Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
My head bobs in confirmation that I’m following his directions.
“Don’t let anyone see you.”
It occurs to me that I don’t know this guy and having him send me off to some deserted hallway sounds suspect.
I raise a brow. “Why exactly aren’t you using this uber-secret VIP restroom?”
“Guys understand in and out.”
“Touché. But if I end up being dragged into a back alley and stuffed into a van due to this tip you’ve offered, I will curse you for eternity.”
“You are something. No kidnapping will ensue. You have my word.”
I narrow my eyes playfully at the man. “We’ll see.”
He chuckles. “But truly, don’t let anyone else see you go that way. Mathis wants that hallway to remain a secret.”
“I won’t,” I say, unsure how I can possibly keep that promise in a place as packed as Silver. “I owe you.”
“A fruit basket will suffice,” he says, grinning widely, but it drops quickly, and his eyes dart around the area as if he’s ensuring nobody can overhear us. “If you run into anyone and they ask what you’re doing, tell them you’re a guest of Paxton Ramsey.”
“A fruit basket it is.” I grin. “Thank you, Paxton. I appreciate your hospitality. Perhaps you should run the place.”
He grunts. “I’ll keep that in mind, Miss . . .?”
“Just call me Raven.”
One side of his mouth lifts as he appears to mull over my name, finally deciding it’s suitable.
“Nice to meet you, Raven. Enjoy your night.”
Just like that, Paxton is off and linking arms with a beautiful blonde swathed in diamonds and barely covered by a red micro mini dress.
I don’t waste time heading toward this elusive VIP restroom. I need to empty my bladder, grab a glass of water from the bar, and call it a night.
Paxton wasn’t kidding when he said the hallway was hard to find. It’s set up like something out of Labyrinth, a movie I once watched with a kid I babysat in high school. It’s like an illusion. Looks like a wall, but really, it hides a secret hallway.
Very cool.
“Metal door,” I say out loud, recalling Paxton’s directions.
I open the first metal door in the hall I see, and there is a bathroom here, thank goodness! In and out in no time. Once I leave the bathroom, I start to head back to my friends when I hear voices from the opposite end of the hallway and begin to panic.
Paxton told me not to get caught.
My eyes scan the area, landing on another metal door. Another bathroom, perfect.
I rush to it and exhale in relief when the doorknob wiggles. I twist the knob and back myself into the room just as two people round the corner.
I click the door shut quietly and wait in the dark for a few seconds, hoping I wasn’t seen.
“Well, isn’t this an unexpected turn of events?”
My breath hitches, goose bumps rise over my arms, and tingles work their way down my spine.
Intoxicating is the only way to describe the sophisticated, sexy-as-hell British voice washing over me and turning my stomach to jelly.
Holy. Hell.
I have no clue who the man is or why he’s sitting in the dark room, but the way my body reacts to the stranger I’ve yet to see is concerning on all levels.
“What are you doing in here?”
The man chuckles. “I could ask you the same thing, love. Except, I know why you’re here.”
I turn around to face him despite the fact I can’t see even an inch in front of me. “Is that so? Why, pray tell, am I in this pitch-black shoebox with a strange man?”
He huffs. “Strange man? Don’t play coy. You followed me here.”
A choked laugh bursts from my chest. He’s insane.
“I did no such thing.” My voice pitches. “Follow you? I don’t even know who you are.”
“Well then, my mistake.” The humor in his voice puts me at ease.
He doesn’t sound like a psycho. Then again, what does a psycho actually sound like?
I watch too much true crime and way too many Netflix documentaries on serial killers. My overactive imagination is getting the better of me.
This is just a man. In a dark room. Alone.
There has to be a reasonable explanation, just like I have. I’ll tell him I was still looking for the bathrooms. “I was told this is a private VIP restroom. What’s your excuse for hiding in the dark?”
The man does something akin to a snort. “This is hardly the toilet,” he says. “You’ve found yourself locked in a cloakroom, love. We’re stuck.”
“A cloakroom?” The words are barely a whisper. “Locked?”
I can’t see anything, and that fact causes anxiety to surface.
“Locked,” he repeats.
I spin around, hands fumbling to locate the doorknob, but when I finally find it, the air whooshes from my chest.
He’s right. It won’t open.
The heady feeling from moments ago is gone, and fear is taking root.