The second clerk’s rushing over just in time to hear my ultimatum, my promise to join them together as one with some violence, but I can’t stay mad.
Not once I see how upset the girl is.
She’s had some bad news by the looks, and I watch her for a moment before I see it.
That moment when I get recognized, even when I’m wearing some sort of disguise.
It’s a relief in a way, at least now I have an in with her. A reason to talk to her. A reason to get closer to her.
Maybe even a reason to touch her.
The thought makes my breath shiver and I let out another low sound. The new and pleasing hardness in my pants thumping in time with my heart that is hammering against my ribs.
The clerks have done their homework, both exchanging my I.D while they have their own aha! moment. It really is him, oh shit. Etc. etc.
That face people make when they realize just who it is they’re talking to.
But my hotel room suddenly doesn’t matter. Neither does the convention or the stupid refund.
It’s only her I’m interested in now.
I hold a hand up to hush the clerks when they start to speak, all my attention on her now.
But it all falls to pieces. Goes horribly wrong.
Not like it should in any story I’d write.
She tucks away the note she’s opened and picking up her heavy case, she turns on her heel without a second glance in my direction.
She’s leaving.
In two seconds I’ve torn off my glasses and hat, smoothed my hair out, and am in the process of ripping off my long coat when I remember it’s the only thing between my hard on and the rest of the world.
But at least she can see who I am now.
Who I really am.
It’s a cheap and long shot, but I can’t just let her walk away from me, not like this.
I don’t even know her name.
“Oh, Mr. Cartwright!” The clerk calls out from behind me, and I turn as I’m following her just long enough to see him waving my wallet and I.D in the air.
Long enough and loud enough for the whole foyer to hear him, and I’m suddenly looking a lot more like myself than when I walked in.
Shit.
In seconds there’s a swarm of fans, all jostling to talk, take a selfie, but most annoying of all, stop me from following the only thing that remotely interests me anymore.
It’s almost a half-hour before security can get enough space between me and those adoring fans before they get what they all want and I make my way back to the counter.
It’s bad timing sure, but this whole weekend is about the fans and to listen and talk to up and coming writers, it’s why I’m here.
At least, it’s why I thought I was here. Until I laid eyes on her.
I collect my wallet and giving the clerk the closest thing to a death stare as he promises he should be able to find me a room, maybe.
I ask him where the nearest hotel is.
“Somewhere that young lady might have gone,” I suggest, motioning to the space where she stood not too long ago.
Before I had my chance to meet her ruined by this schmuck.
He names a few hotels after thinking nervously and I lean over the counter again, his nose an inch from mine.
“Then get me a car and a way out of here, then tell whoever’s organizing this shit show that if I don’t come back it’s your own doing. Your fault, got that?” I ask him, narrowing my eyes and fighting the urge to feel the back of his skull with my fist.
He gulps hard, and reaching for the hotel phone he arranges a courtesy car to meet me out back in a few minutes to take me to another hotel.
“Better be the right one,” I snarl as he hangs up, and he looks puzzled. But I don’t have to explain myself to him.
I’d love to stay mad, to blame someone. But there’s no time for that.
I’ve had a taste of something I need more of already. Just being away from her for this long is torture enough.
Not knowing where she even is or if she’s okay?
That’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to and not one I want to carry for much longer if I can help it.
“Who is she?” I ask the clerk, making him look double-puzzled as I continue to study the air in the space she was standing in as I wait for my car.
“The girl?” he asks nervously, gasping when I growl again and shake my head.
“Yes, the girl,” I bark.
“Uh… Lucy Scarborough?” Pipes in the second clerk meekly. “She was booked in with a friend, but there was a change of plans,” he offers.