Page 20 of The Plus-One Deal
“Just a loud storm,” said Conrad, and I leaned in, grateful. It occurred to me this might be at least partly for show, the way he was holding me and talking me through it. If it was, I was glad he’d got us into this mess. Maybe it was, as he said, just a storm, but I’d have hated to tough my way through it alone.
“Just a storm,” I whispered, and felt for his hand. He twined our fingers together and gave me a squeeze.
CHAPTER 8
CONRAD
Iwoke late the next morning — well, late by my standards. Late enough the sun was up and I could hear birdsong. Claire was still sleeping stretched out beside me, the hem of her dress rucked up to mid-thigh. We’d lain down together when they sent us back to our rooms. We hadn’t discussed it, just flopped on the bed. It had felt right in the dark, with the wild wind still moaning. Now, in the daylight, I guessed I should leave her. She might find it awkward waking up in my arms.
I unfolded myself slowly, not to disturb her, and found my phone and thumbed the screen to life. No missed calls came up, no texts. No bars. I dug in my suitcase and found my sat phone instead, and stepped out on the balcony to call my office. When I came back in, Claire was poking her own phone.
“No signal,” she said.
“You can use mine if you’d like.” I held out my sat phone, but she shook her head.
“We’ll be back in a few hours. I’ll catch up then.”
I pulled a face. “About that…”
She did a facepalm. “What now?”
“It looks like the storm did mostly cosmetic damage — gardens ripped up, trash on the beach. But the one place itdidhit?—”
“Oh, God. Don’t tell me.”
“The airport’s control tower. We’ll be here a few days.”
“No. No. No way. I have work.Youhave work. Isn’t there something?—?”
“Joe’s working on it. But the way things are looking, we’ll be stuck here a while.” I blew a breath through my nose to vent my own frustration. If Claire made a thing of this, I thought I might snap. She’d brought me into it, not the reverse. If anyone should be fuming, it should be me.
Claire got off the bed and went to her suitcase. She dug through it aggressively, tossing clothes on the couch. When she’d found what she wanted, she stalked to the bathroom. I changed into light dress pants and a white linen shirt, chuckling through my annoyance. Claire wasn’t a morning person. I’d forgotten how much. You heard about people waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but she had no right side. She just had dawn rage.
One time in college, we’d studied late, and I’d slept over and woken to mad mongoose mode. She’d kicked me, quite literally, off her futon, jammed a bagel in my pocket, and rushed me out the door. I’d thought at the time she was embarrassed, scared her roommates would see me and jump to the wrong conclusion. But, no, that was morning Claire, and nothing had changed.
“Let’s go downstairs,” I said, when she emerged in her sundress. “We’ll want to rebook our room before they boot us.”
Claire pulled a sour face, but she pulled on her shoes. I slapped on a bright smile, ignoring her mood.
“We’ll find you some coffee. Something to eat.”
“Coffee,” she grunted. I tried not to laugh. Morning Claire was annoying, but also quite cute, like a small, ruffled kitten baring its teeth.
We made our way to the lobby and found it jam-packed, guests with no cell service waiting for the landline. A second, shorter line had formed at the front desk, but it wasn’t moving. An older, thin lady had taken the front spot, palms on the front desk, shoulders drawn up. She looked like she was trying to push the desk over, or flip it like a card table, onto its back.
“What’s her problem?” said Claire.
I shook my head. Out on the terrace, a baby was crying, its high, thin wails muffling the scene at the front desk. I touched Claire’s arm.
“I’ll be right back.”
I headed for the front desk, setting my face in a bland smile. The lady was scowling now, slapping her palm on the counter.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” said the desk clerk. “Your room will be comped till you can rebook your flight.Everyone’swill be, who’s wound up stranded. This doesn’t affect?—”
“The hell it doesn’t!” She slapped the counter again. “I come here for the atmosphere. For peace and quiet. Not, not — whoarethese people? I know they’re not paying. Can’t you shut down that screaming? Can’t you?—”
“Ma’am, please?—”