Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,20
and praying I hadn’t left anything important behind walk of shame.
Well, I had left something important behind. My dignity. Or what little of it I had left after last night.
This was such a disaster.
The elevator doors opened and something seemed off, but I couldn’t place it. I got in and dug my room key out of my purse. Thankfully everything seemed to be in there—my wallet, phone, room key. Even my lipstick had survived my wild night.
Under normal circumstances, I would have called that a tiny win and internally celebrated—it was expensive lipstick—but these weren’t normal circumstances.
I had my pointer finger all ready to press the button for my floor, but I stopped.
Something was wrong.
My room was on the thirty-ninth floor, but this elevator stopped at thirty-six. What was going on?
The elevator started to go down but I hadn’t pressed any buttons. Someone on a lower floor must have called it. My brain tried to assault me with fuzzy memories from last night, but I pushed them aside because I had no idea where I was.
Was this even my hotel?
For a second, I thought about going back to Cox’s room. But I hadn’t looked to see what number it was. And I really didn’t want to face him again. Last night had been…
I didn’t even know. Vague memories flashed through my mind, but they were foggy and disjointed. I couldn’t even be sure they were all real.
My head pounded, throbbing to the beat of my heart, and my stomach was horribly raw. The elevator doors opened to the lobby and a small group of travelers with rolling suitcases stepped aside so I could get out. I kept my eyes on the floor, not daring to meet their gazes. Could they tell what I’d been through? Did they know I’d just woken up naked with a man I barely knew and had only the vaguest, haziest memory of how I’d gotten there?
Could they tell I wasn’t wearing a bra?
Probably, but really, that was the least of my problems. One look at the lobby and I knew this was not my hotel.
Somehow I’d ended up at the Bellagio with Camden Cox.
And I’d woken up naked.
That probably meant I’d slept with him.
Although I didn’t remember sleeping with him.
But I barely remembered coming to this hotel, so my memory was clearly unreliable.
I’d made messes out of situations before, but this was some next level mess making.
I took a deep breath and walked through the lobby. I was almost too distracted by my predicament to notice the incredible glass ceiling—almost, but not quite. It looked like a glowing, multicolored garden. Or maybe upside-down umbrellas. Either way, it was beautiful.
But I needed to get out of here in case Cox followed me down. I cast a quick look over my shoulder—no sign of him—then made my way outside.
Pausing to get my bearings, I pulled out my phone. I didn’t know my way around the Strip very well, but I was pretty sure my hotel was too far to walk. I’d just check the map to be sure, then take a taxi. That seemed easiest.
“Ma’am?”
A limo driver wearing a tie and black jacket stood outside a sleek black limo. His name tag said J.J. Santiago. Was he talking to me?
I glanced around, but he was definitely looking at me.
“Um, yes?”
“Do you need to go somewhere?”
“Oh. Yes, but I’ll just take a taxi.”
His brow furrowed. “Why would you take a taxi?”
“Well, no offense, but I don’t think I need to rent a limo just to go a couple of miles back to my hotel.”
He chuckled softly. “Ma’am, I’m your driver. I can take you anywhere you need to go.”
I gaped at him, fully aware that I must have looked as dumb as I felt. “My driver?”
He opened the rear door. “It was dark last night, but I can assure you it was me. Come on.”
I had a feeling it was dark last night was code for I know you were too drunk to remember. And when I thought about it, I did have a vague recollection of being in a limo. Cox must have ordered it. Either that, or I’d splurged with my winnings.
“Thank you,” I said, feeling sheepish. I started to get in but changed my mind. “Can I ride up front with you? I just need to get to my hotel and sitting back there with that huge seat all by myself seems excessive.”
“I’m not really supposed to, but I guess it won’t hurt anything.”