“I already said he could do that, ma’am.” Grass frowned at him.
Graham frowned back. “And I said I don’t know you. Hannah, where did you find this kid?”
Hannah watched the exchange with amusement. “Grass was top of his class’s hotel management program.”
Hmm. Graham wasn’t convinced. Grass swallowed.
“You always did like to be the hero,” Hannah said, patting his arm. “Okay, come on. Unlike you, I have work to do.”
“I work.”
“Do you?”
Maybe he didn’t. He certainly tried not to, as much as possible.
Graham noticed Zoey had picked up a brochure off the counter and was trying to read it. “You drunk read. That’s adorable.”
“You’re arodable,” Zoey slurred in retort. “Boom. That just happened.”
Could she have been any drunker? Slinging her over his shoulder would have been easier, but there was—deep in the private parts of his mind where he admitted to eating Frosted Flakes and forgetting to floss—a sliver of Graham who still enjoyed being a good guy.
It had never gotten him anything but trouble, but he still couldn’t completely disconnect from his upbringing.
A more practical person would have carried her over his shoulder and lived to bend his elbows the next day. Instead, Graham carefully picked her up, one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back.
“Okay, upsy-daisy.”
He caught Hannah watching him, and Graham gave her a flirty wink. Hannah rolled her eyes and started off toward the elevators. Apparently, she knew which room Zoey was staying in by memory, despite the resort’s size.
Speaking of memory, something tickled his. “Hey, Hannah, don’t I owe you a drink?”
His ex smirked as she punched the elevator button for Zoey’s floor. “A drink because of what you did at Christmas or a drink because of what you did at New Year’s?”
Honestly, he couldn’t remember much of either of those two days, so he hazarded a guess. “Umm…New Year’s?”
“You owe me a drink and about two hundred dollars.”
“Ouch.”
“Not my fault you can’t handle yourself during Go Fish.”
“Strip Go Fish.”
“We didn’t play strip Go Fish.”
“Are you sure? Because I feel like I got naked.”
“Not because anyone wanted you to, buster.”
Well. That wasn’t great for the ego. And Zoey wasn’t great for his arms. The desire to be chivalrous had been epically destroyed by the time they reached the fourth floor, where Lana and Zoey’s suite was situated.
“Could this place be any bigger?” Graham grunted as Hannah unlocked the door. “You need a Segway or something to get around.”
“Stop whining.” Opening the door, Hannah stuck her head in to ensure the room wasn’t occupied. “The exercise won’t kill you.”
“I’m not whining.”
She gave him an amused look. “You’re not not whining.”
The suite was enormous. There was a private bedroom and a full living room, with a kitchenette and a wet bar. The butter-soft leather couch had a pillow and a blanket on it, tidily folded and placed at one end unobtrusively. Instinct told him that of the two of them, Lana wouldn’t know unobtrusive if it failed to smack her in the face.
“Okay, darlin’.” Graham set her down gently on the couch. “You’re going to drink some water and then sleep off the bear attack.”
“Don’t drink the water.” Mumbling, Zoey rolled over into the cushions. “It’s…source…moose urine. Don’t want to be a zombie…”
Graham’s lips curved involuntarily. “What was that?”
“Chronic wasting disease…mostly deer…some moose…don’t want to be…zombie moose…end of the world…”
Then she was out cold, leaving Graham to stand there, wondering if zombie moose really existed and if maybe a zombie moose apocalypse might actually be a thing.
Huh.
“You and I are going to have to talk,” Graham told the lump on the couch. “You’re fascinating.”
Under the watchful eye of a woman who knew Graham was more than trustworthy in there all alone, he made sure to tuck a blanket around her and stick a plastic wastebasket next to her head. He slipped Zoey’s glasses off her nose and folded them carefully, setting them next to a bottle of water and a worn packet of aspirin from the forgotten depths of Graham’s wallet.
Hesitating, Graham glanced at Hannah. “You’ll stay with her? Just in case?”
“She’s a guest at my hotel.” Hannah patted his shoulder and then gently nudged Graham toward the door. “I won’t leave this room until I’m sure she’s fine. Go home, Graham.”
Leaving Zoey snoring like a linebacker into her pillow, Graham paused at the doorway, unable to help his tired yawn. “She’s cute, right?”
Hannah just shook her head. “Not exactly the word I’d use to describe it. By the way, I talked to the Shaws last week. Their offer still stands.”
“Naw, I’m good. I still have some of my pride left.” Then, because one of these days, an unlucky guy was finally going to catch a break, he aimed his best smile her way. “So, Hannah. About that drink…?”
“The clock’s about to strike midnight, but nice try. Good night, Graham.” She gently shut the hotel door in his face.
Yep. Wednesdays. The only thing worse than a Tuesday.
Chapter 3
Less than twenty-four hours into her dream vacation, Zoey became a bobblehead.
There was something particularly discombobulating about waking up in a hotel room and not having any idea how she got there. Equally discombobulating was the pounding in between Zoey’s ears, like an anvil hammer beating directly on her brain.
She’d been discombobulated. She was a discombobu-head, her skull five times larger than her body, vision bobbing back and forth no matter how hard she tried to remain still.
Groaning, Zoey rolled over and fell straight onto the floor.
The distance between the couch and the carpet was only a foot and a half, but the unexpected drop was enough to land her on her back with a thump and a groan of misery. The worst hangover of her life hadn’t been part of the plan. She hadn’t scratched this down in her favorite moose-themed notebook, tucked in a bag she hoped was still in her possession.