Roarke returns to the driver’s seat five minutes later.
“I’m going to ignore the fact that that man looked at me like he’s on death row and I’m his last meal.”
Roarke laughs. “Ted’s harmless. We don’t get a lot of your type around here, that’s all.”
“Hate to break it to you, but you’re the same type as me.”
He starts the car and pulls it five hundred feet ahead, parking out front of room one thirty-three. I cry inside that I’m on the first floor.
“You were born with money, I made my own money,” Roarke says.
He’s got me there.
I know from my bff Gwen, coming from nothing and gaining everything is so very different than always having the security of money to fall back on. Still...
“I get that you grew up here, but you don’t fit in here anymore. Just like I don’t.”
He chuckles as we exit the car, him opening up the back of his SUV and pulling out my bag. With each step closer to the room, my stomach tightens—I really don’t want to stay here by myself.
He inserts the key into the lock and opens the door wide. Surprisingly, the room is decent. The linens look clean and the décor could be worse. I half expected a dark wood headboard that was mounted to the wall with orange and brown linens with pictures of deer frolicking in the woods. Instead, a yellow, grey, and white room greets me.
Roarke puts my bag on the luggage holder and shoves his hands into his pockets. “You have my number. I’ll be back tomorrow to pick you up. Just text me when you wake up. We don’t have anywhere to be until the rehearsal at four.”
My mouth drops open and I cross my arms over my chest. “You dragged me up here for me to sit in a hotel room off the highway until four o’clock?”
A smile tugs at his lips again and I realize my error.
Now he thinks I want to be around him.
He takes a step closer to me. “I had no intention of leaving you here until four. I was simply letting you sleep in if you choose to.”
“Thank you. I have no car and I’d rather not resort to a vending machine for my breakfast and lunch.”
I sound bitchy, I know. I’m purposely being difficult because I’m scared. Fear makes me bitchy when I don’t have the control I crave. I don’t know if it’s the unsafe feeling of the hotel, or the fact someone could kidnap me and drag me into the woods never to be seen again. Ted’s peeping Tom eyes didn’t exactly leave me with the warm and fuzzies.
“Then I’ll pick you up at nine am and I’ll feed you.” He rocks back on his heels. Other than loosening his tie after the call with his sister, he’s still neatly put together like a Ken doll—only with salt and pepper hair.
“Perfect.”
“Good.” He heads toward the door and the knob turns in his hand.
My gut clutches and my heart races. It’s do or die. “It’s late. I’m not opposed to you sleeping in the other bed.”
His back stiffens with his hand on the doorknob. “Are you offering for me to stay here with you tonight?” He swivels around and I can’t tell by the look on his face whether it disappoints him or makes him happy.
“As a courtesy, yes. Ted made it sound like it was far and I’m sure you’re tired. I would hate for a deer to run in front of you and ruin that nice SUV of yours.” I hoist my chin in the air.
His eyes flare with mischief. “Are you scared, Hannah?”
“No.” I open my bag, placing my clothes in the dresser and hanging up my dresses for the weekend, anything not to have to look at him.
“So you’re just being nice then?”
“Yes.” I keep my tone calm and collected as though I’d sleep here for a month by myself if I had to.
Not a chance in hell.
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” His hand lands on the doorknob again.
“Yeah, it’s no big deal.” I shrug while I close the closet door. “Two separate beds.”
“Okay, I’ll grab my bags.” He exits the hotel room.
I breathe again once the door is shut. I’m totally setting myself up for failure but having the safety of him in this room outweighs my Missing picture being posted on every telephone pole from here to Chicago.
There’s not time to process my doubt because Roarke returns. He shuts the door, flips the bar over, and secures the deadbolt. Wasn’t he the one who said no crime happens in Woods Parlor?
“Can I sweet talk my way into your bed, too?” he asks, hanging up a garment bag in the closet.
“You never know when to stop.”
I go easy on him after his comment because I appreciate the way he’s letting me off the hook in this scenario. The first time I showed this man any kind of vulnerability and he didn’t throw it in my face.
“When it comes to you, no, I don’t.”
For the first time, it dawns on me that maybe my odds of landing in Roarke’s bed are significantly higher than my odds of being murdered tonight. That thought would have been handy about five minutes ago.
Chapter Fifteen
The pressures of perfection are something I’m familiar with. You’re not raised under a microscope without being trained on how to stay calm and collected under scrutiny or high-pressure situations.
With perfection comes willpower.
Willpower to cut carbs.
Willpower to work out.
Willpower to bite my tongue when necessary.
A piece of cake can sit in front of me for hours as I continue a conversation with someone who is devouring theirs. That’s not to say I don’t stop on the way home for a milkshake. That’s the thing with being a Crowley. You only have to worry while in front of others. In the comfort of a room all by yourself with triple locks to keep prying eyes out, you can indulge in a whole cake if you want. As long as you don’t go up a dress size. What would your personal shopper at Neiman Marcus think if nothing fit you when you arrive?