She should give the driver a tip. She dropped her hands and opened her pocketbook to hand him a few dollars. Luckily she had some cashonhand.
She reached to give it to him. "Okay. Heretakethis."
He wavedhis arms in front of him. "I get paid more than enough. I'll be here in case you need to goanywhere."
Every cell in her body was awake and scratchy. She swallowed the urge toargue. "Why?"
"Mr. Morgan pays me to drive hisguests."
"Of coursehedoes."
She shook her head. Peter was one of the richest men in the world, even she knew thatabouthim.
She coughed,but instead of saying this was a stupid idea, she nodded and said, "Thanks."
This was entirely too much. She walked inside, and the light piano music that wafted in the airy lobby with thick red carpets gave a sense that she had been transported to someplace meant for extraordinary people. She clutched her well-used, slightly shreddingpocketbook.
The vaulted ceilings and brightsunlight were not made for ordinary people like her. She blinked and saw a mahogany front desk. Her shoulders slumped, though she marched overtoit.
"I'm BelleJordan."
The clerk in a red suit nodded. "May I see youridentification?"
"Of course." At least procedures never changed. This made him almost normal. She handed him her license. The clerk studied it, typed and thenhanded her an electric card. "Staff will see you shortly,ma'am."
Staff? Peter had said handlers. She'd said yes because of some strange spell she was under that had started with that unexpected swim. Her simple shorts and tee shirt seemed too casual for this place, but her black dress in the plastic bag had obvious signs of water damage. Her hair was extra frizzy from the ocean. Shegrimaced.
"Thanks. What is the daily rate I'll be paying whileI'mhere?"
"Your bill isprovidedfor."
Once again, Peter. “Thanks but I’ll pay for myself when Icheckout.”
"Ma'am?"
She could walk out on principle. He had said he took care of the guests, which must mean he paid for every out of town guest. It might be a Morgan thing. The last wedding she had been in,she had paid for her own bridesmaid dress. This might be how the one percenters lived, though. She hugged herwaist.
Perhaps asking him to be her date tonight had been a huge mistake. This was too rich. She wiggledhernose.
"Atwhatcost?"
"Would you like a copy of the bill atcheckout?"
"Yes. We'll go fromthere."
The price of how much she'd owe him for eternity.If her never-used credit card wasn't enough, perhaps she could set up apaymentplan.
Besides, how would she explain this room to herfriends?
"Very good. Anything else,ma'am?"
Perhaps directions on how to get her soul back. "No,thankyou."
She squared her posture and marched with the electric key in hand. As she read her room number, she proceeded to the elevator.As she stared at the buttons, she realized she was on the top floor. The penthouse was always the mostexpensive.
This was far above the wedding guest offer. She pressed the button and rested her head on the wall. More piano music played as the elevator climbed. Her heart seemed to double in beats with every floor. She held her wrists as the ride finally ended and the doorsopened.
The floor seemed ordinary, though there was only one door in the small hallway. She took one ginger step. A moment later, she exited the elevator and her phone rang. Emily's number flashed, and Belleansweredit.
