by Hart, Callie
Harold’s eyes had glazed over a while back. He didn’t seem to be taking any of this in. I grabbed hold of Mr. Black by the arm and tugged him forcefully away from the check in desk. “Look. You heard me on the phone just now. I have to get to my sister’s wedding in Fairhope by Saturday. If I let her down, I’ll break her damned heart. I’m the only member of family she’ll have at this stupid fucking ceremony. Now, please… I need to drive out of this dump first thing in the morning, and to do that I need to fucking sleep. Please! Just let me have the fucking room!”
“You know you say fuck a lot?” he whispered, leaning into me, as if imparting a piece of information I might not yet be aware of. His snowstorm eyes flashed at me, filled with amusement.
“Lady, what’s your name?” To my left, Harold scratched at his temple with the chewed end of a ballpoint pen. Oh, thank god. The guy had seen reason. I’d been the first person waiting for a room, so therefore I got it. Fair was fair. I breathed a sigh of relief, releasing my grip on Mr. Black’s arm.
“It’s Sera. Sera Lafferty.
Harold stuck out his tongue, his brow furrowing as his hand weaved toward what looked like a guest ledger. I risked a victorious sidelong smirk at Mr. Black, but I wasn’t rewarded by a look of dismay plastered across his face. The bastard was still smirking, himself.
“And you. What…?” Harold hiccupped. “What’s your name?”
“Felix Marcosa.”
Of course his name was fucking Felix Marcosa. It suited him down to the ground. What an asshole. Harold obviously agreed with me. He groaned, shook his head, and then scribbled something sideways in the ledger. “I entered you into our state-of-the-art database as Mr. and Mrs.…” Hiccup, “…Jones. Twenty-seven’s got two beds. Figure it out. Now…” He squinted at me and then at Felix, narrowing his eyes. “What did we agree? Three hundred from you,” he said, pointed at me. “And five hundred from you. Plus…a box of Cuban cigars.”
Felix Marcosa wasn’t smiling anymore.
But then again, neither was I.
About the Author
Callie Hart was born in England, but has lived all over the world. As such, she has a weird accent that generally confuses people. She currently resides in Los Angeles, California, where she can usually be found hiking, practicing yoga, kicking ass at Cards Against Humanity, or watching re-runs of Game of Thrones.
You can connect with here right here!
