Misadventures on the Night Shift

by Lauren Rowe

  Chapter Thirty

  I slip out of bed in the late morning light and quietly dress myself, taking great care not to wake Lucas. He’s sprawled on the bed, on top of the covers, naked and gorgeous, his breathing rhythmic and slow. Of course, I want nothing more than to skip my study group and stay in bed next to him—and maybe rouse him from his slumber by licking his balls—but the task at hand is looming too heavy on my shoulders to lie here and pretend the sky isn’t falling anymore. I’ve got a job to do here. A wicked, hideous job he’s paid me thousands of dollars to do, and I know in my bones I’ve got to physically leave this suite to detox from our fantasy for a bit if I’m ever going to be able to muster the resolve to do it. Plus, if I’m being honest, a small part of me hopes when Lucas wakes up and finds me gone, he’ll miss me, which in turn might prompt him to say, “To hell with the role-play! I want you to come to LA with me, Abby!”

  Either way, I’m bone certain I’ve got to get out of this place for a few hours or I’m going to lose my mind.

  I grab my purse off the dresser and begin tiptoeing out of the bedroom.

  “Abby,” Lucas whispers groggily behind my back.

  I jump in surprise and he chuckles at my almost cartoon-like reaction.

  “Jesus, you scared me,” I breathe. “I thought you were dead asleep.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Study group.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.” He looks crestfallen—which, I must admit, makes my heart flutter with excitement.

  Tell me to stay, Lucas. Tell me you don’t care about the role-play anymore.

  “How soon can you come back?” he asks.

  “Later this afternoon. We usually study for a couple hours and then grab lunch.”

  Please tell me to stay, Lucas.

  “Okay. Hey, before I forget…” He indicates the nightstand. “Top drawer.”

  My stomach drops into my toes. Crap. If Lucas is referring to what I think he is, it’s the last thing in the world I want right now.

  “Take it now so you don’t forget later,” he says breezily.

  I nod curtly, cross the room on wobbly legs, and open the top drawer. Sure enough, I see an envelope with “Assassin” scrawled across it. I grab the envelope and peek inside and my fears are confirmed. It’s filled with hundred-dollar bills.

  “I’ve decided to rip up the NDA,” Lucas says softly. “I’ve thought about it and I think Penelope Pleasure should be free to write about whatever she wants, including ‘My Wild Week with Lucas Ford.’”

  I’m shocked and I’m sure my face shows it.

  “Write about this week, Abby,” he says evenly. “Write about it in all its depraved, juicy glory and shop it to whatever magazines in New York you want to write for the most—Maxim, GQ, Playboy, Esquire, whatever. A salacious story like that will land you any magazine job you want. Or, fuck it, shop the story to the sleaziest tabloids and get yourself a huge payday. If you work it right, I’m sure you could get a bidding war started. And that ought to get you enough cash at the end of the day to wipe out your student loans and then some. Maybe even get yourself six months’ rent on a place in New York on top of clearing your loans.”

  I’m flabbergasted. He truly thinks I’d tell the world about our time together…for a payday?

  “Fair warning, I’ll pretend to be pissed about the story,” Lucas continues. “But only because if the world thinks I’m raging mad, that’ll make the tabloids pay twice as much for it.”

  I stuff the envelope into my bag, incapable of speaking.

  “Hurry back, okay?” Lucas says. “I’m already aching for another hit of my pretty little addiction.” His face lights up. “Oh, that’s a catchy internal rhyme for the chorus of ‘Addiction’—‘prit-ty-lit-tle-ad-dic-tion.’ That’s way better than the lyric I’ve got there now. Shit. Hand me my phone, babe, would you? I want to make myself a note.”

  I toss him his phone. “Are you going to write another song while I’m out?”

  “Maybe even two. I can’t keep up with all the ideas slamming into me. They just keep coming and coming.”

  “Are you going to write the next ‘Shattered Hearts’ while I’m gone?” I ask hopefully. Please, God, let him say yes and give me a reason to strip off my clothes and crawl into bed and forget the stupid role-play, once and for all.

  “Sorry,” Lucas replies. “I couldn’t write a tortured song like that right now if my life depended on it. The only songs I’ve got pouring out of me are love songs, thanks to you.” He smiles and his eyes sparkle. “Happy people write happy songs, I guess… And miserable people make art.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I rub my forehead as the members of my study group chat animatedly around me.

  I can’t concentrate.

  All I can think about is the conversation I had with Lucas back in the penthouse…and the envelope full of hundred-dollar bills he made sure I took before leaving. Clearly, he paid me the money before I left to make it clear the role-play’s still in full effect. And to ensure I don’t chicken out on doing the dastardly thing I agreed to do. And even though I understand he’s merely expecting me to follow through on what I promised to do for him, I can’t help feeling like he’s kicked me in the teeth.

  Oh, God, this entire week has been such a mind-fuck. My feelings for Lucas have felt so damned real. The conversations we’ve had, the way we fit together sexually, the songs he’s written about me. I’d swear on a stack of bibles we’re both feeling the same very real and very intense thing.

  And yet…

  He paid me. Which means that no matter what he may or may not be feeling for me, or how real or make-believe it may be, he wants me to follow through on my promise, regardless.

  Clearly, Lucas wants to be free more than he wants a girlfriend. And that means that, even though I love him, I’ve got to honor my promise to him and set him free.

  Or… Wait. Perhaps I’m thinking about this all wrong. Maybe I’ve got to honor my promise to Lucas precisely because I love him. If you love someone, set them free.

  I put my hands over my face, trying not to cry. Yes. That’s it. I love him…and that means I’ve got to do this for him, no matter the pain it will cause myself.

  “Abby?” a study-buddy sitting next to me says. “You okay?”

  I rub my eyes, stand, and scoop up my laptop and books. “I’m not feeling very well all of a sudden. I think I’d better get some rest.”

  I say my goodbyes and barrel out of the library toward my car in the parking lot.

  If you love someone, set them free.

  I reach my car, stumble inside, and sit for a long moment, my fingers wrapped around my steering wheel, tears threatening. If I go back to The Rockford and see Lucas’s beautiful face again, I’ll lose my resolve. I know I will. I’ll throw myself into his arms and beg him to take me with him to Los Angeles. I’ll tell him I love him and can’t live without him.

  And none of that is what he wants or needs.

  With a trembling hand, I pick up my phone to call Lucas, and suddenly realize we’ve never exchanged phone numbers. “Oh, for the love of fuck,” I mutter. With a sigh, I press the button to call The Rockford’s front desk.

  A male voice answers. “The Rockford Hotel. How may I assist you?”

  “Is this Theo or Pablo? It’s Abby Medford. I work the night shift.”

  “Oh, yeah. Hi, Abby. It’s Theo.”

  “Hey, Theo. How are you?”

  “Good. What’s up?”

  “Could you please patch me through to ‘Mr. Knobhopper’ in Penthouse A? I know he’s a restricted-access VIP guest, but I delivered some food to him the other day when he happened to be in the middle of writing an amazing new song, and he was so excited about it he played it for me. Anyway, I gushed about the song, of course, so he told me to come back again today on my day off to hear his next few songs, too—and I just wanted to talk to him briefly to ask if now would be a good time for me to drop by. Obvi
ously, I don’t want to bother him if he’s busy, and I know he’s flagged for no outside calls, but I don’t want to be rude and not show up if he was serious about me coming today.” I hold my breath and wait, not sure if Theo’s a big-picture kind of guy or a slave-to-the-rules kind of guy.

  “Wow, lucky you,” Theo says.

  “Yeah, I know. Right place, right time, huh? He seemed really sincere when he told me to come see him again today. He made me promise twice.”

  “Okay, yeah, sure, I’ll put you through. We wouldn’t want him feeling like you ignored his explicit request.”

  “Exactly. Thanks so much, Theo.”

  The line rings. And rings.

  “Yeah?” Lucas finally says brusquely, much to my relief.

  “It’s me,” I choke out.

  Lucas’s voice turns instantly warm and affectionate. “Hey, angel face,” he says softly, and I can hear his sexy smile across the phone line. “I’m aching for you, baby. Get your hot ass back here before I explode.”

  My stomach tightens. I lean my forehead on my steering wheel, close my eyes, and exhale. “I’m calling to tell you I’m not coming back. I’m calling to say goodbye.”

  “What? No, not yet, Abby. We’ve got one more night.”

  “Goodbye, Lucas.”

  “Abby, wait. We’ve got one more night before you do this. I was looking forward to it. Counting on it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Abby, wait. I’m serious. Don’t hang up. I’m not heading to LA for another twenty-four hours and I want to spend every one of those hours with you.”

  “I don’t want to be with you anymore.” I blink and the tears pooling in my eyes streak down my cheeks. “This is goodbye.”

  Lucas sounds genuinely distressed. “But you said you’d come back. I was counting on you coming back, Abby. What happened?”

  “I’ve got to go now. I’m sorry.”

  “Stop! Wait. Tell me what happened. Whatever it is, we can fix it.”

  I swallow hard. “I’m sorry, but I’ve realized I still love Camden.”

  Lucas exhales audibly like he’s greatly relieved. And then he snorts like I’ve said something absolutely hilarious. “Oh my fuck. For a second there, I thought there was something genuinely wrong.” He chuckles. “Baby, we’ve got another twenty-four hours before I have to leave. That shit can wait. Just come back to me. I’m physically aching for you—like a junkie needing a fix. Let’s dive into your bag of toys again. I’m addicted to you.”

  I squeeze my eyes tight and grip the phone against my ear with white knuckles. “I…I want Camden, not you. I’m sorry.”

  I can hear him roll his eyes over the phone line. “Okay, press pause on that shit, okay? I want another night with you. I’m going crazy over here. My entire body’s aching like I’m in withdrawals. Come back right now. That’s an order.”

  I take a trembling breath. “Goodbye, Lucas,” I squeak out, tears streaking down my cheeks.

  His voice sounds panicked now. “Abby, time out on the game, okay? Seriously. This is real. I didn’t get to kiss you goodbye. I wasn’t thinking that was going to be the last time I was going to see you. Now stop fucking around and come back. I mean it.”

  Tears are streaming from my eyes. “Leave my bag at the front desk when you check out, okay? I know you’re going to do great things and I can’t wait to see it. But I don’t love you and I have to end this now.”

  “Abby. Wait. Please, I—”

  I hang up the call.

  “Free yourself, Lucas,” I whisper into the silence of my car. I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and stare out my windshield for a long moment. And then I lean forward, place my forehead against my steering wheel, and burst into tears.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say, slipping behind the front desk. “Car trouble.”

  “No worries,” Danica says. She holds up a sealed FedEx envelope. “Pablo said this came for you today.”

  I grab the envelope from Danica and examine it, my heart thudding in my ears. It’s been two weeks since I said goodbye to Lucas during that awful phone call and I haven’t heard from him since. Could this possibly be from him?

  I inspect the envelope. It’s addressed to my attention at the hotel and marked “Personal and Confidential”—and the sender is identified “LDF Enterprises, LLC,” with a PO Box address in Los Angeles, California.

  “Is Lucas Ford’s middle initial ‘D,’ by any chance?” Danica asks, her eyebrows raised.

  I stuff the envelope into my bag, my stomach knotted. “I have no idea.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Danica says.

  “I’ll open it when I get home. If it’s from Lucas, it’s probably just a thank you note or thank you tickets to a concert. He said I inspired a whole bunch of songs when he stayed here.”

  “You’re seriously not going to rip that sucker open?” Danica asks incredulously.

  “When I get home.”

  Danica scowls. “Come on, Abby. I’m dying to know what’s inside.”

  “If I open it now, no matter what it is, I won’t be able to concentrate on anything else for the rest of my shift. I’ll open it later, when I’m home.”

  Danica rolls her eyes. “You’ve got ice in your veins, Abigail Medford. I wouldn’t last thirty seconds with that thing in my hot little hand.”

  “More like an emotional self-preservationist,” I mutter.

  For the next three hours, Danica and I work pretty much nonstop, checking in guests and handling myriad tasks. And believe it or not, I hardly think of Lucas or the envelope at all—that’s a lie—and when The Dead Zone arrives, I continue not thinking about Lucas or the envelope, but instead focus excitedly on my textbook, eager to learn about the seminal Supreme Court case under American antitrust laws.

  But when the unmistakable sound of Lucas Ford’s haunting voice singing “Shattered Hearts” fills the air, I simply can’t resist jerking my head up from my book to discover the source of the sound.

  It’s Danica, of course. She’s staring at her phone at the other end of the check-in counter and Lucas’s beautiful voice is wafting out of her hand.

  “What are you watching?” I ask.

  “A clip of Lucas Ford at his concert in LA last week. It’s gone totally viral. He sang a stripped-down version of ‘Shattered Hearts.’ Just him sitting on a stool with his acoustic guitar, and it’s freaking amazing. All the comments say it’s even better than the original version with the full band.”

  My knees wobble.

  Damn.

  Since my heartbreaking phone call with Lucas two weeks ago, I’ve promised myself I’m going to avoid hearing Lucas’s voice for a full year, just to give my poor shattered heart ample time to mend. But now that this junkie’s hearing her drug—and it sounds more gorgeous than ever—I simply can’t resist taking a quick hit.

  “Play it from the beginning,” I say, scooting down to Danica’s end of the counter.

  Danica squeals and resets the video and we both watch, clutching our chests and oohing and aahing the whole time, as Lucas performs his signature song in a whole new, passionate way.

  Lucas finishes his song and the crowd goes absolutely ballistic.

  “You liked that?” Lucas asks the large arena, a boyish smile on his face. The crowd responds with a roar of approval.

  “Thanks, guys,” Lucas says, and he sounds incredibly earnest. A lock of his dark hair falls into his face and he pushes it back. “So, hey, can you guys do me a favor and keep those phones recording for a minute? I want to say something important to you here tonight, but also to everyone out there in Snapchat-opia.” He takes a deep breath. “I want to tell you I’m sorry. Lately, I’ve been a real dick about singing ‘Shattered Hearts’ for you at my shows, and I owe you a sincere apology for that. I’ve realized that song isn’t mine anymore. It’s yours. Nowadays, I’m just the lucky guy who gets to play it for you.”

  The crowd goes absolutely
insane.

  Lucas lays his palm onto his muscular chest, right over his heart. “You guys mean everything to me. I promise not to take you for granted ever again. I feel really fortunate to have written a song that’s meant so much to so many people for so long. Thank you for being patient with me as I fuck up and stumble and try to figure my shit out. Sometimes, I’m an idiot, guys.” He chuckles. “But live and learn, right? That’s all we can do in this life.”

  More enthusiastic applause.

  Lucas pauses, seemingly stuffing down acute emotion, and tears prick my eyes at the sight of his obvious vulnerability. Lucas takes a deep breath and gathers himself. “I have a huge announcement for you. Are those phones still recording out there?”

  The person behind the device recording whoops along with everyone else in the arena.

  “Cool, because I’ve got great news. I’ve been writing a ton of new songs lately, and I’ve finally got everything I need for my fourth album! I’m going to be heading into the studio with the band next month to get started, so I’m guessing you’ll have the album in your hands in about a year.”

  The crowd erupts with unadulterated glee.

  “And if you love ‘Shattered Hearts,’ trust me, you’re going to love my fourth album. I honestly believe it’s going to be my best one yet.”

  The crowd goes batshit crazy, yet again.

  Lucas grins like a little kid. “Okay, enough plugging the new album. Let’s get back to the songs you already know and love.” He turns back to his band and signals them and then turns to the crowd again, a charming smile on his face. “Let’s have some fun!”

  Much to the thrill of the arena, Lucas and his band launch into the instantly recognizable introductory riff of his massive hit, “Eat Me Alive,” and the clip abruptly ends.

  “Wow,” Danica says. “Who the hell was that guy?”