“I didn’t say that,” Jackson reminded him.
“No, but you’re going to say that.”
“Let the staff handle it. I’ll see you in a couple days.” With a grunt, Jackson hung up on him.
“Good talk, Jax.” Graham turned to Grass. “Okay, let’s start this over. Hi. My name is Graham, and I want a burrito. Give me her room key, or I’ll kill you.”
Hmm, maybe that should have been his follow-up. The horrified-looking desk clerk reached for the phone and took a step back.
“I have a key.” Reaching in her pocket, Zoey pulled out a dollar bill. “Hmm, that’s not it.”
Tightening his arm around her waist to keep her from tipping over, Graham sighed. “You just called security, didn’t you?”
A wide-eyed Grass took another step back before nodding his head. “Sir, please remain calm.”
Things probably would have gone downhill after that, but a familiar voice pulled his attention. “Is that Graham Barnett in my hotel? The sky must be falling.”
Graham looked over to see the night manager coming down the hall. Every inch of her screamed business professional, from nose to high-heeled toes.
This person he knew. He’d sat behind her in middle school, poking her with a pencil to annoy her in hopes that she’d notice him. Back then, Hannah had been the prettiest girl in Moose Springs. Now, with runway model height, smooth dark skin, and liquid eyes, she was stunning. Hannah was also in the prime spot to take over the world-class resort as manager whenever the current manager retired.
For a long time, Graham had thought he loved her. Too many on-again, off-again, one-more-time’s, and this-will-never-work’s had disabused him of the notion. She had places to go Graham couldn’t follow. Still, he would never mind Hannah’s face coming through his door.
“Hey, Hannah, come upstairs with me.”
Hannah raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “If that line didn’t work after junior prom, it’s not working now.”
Chuckling, Graham gestured to the woman slumping against his shoulder, her nose squashed into his armpit, dislodging her glasses. “Just doing my good deed for the day.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Growly Bear and two baby aspirin. Theoretically. I was only complicit in the first, not the second.”
Hannah waved away the security guards heading for him. “The day you invented that drink was the day I earned a permanent headache. Do you know how many blue messes the housekeeping staff cleans up? You owe them half your tips, Graham.”
“Probably,” he agreed. “But first I need to get Zoey here to her room so she can sleep this off.”
“Or you could just leave her with us,” Hannah pointed out.
“I already said he could do that, ma’am.” Grass frowned at him.
Graham frowned back. “And I said I don’t know you. Hannah, where did you find this kid?”
Hannah watched the exchange with amusement. “Grass was top of his class’s hotel management program.”
Hmm. Graham wasn’t convinced. Grass swallowed.
“You always did like to be the hero,” Hannah said, patting his arm. “Okay, come on. Unlike you, I have work to do.”
“I work.”
“Do you?”
Maybe he didn’t. He certainly tried not to, as much as possible.
Graham noticed Zoey had picked up a brochure off the counter and was trying to read it. “You drunk read. That’s adorable.”
“You’re arodable,” Zoey slurred in retort. “Boom. That just happened.”
Could she have been any drunker? Slinging her over his shoulder would have been easier, but there was—deep in the private parts of his mind where he admitted to eating Frosted Flakes and forgetting to floss—a sliver of Graham who still enjoyed being a good guy.
It had never gotten him anything but trouble, but he still couldn’t completely disconnect from his upbringing.
A more practical person would have carried her over his shoulder and lived to bend his elbows the next day. Instead, Graham carefully picked her up, one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back.
“Okay, upsy-daisy.”
He caught Hannah watching him, and Graham gave her a flirty wink. Hannah rolled her eyes and started off toward the elevators. Apparently, she knew which room Zoey was staying in by memory, despite the resort’s size.
Speaking of memory, something tickled his. “Hey, Hannah, don’t I owe you a drink?”
His ex smirked as she punched the elevator button for Zoey’s floor. “A drink because of what you did at Christmas or a drink because of what you did at New Year’s?”
Honestly, he couldn’t remember much of either of those two days, so he hazarded a guess. “Umm…New Year’s?”
“You owe me a drink and about two hundred dollars.”
“Ouch.”
“Not my fault you can’t handle yourself during Go Fish.”
“Strip Go Fish.”
“We didn’t play strip Go Fish.”
“Are you sure? Because I feel like I got naked.”
“Not because anyone wanted you to, buster.”
Well. That wasn’t great for the ego. And Zoey wasn’t great for his arms. The desire to be chivalrous had been epically destroyed by the time they reached the fourth floor, where Lana and Zoey’s suite was situated.
“Could this place be any bigger?” Graham grunted as Hannah unlocked the door. “You need a Segway or something to get around.”
“Stop whining.” Opening the door, Hannah stuck her head in to ensure the room wasn’t occupied. “The exercise won’t kill you.”
“I’m not whining.”
She gave him an amused look. “You’re not not whining.”
The suite was enormous. There was a private bedroom and a full living room, with a kitchenette and a wet bar. The butter-soft leather couch had a pillow and a blanket on it, tidily folded and placed at one end unobtrusively. Instinct told him that of the two of them, Lana wouldn’t know unobtrusive if it failed to smack her in the face.
“Okay, darlin’.” Graham set her down gently on the couch. “You’re going to drink some water and then sleep off the bear attack.”
“Don’t drink the water.” Mumbling, Zoey rolled over into the cushions. “It’s…source…moose urine. Don’t want to be a zombie…”
Graham’s lips curved involuntarily. “What was that?”
“Chronic wasting disease…mostly deer…some moose…don’t want to be…zombie moose…end of the world…”
Then she was out cold, leaving Graham to stand there, wondering if zombie moose really existed and if maybe a zombie moose apocalypse might actually be a thing.
Huh.
“You and I are going to have to talk,” Graham told the lump on the couch. “You’re fascinating.”
Under the watchful eye of a woman who knew Graham was more than trustworthy in there all alone, he made sure to tuck a blanket around her and stick a plastic wastebasket next to her head. He slipped Zoey’s glasses off her nose and folded them carefully, setting them next to a bottle of water and a worn packet of aspirin from the forgotten depths of Graham’s wallet.
Hesitating, Graham glanced at Hannah. “You’ll stay with her? Just in case?”
“She’s a guest at my hotel.” Hannah patted his shoulder and then gently nudged Graham toward the door. “I won’t leave this room until I’m sure she’s fine. Go home, Graham.”
Leaving Zoey snoring like a linebacker into her pillow, Graham paused at the doorway, unable to help his tired yawn. “She’s cute, right?”
Hannah just shook her head. “Not exactly the word I’d use to describe it. By the way, I talked to the Shaws last week. Their offer still stands.”
“Naw, I’m good. I still have some of my pride left.” Then, becaus
e one of these days, an unlucky guy was finally going to catch a break, he aimed his best smile her way. “So, Hannah. About that drink…?”
“The clock’s about to strike midnight, but nice try. Good night, Graham.” She gently shut the hotel door in his face.
Yep. Wednesdays. The only thing worse than a Tuesday.
Chapter 3
Less than twenty-four hours into her dream vacation, Zoey became a bobblehead.
There was something particularly discombobulating about waking up in a hotel room and not having any idea how she got there. Equally discombobulating was the pounding in between Zoey’s ears, like an anvil hammer beating directly on her brain.
She’d been discombobulated. She was a discombobu-head, her skull five times larger than her body, vision bobbing back and forth no matter how hard she tried to remain still.
Groaning, Zoey rolled over and fell straight onto the floor.
The distance between the couch and the carpet was only a foot and a half, but the unexpected drop was enough to land her on her back with a thump and a groan of misery. The worst hangover of her life hadn’t been part of the plan. She hadn’t scratched this down in her favorite moose-themed notebook, tucked in a bag she hoped was still in her possession.
“I’m going to die,” Zoey told the ceiling.
It didn’t answer.
“The last thing I remember is a gummy bear.”
Again, no help.
Some people could see without their glasses, but Zoey was not one of those people. Everything around her was a smudge of browns and creams and one darkish blob she thought was the coffee table. Fingers scrabbling hopefully at the top of the blob, she found what she was looking for, folded up next to a bottle of water she accidentally knocked over. Stuffing her glasses onto her face, she blinked, hoping to bring her surroundings into focus.
Even with the glasses, the world continued to spin.
Groaning again, Zoey pushed herself up on her elbows. “Lana? Please tell me you’re here. I don’t have the functional brain cells to track you down this morning.”
“Please, as if I’d ever let you wake up alone in your condition.”
Wrapped in a silk robe, Lana appeared from her bedroom, bypassing the couch for the suite’s modest kitchen. Poking around in the refrigerator, she emerged with two tomato-red drinks filling her hands, bursting with vegetables and bacon, an entire crab leg, and several violently speared cocktail shrimp.
Eyes and legs. The shrimp still had eyes and legs. At eight thirty-five in the morning.
Zoey shuddered.
“Did we have fun last night?” The enjoyment on Lana’s face grew. “Whenever I wake up your shade of green, it’s usually because I had too much fun.”
“I have no idea. Do you have to be so cheerful? Shouldn’t you be miserable too? I’m not the only one who made questionable choices last night.”
Lana shook her head. “Trust me, the first thing one learns in the Montgomery household is to hold one’s liquor in public. I’ll rent the Tourist Trap for us one night and show you the difference.”
“You mean that, don’t you?”
“Of course. Graham would love it. He never passes an opportunity to shirk his workload. Does your head hurt? I’ll get you a cold compress.”
Clutching her face in agony must have clued Lana in.
Setting the drinks down far too close to Zoey’s head, Lana disappeared into the bathroom. Shrimp and tomato smells wafted Zoey’s way, making her gag. She nudged them farther away with her fingers, trying not to look directly in the cocktail shrimp’s terrified little face.
“Call room service for a pickax,” Zoey suggested. “Anything sharp and heavy will be fine.”
Lana reappeared with a wet washcloth, carefully arranging it on Zoey’s forehead with motherly care. “Sorry, dearest, I’m all out of ways for you to cudgel yourself.”
Did she have to look like she’d slept for a month, rested and alert, without a hair out of place? Since Zoey loved her, she didn’t begrudge Lana her luck. But as someone who was certain an animal had died in her mouth in the last twelve hours, Lana’s lack of so much as a stray eyebrow hair disturbed Zoey. Deep in the dark parts of her primitive brain, she knew it was wrong.
So very wrong.
“Why are you glaring at me?” Lana sounded amused. “I put the Growly Bear in your hand, but I’m not the one who poured it down your throat.”
“People who wake up happy aren’t to be trusted.” Staying on the floor and squashing the pillow on top of her washcloth was far easier than crawling back up onto the couch. “Or people with hair like yours.”
“Hmm? Oh, that’s my new sleeping scarf.” Hermès, not that Lana would ever be gauche enough to say the brand. “Just wrap and tie, and you wake up smooth as silk. There’s aspirin on the coffee table.” A teasing tone entered Lana’s voice. “A secret admirer left it for you.”
“Sure they did. I don’t even want to know what room service is charging for painkiller delivery.”
Lana sat on the end of the couch that Zoey’s nonsilky, far less cheerful body had recently vacated, her expression smug.
“Trust me, no one in this place would dare bring almost expired aspirin made by—” Lana leaned over, peering down at the worn packet. “Dr. Sue’s Discount Drugs. Hmm. Maybe you shouldn’t take those after all. I have—”
“Nope. Nope nope nope. None of your ‘pick-me-ups’ or ‘right-as-rains,’ woman. You need a better labeling system. I don’t think your baby aspirin last night were baby aspirin.”
“Why is everyone so suspicious of me?” Lana sighed with playful dramatics. “I haven’t drugged anyone in months.”
“You’re joking.”
The woman on the couch serenely picked up her Bloody Mary.
“I know you’re joking.” Zoey looked at the shrimp. “She’s joking.”
The shrimp stared at her in dismay with beady black eyes and tiny legs that couldn’t escape. Zoey stared right back.
“We both deserved a better morning than this.”
“Drink, you’ll feel better.” Taking a sip of one of the drinks and adjusting the second on a coaster, Lana slid it closer to Zoey. “It’s my family’s special blend. Nothing helps a hangover like a Montgomery Bloody Mary.”
“I’d rather take my chances with Dr. Sue.”
“If you insist.” Seeming disappointed, Lana sighed with a little shrug. “Anyway, you know how my cousin Killian is coming in? He just landed in Anchorage. Brace yourself, because Haleigh and Enzo are with him.”
“Why am I bracing myself?”
Lana rolled her eyes. “Because those two haven’t been sober since primary school. It gets annoying. But still, one must play nice with friends of the family. They flew in from Italy this morning and are still on Rome time, so I promised I would have a bite with them. You know how Killian is. He can’t stand to be alone for a single minute.”
Zoey blinked as her brain tried to keep up. “What am I supposed to know?”
“You’ve met him. The race car Killian, not the polo Killian, although why I have to have two cousins named Killian is ridiculous to me. My aunts are determined to outdo each other, but really, that went too far. Opening Christmas presents was an absolute nightmare of Freudian proportions.”
“I don’t think you’re using Freudian right.”
“Besides,” Lana continued blithely. “Everyone knows polo Killian is far superior to race car Killian. You met Killian at Killian’s polo match. He was so much better, right?”
“Seriously, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to have to murder you. I mean it, Lana. This is an actual threat.”
Lana patted her limp, hungover foot. “You remember. We were in Greece.”
“Nope. I have been to zero polo matches with you, and I most definitely have never been to polo matche
s in Greece. That’s one of your other post-inebriated friends.”
“Are you so miserable?” Offering a true look of sympathy, Lana patted her again.
“I don’t even remember my own name right now.” Zoey unscrewed the water bottle top, wincing at her breath as she tore into the worn aspirin package with her teeth, then popped the pills. “Did I make an idiot of myself last night?”
“You’re asking the wrong person. Something tall, dark, and handsome brought you home.” Lana waggled her eyebrows. At Zoey’s horrified expression, she laughed. “It wasn’t like that. Graham Barnett would rather sit naked on a lake in winter than have a one-night stand with a tourist.” She emphasized the word as if she’d said Zoey was a pile of moose poop. “Although the hotel is positively dying with the gossip of it.”
Which was exactly what Zoey needed. She already felt entirely outclassed by the other clientele, and being the drunk moose poop girl was not on her dream list of Alaskan experiences.
“So, brunch?” Lana nudged the Bloody Mary closer with her manicured fingernails.
“You’re serious.” Zoey hid her face back in the pillow, where it was dark and nothing spun or stared at her with shrimpy eyes. “She’s serious,” she muttered to no one specific.
Lana’s phone chirped and she reached for it, quickly scanning her incoming messages. “Meatball in my party in an hour? What?”
Zoey’s dull brain couldn’t help working through that puzzle. “Sounds like his phone doesn’t like his voice,” she grumbled into the pillow. “That must translate to ‘meet me in the lobby in an hour.’”
“I can’t believe he’s texting through dictation. Yes, I will be there when I’m ready. You have fingers, Killian. Text like a human being.” Setting her phone aside, she turned her bright, disgustingly cheerfulness Zoey’s way. “You’re coming to brunch, right?”
“With your crazy rich cousin and his friends still on Rome time? Oh no. Not a chance.”
“But, Zoey—”
“Nope. I am too…what’s your word for it? Peaked. I’m too peaked for brunch with the whosits.”
The Tourist Attraction (Moose Springs, Alaska) Page 4