A Little Crushed (34 page)

Dragging himself back to unwelcome reality, he made for the stairs, bottle dangling from his fingers. From the sofa arm, the burgundy coat challenged him. He’d return it tomorrow, and should he come face to face with jealous husband, well, Madonna did a mean impression of a rabid werewolf. Taking the stairs two at a time, he emptied his mind of waif-like Titian beauties and marital discourse. Two hours to go, and he hadn’t even begun work on his speech.

* * * *

“Room 108, please.”

Beyond caring that she dripped a puddle the size of Texas all over the Art Deco tiled floor, Cassie challenged the supercilious receptionist behind the marble-topped desk to comment. Wisely, she didn’t. Cold, wet, and totally humiliated, Cassie curled her numb, blue-tinged fingers around the offered key. The Viking blonde’s, “Have a nice day,” trailed her to the elevator.

“Yer right!” Cassie punched at the button on the wall. “We’re in friggin Notting Hill, not L.A.” As the gilded cage door rattled open and she squelched into the velvet opulence, she realized she’d forgotten her coat. Scowling at her reflection in the mirrored wall, she wondered if her life could get any worse. Her image now smiled back at her. Poetic justice, perhaps? The coat had been Martin’s engagement present. Well she hoped Madonna was using it as a bed.

She opened the door to the suite just as her mobile rung out shrilly, making her wince. Again Martin’s doing; that stupid ring tone would drown out Michael Moore. Stumbling into the room, she lunged for the bedside table where the slim cell phone spun and vibrated, banging her leg against the cast-iron bedstead on the way. Definitely not worth the pain because it was Martin. Habit made her answer.

“Hi.”

Bile rose into her mouth. Hi? Was he serious? But then, he was Martin—skin as thick as a rhino’s, conscience gossamer thin.

“I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”

Anger surged. He sounded awkward, contrite even, but she knew him better than that. “Listen, Martin, if you want to atone for your sins, get a job with UNICEF. Go away, and leave me alone!”

Throwing the mobile onto the bed, she covered her face with her hands. No tears came. She’d lost them somewhere during her sprint through the rain. The hotel internal line pierced her private Hades with its discreet trill.

“I’m sorry,” The Scandinavian accented tone oozed feigned remorse. “But I forgot to ask if you wish to confirm the taxi for seven p.m.”

“Taxi?” Confusion blurred coherent thought. And then it clicked. She’d planned on going to see a show. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, why waste a week’s supply of to-die-for theatre tickets? Martin again—ever the pragmatist.

“Madame?”

“Sorry…no, I won’t be requiring a taxi after all.” She was in no mood for
The Phantom of the Opera.
Her own life was dramatic enough, thank you.

Alone again with her thoughts, the lilac damask room cruelly mocked her. It was a lovers’ room, the honeymoon suite, a room for romance. Stripping off her wet clothes, Cassie’s deliberation turned to the stranger with the magnetic blue eyes. How on earth could she have broken down like that? Mortification seeped into every one of her fragile pores. Thank God, she’d never see him again. Snuggling under the satin duvet, she curled into a ball.

A Little Crushed © 2012 by Viviane Brentanos

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

MuseItUp Publishing

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Cover Art © 2012 by Suzannah Safi

Edited by Anne Duguid

Copyedited by Penny Ehrenkranz

Layout and Book Production by Lea Schizas

eBook ISBN: 978-1-77127-230-8

First eBook Edition *December 2012

Production by MuseItUp Publishing

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