Her Man in Manhattan (17 page)
“Open your door and let me back in.” The voice was quiet, whispery.
“Who
is
this?”
“Oh, for the love of... How many other women would need to get
back
into your room this morning?”
“Why aren't you in your own room?”
“Because my key won't work.” It sounded as if Lorelei was spitting the words through clenched teeth. “I'm now stuck in the stairwell, so will you please open your door and let me in?”
The image of Lorelei hiding in a stairwell caused him to laughâwhich then made his head hurt. He heard her sharp intake of breath, followed by some muttering that probably wasn't very flattering to him. It was tempting to leave her there, just for the amusement factor and a much-needed ego-check. But Connor and Vivi might not be happy to hear about that.
He relented. “Come on.”
He returned the phone to its cradle and crossed the room. Opening the door, he stuck his head out. A few doors down, he saw Lorelei's dark head do the same. After seeing that the hallway was empty, she sprinted for his door, nearly mowing him down in her haste to get inside. “You could have just knocked, you know.”
Lorelei didn't seem to appreciate that statement, shooting him the pissiest look he'd ever seen. “This is a nightmare.”
“Just go down to the front desk and they'll recode your key.”
It seemed Lorelei had an even pissier lookâand this one called him all kinds of names, as well. “I am trying to avoid seeing people.” She gestured to her dress. “It's rather obvious that I didn't spend the night in my own room, and I don't want people wondering where I
did
spend it. Or who with.”
“Since when do you care?” Lorelei was a LaBlanc. One of the benefits of being a LaBlanc was complete certainty of your place in the food chain. Lorelei could do pretty much whatever she wanted with almost complete impunity. And she had.
“I care. Let's just leave it at that. Just call Housekeeping and ask for towels or something. Whoever brings them will have a master key and can let me into my room.”
“That's a lot of assumptions.”
“What?”
“I sincerely doubt that any hotel employee who wanted to keep their job would just let you in without a way to verify that you are the registered occupant of the room. And there's no way to do that without going through the front desk.”
She looked as if she wanted to argue that point. Did the woman seriously not understand what she was asking?
Lorelei cursed an unladylike blue streak and flopped dramatically on the bed. Then she bounced right back up like the bed was on fire, cheeks flaming.
Honestly, he had to admit it was a good look for Lorelei. The pink tint offset her fair skin and dark hair and called attention to her high cheekbones. Of course he'd be hard-pressed to decide what
wouldn't
be a good look for Lorelei. Even nursing what had to be a massive hangover, she could still stop traffic. There were shadows under those big blue eyesâeyes that were currently shooting daggers at himâbut they only emphasized her ethereal, almost fragile-looking bone structure.
That same structure gave her a willowy look, all long and lean, that made her seem taller than she actually was, and the slightly wrinkled cocktail dress she'd worn to the reception last night only made her legs look longer. The memory of those legs wrapped around him...
Lorelei was stronger than she looked. The look of fragile elegance was misleading. There was
nothing
fragile about the personality behind those looks, and Lorelei was pacing now with anger and frustration.
“What the hell am I going to do?”
He sighed and reached for his phone. “Let me call Dave.”
“And this Dave can help how?”
“Dave is the head of security here. He'll be able to sort this out. Discreetly, of course.”
That stopped her pacing. “You just
happen
to know the head of security for this hotel?”
“Yes.” He paused in scrolling for Dave's number and looked up to see her staring at him suspiciously. “Is that a problem?”
“It just seems convenient.” She shrugged. “Considering.”
“Considering what?”
“Your job. Having an in with security here just seems... Well,
convenient.
”
The insult, while not unexpected considering the source, and certainly not the worst he'd heard, still rankled. His columns and commentary were syndicated in newspapers around the country, and he'd built his platform and audience the old-fashioned way. She might not like his style, but he'd earned his place in the national discourse. He didn't need an “in” with anyone to get his leadsâhell, these days he had people falling over themselves to provide all the information he needed and then some.
He tossed the phone on the bed. “You know, I don't
have
to do you any favors, and I find myself quickly losing the inclination altogether.”
Lorelei's lips pressed together until they disappeared. He could practically see the way she was fighting back a snappy, snarky comeback, but she finally nodded. “You're right. My apologies. Please call your friend.”
It was terse, and not completely sincere, but he'd be the bigger person. Accepting the apology at face value, he called Dave. He glossed over the situation as much as he could, trying to avoid mention of Lorelei's name, how she came to be in his room and why she just couldn't go to the front desk like a normal person would in this situation. After some laughter and speculation on Dave's part that Donovan didn't dare relay to Lorelei, he hung up. “Someone from Security will be up with a key to your room shortly. You'll just need to hang out here a little while longer.”
“Well, it's not like I have anyplace else to go.” She walked over to the small coffeepot and asked, “Do you mind? I feel near death.”
“Help yourself.”
She did, and then sat in the leather chair. Legs crossed at the ankle, she held the cup with both hands and sipped gratefully. It was an incongruous picture: a disheveled Lorelei, hair rioting around her face and shoulders, in an obviously expensive, though slightly-the-worse-for-wear dress and stiletto heels, sitting primly in his hotel room as if they were politely having tea in the parlor.
And he knew exactly what kind of underwear she had on.
Somehow this was even more awkward than the wake-up-naked-and-get-dressed part. Were they supposed to make small talk now or something? What would an appropriate topic be?
There was small comfort in the fact that Lorelei seemed equally at a loss. He'd bet this situation was not covered in cotillion classes. She studied the art on the wall like it was an Old Master, pondered her coffee like it held the meaning of life, then finally turned her attention to her fingernails. He kept one eye on the TV and feigned interest in the talking heads on the morning show. He'd made his living by always having something to say, but this time his vaunted golden tongue failed him.
Lorelei cleared her throat. “So, will you be writing about the wedding?”
Lord, she really had no idea what he did for a living. “I don't do society news, Lorelei. I came as a guest to the wedding, nothing more.”
“I had no idea you'd become such good friends with Connor and Vivi.”
“I sit on two boards with Vivi. We share an interest in the arts. Connor and I have several mutual friends. I wouldn't exactly call us close, but I probably know them at least as well as a third of that guest list.”
“They are a popular couple.”
“Indeed.”
“And it was an amazing event, start to finish.”
It had been a star-studded event, thanks to Connor's fame, and the entire ranks of the New Orleans elite had been there, traveling in their usual pack. “I expected nothing less.”
Lorelei nodded, and he realized that topic had now run its course. Well, that had killed a couple of minutes. How long would it take Security to bring Lorelei a key?
She seemed to be wondering the same thing. “I wish they'd hurry.”
“Me, too. I have things I need to do.”
“Well, don't let me stop you.”
His three options were to take a shower, take a nap or go homeânone of which he could do while Lorelei was parked in his room. “I'm sure they'll be here shortly.”
Hard on those words there was a knock at the door, and Lorelei jumped up as he went to answer it. Her sigh of relief when the man identified himself as the assistant head of security was audible from across the room. He asked to see her ID, verified her as the occupant of the room, then handed her a key. “Would you like me to escort you to your room, miss?”
“No!” she practically shouted, before she caught herself and lowered her voice. “I'll be fine, thank you.”
The man nodded, then left without question, and Donovan wondered exactly what Dave had told him about his assignment. Of course it probably wasn't the oddest thing Security had ever done: this hotel catered to an elite crowd, and that elite had probably made far more questionable requests of Security in the past. He'd moved more toward analysis and away from the “shocking exposé” camp of journalism himself, but he'd bet there were all kinds of stories to be told from this hotel.
Lorelei cleared her throat, bringing him back to his own little drama. “Goodbye. Again. Thank you for your assistance, and, um, have a nice life.”
The re-do of her exit lacked the dramatic huff this time, but it retained its silliness as Lorelei once again checked the hall and slipped out like a bumbling spy in a bad movie.
At least he knew she wouldn't be back this time. Oddly, that seemed to be a little of a letdown. Lorelei certainly had entertainment value.
Although he'd been thinking more about the events of the morning, not last night, another particularly
entertaining
visual flashed across his mind.
And that quickly answered his question about what he'd do now: a cold shower was calling his name.
HER MAN IN MANHATTAN
ISBN: 9781460310229
Copyright © 2013 by Trish Wylie
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