He paused in scrolling for Dave’s number and looked up to see her staring at him suspiciously. “Is that a problem?”
“It just seems convenient.” She shrugged. “Considering.”
“Considering what?”
“Your job. Having an in with security here just seems … Well, convenient.”
The insult, while not unexpected considering the source, and certainly not the worst he’d heard, still rankled. His columns and commentary were syndicated in newspapers around the country, and he’d built his platform and audience the old-fashioned way. She might not like his style, but he’d earned his place in the national discourse. He didn’t need an “in” with anyone to get his leads—hell, these days he had people falling over themselves to provide all the information he needed and then some.
He tossed the phone on the bed. “You know, I don’t have to do you any favors, and I find myself quickly losing the inclination altogether.”
Lorelei’s lips pressed together until they disappeared. He could practically see the way she was fighting back a snappy, snarky comeback, but she finally nodded. “You’re right. My apologies. Please call your friend.”
It was terse, and not completely sincere, but he’d be the bigger person. Accepting the apology at face value, he called Dave. He glossed over the situation as much as he could, trying to avoid mention of Lorelei’s name, how she came to be in his room and why she just couldn’t go to the front desk like a normal person would in this situation. After some laughter and speculation on Dave’s part that Donovan didn’t dare relay to Lorelei, he hung up. “Someone from Security will be up with a key to your room shortly. You’ll just need to hang out here a little while longer.”
“Well, it’s not like I have anyplace else to go.” She walked over to the small coffeepot and asked, “Do you mind? I feel near death.”
“Help yourself.”
She did, and then sat in the leather chair. Legs crossed at the ankle, she held the cup with both hands and sipped gratefully. It was an incongruous picture: a disheveled Lorelei, hair rioting around her face and shoulders, in an obviously expensive, though slightly-the-worse-for-wear dress and stiletto heels, sitting primly in his hotel room as if they were politely having tea in the parlor.
And he knew exactly what kind of underwear she had on.
Somehow this was even more awkward than the wake-up-naked-and-get-dressed part. Were they supposed to make small talk now or something? What would an appropriate topic be?
There was small comfort in the fact that Lorelei seemed equally at a loss. He’d bet this situation was not covered in cotillion classes. She studied the art on the wall like it was an Old Master, pondered her coffee like it held the meaning of life, then finally turned her attention to her fingernails. He kept one eye on the TV and feigned interest in the talking heads on the morning show. He’d made his living by always having something to say, but this time his vaunted golden tongue failed him.
Lorelei cleared her throat. “So, will you be writing about the wedding?”
Lord, she really had no idea what he did for a living. “I don’t do society news, Lorelei. I came as a guest to the wedding, nothing more.”
“I had no idea you’d become such good friends with Connor and Vivi.”
“I sit on two boards with Vivi. We share an interest in the arts. Connor and I have several mutual friends. I wouldn’t exactly call us close, but I probably know them at least as well as a third of that guest list.”
“They are a popular couple.”
“Indeed.”
“And it was an amazing event, start to finish.”
It had been a star-studded event, thanks to Connor’s fame, and the entire ranks of the New Orleans elite had been there, traveling in their usual pack. “I expected nothing less.”
Lorelei nodded, and he realized that topic had now run its course. Well, that had killed a couple of minutes. How long would it take Security to bring Lorelei a key?
She seemed to be wondering the same thing. “I wish they’d hurry.”
“Me, too. I have things I need to do.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you.”
His three options were to take a shower, take a nap or go home—none of which he could do while Lorelei was parked in his room. “I’m sure they’ll be here shortly.”
Hard on those words there was a knock at the door, and Lorelei jumped up as he went to answer it. Her sigh of relief when the man identified himself as the assistant head of security was audible from across the room. He asked to see her ID, verified her as the occupant of the room, then handed her a key. “Would you like me to escort you to your room, miss?”
“No!” she practically shouted, before she caught herself and lowered her voice. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”
The man nodded, then left without question, and Donovan wondered exactly what Dave had told him about his assignment. Of course it probably wasn’t the oddest thing Security had ever done: this hotel catered to an elite crowd, and that elite had probably made far more questionable requests of Security in the past. He’d moved more toward analysis and away from the “shocking exposé” camp of journalism himself, but he’d bet there were all kinds of stories to be told from this hotel.
Lorelei cleared her throat, bringing him back to his own little drama. “Goodbye. Again. Thank you for your assistance, and, um, have a nice life.”
The re-do of her exit lacked the dramatic huff this time, but it retained its silliness as Lorelei once again checked the hall and slipped out like a bumbling spy in a bad movie.
At least he knew she wouldn’t be back this time. Oddly, that seemed to be a little of a letdown. Lorelei certainly had entertainment value.
Although he’d been thinking more about the events of the morning, not last night, another particularly entertaining visual flashed across his mind.
And that quickly answered his question about what he’d do now: a cold shower was calling his name.
CHAPTER TWO
A GUILTY CONSCIENCE was a terrible thing. It wasn’t something Lorelei was overly familiar with, as she intentionally kept away from situations that might lead to one. She had regrets, sure, but she’d always lived—well, until recently—by the philosophy that she’d rather regret the things she’d done than regret that she’d never done them at all. So why did this thing with Donovan seem to be haunting her?
It wasn’t even worry over what people might say. As far as she could tell, no one knew. Vivi and Connor had left for their honeymoon and Vivi hadn’t said a word. She’d waited on pins and needles for the news to circulate, but it seemed she was going to get away with it. She’d gotten lucky by not screwing the whole plan up at the eleventh hour.
So the worry had to be over Donovan himself.
Over the last three days, more of her memory had returned—but
