Page 54 of Forced Into Your Arms
She looked around, squinting through the windshield.
“What hotel is this?”
“Blackwell.”
Her eyes found the name stretched across the front of the building before slowly coming back to me.
“Blackwell?”
“Yeah…”
“As in you?”
“As in me.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You own this hotel?”
“Part of it.”
She blinked a couple of times like she was trying to process that. “You didn’t tell me that,” she said.
“And you didn’t ask.”
She let out a quiet breath and leaned her head back against the seat.
“I thought you were getting me a room somewhere.”
“I did…”
“At your hotel.”
“You got a problem with the room already, and you ain’t even seen it?”
“That’s not the point.”
“What’s the point then?”
Her mouth opened and then closed. After a few seconds, she gave a small shake of her head.
“Nothing.” She rubbed one of her eyes. “I’m too tired to argue with you.”
I chuckled and mumbled, “That’ll be a first.”
I climbed out and walked around the truck, and by the time I reached the passenger side, she’d already opened the door and was getting out.
She grabbed her bag and climbed down. I took the bag from her before she could protest.
We entered through the side doors, and the manager was already waiting near the elevators with a key card. He handed it to me without asking questions.
“Everything’s ready, Mr. Blackwell.”
“Security?”
“Already in place.”
Milan looked at me and frowned. “Security?”
I thanked the manager before heading toward the elevator.
