I have to pee, but of course it might be rude to insinuate that I can use his bathroom, so I just stand there awkwardly as I pretend to admire the generic and bland art on the walls. My eyes catch on a photograph of an orchid, and something in my throat catches.
I’ve always loved orchids…
“Do you need anything before we go down to lunch?” Dr. Kincaid calls out from what I presume to be the master bedroom.
“Uh, I need to use the bathroom, but I can just go later. I don’t want to use yours,” I explain, clasping my hands together in front of me.
Dr. Kincaid walks out of the bedroom with a tie looped around his neck, and his large, muscled hands work and knot the black material methodically. His green eyes flick up to mine, and he looks annoyed.
“Please feel free to use the restroom, Francesca,” he says, practically scoffing. “We probably won’t have time once we get you checked in.”
“Thanks,” I say quickly, rushing to the large en suite off the living area.
Once inside, I close and lock the door as I let out a slow breath of air. Leaning against the counter, I take a few steadying breaths to compose myself.
I can do this.
Using the toilet quickly, I flush and go to wash my hands. Doctor Devil’s things are sitting tidily next to one of the porcelain sinks, and as I wash my hands in the other sink, my eyes peruse his products.
Fancy toothpaste. Electric toothbrush. Expensive cologne. An orange prescription bottle… my curiosity gets the best of me, and I quietly twist the bottle around.Clonazepam.
Pulling my phone out, I do the world’s quickest internet search. It doesn’t tell me much—the medication could be needed for anything from seizures to panic disorder and anxiety. And seeing as Doctor Devil is a psychiatrist, he’s very well-versed in mental illnesses and which medications to take for what. A sharp pang of sympathy flashes through me, and I quickly set the bottle back down and turn to my reflection. As I smooth my hair down, I think of what he could be taking the medication for. Ari battles anxiety on the daily, so I know just how exhausting itcan be. Plus, I’ve been prone to random panic attacks ever since everything happened three years ago.
“All finished?” Dr. Kincaid asks from the other side of the door, startling me.
All the sympathy from just a second ago disappears immediately as I roll my eyes and pull the door open. Is it possible to pee in peace? Apparently not.
“Yeah, all good now,” I tell him, trying to keep the bite out of my voice. “I’ll grab my suitcase,” I tell him, walking toward the bedroom.
“No need. I’ll have them move it.”
I stand up straighter. “I don’t mind. I packed light, and there’s no point in having someone come all the way up here to move a bag?—”
“I said I’ll have them move it,” he says calmly, voice low. “It’s their job, Francesca, and I always make it worth their while,” he adds, standing taller and placing his hands in the pockets of his pants.
“All right. You can call me Frankie, by the way,” I reply, setting my backpack down and readjusting my purse strap.
He ignores me and walks to the door, and I let out an unamused huff of laughter.
Well, all right then.
The elevator ride is just as awkward as the last ten minutes. Dr. Kincaid checks his phone and I do the same, but the air is thick with something I can’t identify. At one point, I feel his eyes on me, but when I look up, he’s glancing back down at his phone, scowling at whatever he’s looking at.
Maybe he’s rude because he has anxiety. Maybe he’s one of those people who can’t mask his feelings, and he’s just screaming internally all the time with stress and frustration. Or maybe something happened to make him this way? Whateverthe case, he’s just as rigid and tense as I expected him to be. Letting my eyes wander over him briefly, I take in the tattoos.
What do they mean?
The snake tattoo, especially, has my mind spinning with possibilities. Just as I’m about to look away, his eyes snap up to mine, and the dark energy there turns my blood to ice.
My mother always used to tell me that I was sensitive and intuitive to my surroundings. We once didn’t go on a road trip to Arizona when I was fifteen because I had a dream about a car wreck. The day we were supposed to leave, fourteen people died on the freeway we would’ve taken. It was a pileup, and she always said I saved our lives that day.
And right now, there’s something… enigmatic and shadowy about the way Doctor Devil is looking at me. Just as my mouth drops open in surprise, the doors slide open, and he exits the elevator.
I have goosebumps, and I rub my arms to get rid of them.
Following a step behind him, we make our way to reception. Once there, I hang back as Dr. Kincaid speaks to one of the receptionists. There are quite a few people hanging around the lobby, all wearing their name tags for the convention. I make a mental note to check in with someone about ours like the good little assistant that I am. A minute later, Dr. Kincaid comes back with a grim expression on his face.
“Unfortunately, they’ve overbooked the hotel and there are no more rooms.”
