I also fielded a few emails and texts from the convention organizer, who was how shall I put it? More than relieved to hear from me once I let him know I would be there starting tomorrow.
If I knew Lucy was mine right now, I could rest easy, maybe even just hang up the whole book convention and we could just disappear the two of us.
Listen to yourself, Nathan. Is everything a fantasy to you? This isn’t some book, it’s real life. Get a grip.
I hate to admit it, but since firing my agent, I’m starting to sound a lot more like my agent sometimes.
Responsibilities, good press, sales. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for what I do best, which is fantasy. It’s what writers do.
But now I have a new interest and it’s even harder to focus, not just on the convention but on anything.
“You alright?” Lucy asks me in the elevator as we head down.
Her hand on my arm makes me realize how tense I am, like vein-popping tense.
I take a breath, feeling the air clear my mind and wondering when was the last time I actually did take a breath.
“I’m alright,” I tell her, feeling better already now that she’s touched me, even if it’s only slightly.
“I’m still pinching myself,” she confides as if she’s talking to someone else. “This whole day has just been so… weird.”
I should wince at the memory of her catching me with my pants down, literally, but the thought only brings back that feeling.
I feel myself starting to stiffen again, and I make a low sound, stifling a cough and clearing my throaty.
“Not the way I usually introduce myself,” I remind her, watching her blush a deep crimson.
“I wasn’t talking about that,” she whispers, her hands trembling at the thought, but in the same way, I’m getting hard for her.
I can’t be imagining this, there’s no denying this feeling between us.
“Lucy, I-”
Bing.
The elevator stops loudly and the door slides open, a full lobby of guests and what looks like some media who must’ve heard I was staying here.
There are flashes from cameras and a couple of static lights right in our eyes, with microphones shoved right in both our faces before I feel firm hands leading us both away.
“Right this way. Mr. Cartwright. Sorry about this.”
It’s the hotel manager and some security he’s had to muster up.
“I was meaning to call your room, but there was another call,” he tells me, guiding us both through to the dining area.
“I’ve reserved a section for you here,” he says swiftly, registering how much I’m disliking my stay so far.
I snatch my elbow back from a guy in a dark suit and glasses.
My first thought is for Lucy though. I need to know she’s alright.
Turning around I feel my heart stop for a second, I don’t see her.
The arm I thought was hers is the hotel manager.
“Where’s Lucy?” I growl, noting his quizzing look.
“That girl?” he almost scoffs, and then I hear her, not too far away, calling out after me over the white noise that is the crowd.
“Nathan!”
“She’s with me, she’s mine,” I snarl, pushing them all aside and reaching her in three long steps, pulling her from the crowd and debating whether to leave altogether or head back to our room, I can see the only clear path is towards a waiting dinner table.
Sensing her anxiety and worry at my own reaction, I grip her close, my hand around her waist as we make our way through to what looks like half the restaurant closed off just for my benefit.
For our benefit.
Come to think of it, it’s perfect. I couldn’t have come up with anything better myself.
“Sorry, Mr. Cartwright. I didn’t know you had a guest,” the manager says, bowing a little.
“I’m Steve Chalmers, Manager of the Mercurion Hotel group. I only just now found out you were staying with us,” he croons.
Not sucking up, but trying to make amends.
“I understand there was some trouble with your accommodation too, which we have rectified. A penthouse suite is available, with our compliments,” he says in the same low, velvety tone.
A man who appreciates good publicity and happy celebrities as much as he does a full hotel.
Even if it costs him half a dinner service.
“Uh, the room’s fine,” I clip, brushing off his offer and picking up a menu.
I give a second thought to the deal Lucy and I had to make to even get our rooms. Wondering just how many cousins Marty has and if he still has his job at reception.
But it’s really just a passing thought. Lucy is all that matters now. Being here with her, now.
“If we could have a minute before we order?” I suggest with raised brows, eyeing the semi-circle of security, waiters, and hangers-on.
They all disappear with apologetic murmurs, speaking in low voices amongst themselves once they figure they’re out of earshot.