Page 84 of The Quit List
I mean this in so many more ways than one.
Raquel takes in my frazzled expression and winks at me. “Girl, you better get ready, because that man is coming for you.”
Whew. Did it suddenly get very, very hot in here?
29
JAX
Pulling up to a historic landmark five-star hotel in an old, beat-up van with a mutt dog hanging out the passenger window is certainly one way to make an entrance.
And despite the skeptical once-over a valet in a navy blue uniform gives me as I drive up to the front doors, I roll down my window.
“Are you staying at our establishment, sir?” he sniffs.
“Here to pick up one of your employees. Holly Greene.”
The guy’s expression becomes marginally more friendly at the mention of Holly’s name. “Oh. Okay, you can park in the staff lot around the side.”
“Thanks, man.” I crank my window back up—no such thing as electric windows in a van from the 1970s—then park in the staff lot next to a douchey powder blue Lexus that has to be Dylan’s.
Resisting the urge to encourage Rick to lift a leg on the car, I clip on my dog’s leash and we head for the foyer of the hotel.
It’s a warm afternoon, and my light gray t-shirt and dark jeans look conspicuous as all hell amongst all the hotel guests dressed in designer finery. As I wait, I find myself shifting from foot to foot in anticipation, almost nervous to see Holly again.
Luckily, I’m only standing there flamingoing awkwardly for a second before Holly pops out of a door to the side of the lobby.
“Hi!” she exclaims a little too brightly, waving. She’s still in her work clothes: dark-gray dress pants with a button-down baby-pink shirt and heels.
I like her in pants.
Dresses, too.
Damn, I like her in everything.
“Hi,” I reply, pretending that the last time I saw her, I wasn’t kissing her on the forehead like some awkward pre-teen kid who didn’t have the nerve to bite the bullet and kiss the girl for real. “Are you ready?”
“Born ready.” She says this while making a little finger gun at me. She then looks down at her hand like she’s disgusted with it and its uncoolness. “Just gotta get changed. Give me five minutes?”
“Sure thing.” I take a seat on one of the silk couches, commanding Rick to lie down so he doesn't jump up and leave paw prints all over the pristine furnishings or something. I shift uncomfortably on the fabric seat, but still feel jittery, so I reach for one of those magazines no one ever reads that always sit on coffee tables.
Hmm. Ducks Unlimited?
Sounds riveting.
“Jax, right?”
I look up from my thrilling read to see Holly’s coworker smiling at me. Rachel, maybe?
“That’s right.” I follow her eye line to the magazine in my hand and give her a wry look. “Was just brushing up on my knowledge of mallards. Real fascinating stuff.”
Her smile widens. “I’ve read that one about sixteen times, it’s been sitting there for years. I’m pretty much an expert on blue-winged teals by now.”
“Impressive,” I reply, and she laughs.
“Not sure if you remember me, I’m Raquel. We met briefly a couple of weeks ago when you stopped by to pick Holly up from work.”
“I remember.”