Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Hard to know what would be best. Tell them I was coming or not. I decided on not. “No, that’s okay. But thank you.”
He nodded. “If you’re going to the northwest penthouse—that’s penthouse number two—Mr. Alcott is having a party, so the front door will probably be open.”
“Great. I appreciate the help.”
The elevator whooshed me up, and just as the guard said, the penthouse door was open.
Inside, the place was packed. A bartender was working behind a well-stocked bar, and several servers walked through the crowd. I was completely underdressed, as the men were all in suits and the women in everything from long and short dresses to pantsuits, looking ready to hit the town. I stood out, and some people probably thought I was crashing, but I was too busy looking for the bathroom.
The first one was empty, and the second one, farther back, was occupied by several people doing coke. As a rule, drugs didn’t concern me unless minors were involved, and they were all of age. I didn’t really get the man in the bathroom—he looked to be in his late fifties, and the three women with him were all in their midtwenties—but that was not my business.
Down a long hall, there were double doors, and through that, I heard the sound of pool balls clinking and knew I was close.
“Where’s the girl, Quent?” someone asked.
“I think she might be having an allergic reaction to the drug,” came the answer. “I’m going to give it another couple of minutes, and then I’ll use my key to open the door. If she’s sick or passed out, we need to move her. If not…” There was laughing then.
Turning, I almost plowed into a young woman who’d apparently come up behind me.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why are we being quiet?”
She looked younger than some of the other women, but just as well dressed. Her black dress had some shimmer to it, and I respected how well she was walking in her very high heels. Her long, thick brown hair was pulled up into a simple ponytail.
“I’m lookin’ for the bathroom,” I told her. “My friend was feelin’ a little queasy.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she rushed out and turned to point. “I think it’s right there. I was looking for someone, and one of the servers said there was a bathroom back here, so I was checking to see if that’s where she was.”
“Great,” I said, and followed her directions, crossing the hall to the door on the left. She was right behind me, and when I tried the knob, it was locked. “Talia?” I called loudly then, not caring who heard me. “Honey, it’s Del.”
Nothing.
I knocked loudly.
“Excuse me,” a man said behind me. Same voice I’d heard earlier, whom another man had called Quent—so this must be Quentin Alcott, then. I turned my head slowly. “I think it’s occupied,” he stated.
“Yeah,” the young woman acknowledged. “By his friend who might be sick in there or passed out. I think he’s going to need to put his shoulder into it.”
“Oh no, I have a key. I’ll get it. I can check on her.”
Before I could say anything, she said, “Yeah, no. Give me the key and I’ll go in. There’s a woman in there who may or may not require assistance.”
Funny to see a man who had to be in his early forties stand there and stare at the young woman and not say anything. The word creepy came to mind.
“Would you please get us the key?”
“Oh, yes,” he said and pulled it from the breast pocket of his suit jacket.
“Strange place to have that,” she remarked, and her glare was unmistakable as she moved before he could, darting over to snatch the key from his hand and then returning to my side and passing it to me.
“Thank you,” I told her.
She nodded as I unlocked the door.
Inside, there was no Talia anywhere, and I had a sudden pang of fear before my new friend bolted across the floor—again, impressive in those strappy stiletto sandals—and opened a door to reveal Talia sitting on the toilet with a washcloth over her face.
“Jesus, T,” I greeted her, relief and happiness rolling through me.
She moved the washcloth and looked up at me. “I threw up, but I feel so much better. I’m not dizzy anymore, and I’m good to go.”
I nodded.
“And may I say, this situation right here, is why I always carry a travel toothbrush and toothpaste with me wherever I go.”
“The compact one that folds in half?” My new friend asked.
“Yes,” Talia said, seemingly amazed, smiling at her. “You too?”
“Always,” she affirmed. “Plus I have floss picks. I mean you never know when you’ll eat too much garlic or be served corn on the cob.”
“Exactly right.” Talia smiled at her. “Who are you?”