Page 16 of Not Safe for Work

The clerk looks up and makes his way over to Kalena before their heads bend together in a universal gesture of something is up. The two confer quietly for a moment, and then the man gestures Rafe towards our end of the counter.

“There is a mistake,” I say again. “It’s supposed to be two rooms. One for each of us. A suite for me. Check again. Please.”

Kalena resumes tapping at her computer, her steady smile dipping at the corners. I feel Rafe approaching, his big body stopping just behind me as we manifest a set of pleading stares directed at the hotel clerk who now holds the fate of our entire world in her hands.

This can’t be happening.

Kalena finally looks up. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Malik, Mr. Gallagher, but we only have one room booked under your names.”

“Okay, he’ll take another room then,” I say, pointing to Rafe with a bit more flourish than necessary. When my knuckles accidentally connect with his stomach, he grunts and glares at me as I offer him an apologetic look over my shoulder. Geez, his stomach is hard. My hand is throbbing. Is he wearing a steel undershirt?

Kalena leans over the counter and lowers her voice, clearly worried I’m about to make a scene. “I’m sorry, but we are completely booked up. There are no more rooms.”

My eyes dart around the sprawling lobby. “There has to be. This hotel is massive. You must keep some on reserve for emergencies.”

She nods, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Normally we do, yes, but it’s an extremely busy week, and even those are gone.”

“How can that be?”

“We have several weddings and conferences booked,” she says in a way that suggests it should explain everything.

“He’ll take anything.” I gesture to Rafe again, this time being sure to avoid his knuckle-bruising abs of iron.

“Excuse me? I will not,” Rafe interjects, stepping up to the desk.

I attempt to silence him with a look, but he rests an elbow on the counter and flashes that hundred-watt smile he saves for everyone else.

But wait, this is good. No one with a beating heart could fail to be moved by that smile.

“There must be something else?” he says, smoother than the velvet lining of a jewelry case.

Kalena starts in on her keyboard again, her fingers flying.

“I’m really sorry,” she says after another minute, and I sympathize because she seems genuinely distraught about disappointing him.

“A broom closet. A sofa in the lobby. A towel on the beach. Anything,” I beg as Rafe gives me increasingly incredulous looks I choose to ignore. I’m starting to lose it. Rafe’s standing too close. His scent and his heat are confusing me as I try to find a way around this. I’m hot and dizzy, and why does everything smell like Irish Spring?

Kalena hits a few more keys and then crisply slides two small cardboard envelopes across the desk with definite purpose. “I’m sorry. This is all we have. I can call around, but every hotel in the vicinity is booked.”

She nudges the white rectangles again with a finality that suggests she’s done with me, and I stare at them numbly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap when I catch Rafe’s glare. “This isn’t my fault. You’re the one ruining my vacation.”

“This isn’t a vacation, and you think I want this?”

He swipes the keys from the counter and then takes off towards the bank of elevators, rolling his suitcase. I hesitate, but now he has both keys, so I reluctantly chase after him.

We stand side by side as we wait for the elevator.

“Just stay away from me,” I say.

“No problem. You’re the one obsessed with me. Not the other way around.”

“Shut up. I’m not obsessed with you. God, your ego is the size of Canada.”

The elevator pings, and we lurch for the entrance, our suitcases bumping and our bodies colliding. Rafe steps back and gestures inside.