Plan B (Best Laid Plans #2)(7)

I'm smiling, nausea forgotten and nerves in check when I exit the elevator and cross the glass-encased walkway connecting the Marriott to the Convention Center, but it doesn't last long.

Fuck-a-ding-a-ling-a-ding-dong.

They're checking guests at the door.

Checking in, with security flanking the door.

Who besides me could possibly want to crash this? Seriously, who? I cannot catch a break. This is freaking ridiculous. I blow out a breath and make a split-second decision to fake it. It's my best option. It's my only option. Besides, people are less likely to question you if you're confident. It's true. If you carry yourself with an air of authority people assume you know what you're doing.

I've got this. I'll say I'm with Kyle and glide right on in. This level of crazy isn't normally anything I'd stoop to, but I'm desperate. Desperate to find Kyle and get this over with, so I don't falter in my stride as I arrive at the table they've set up just outside the ballroom door. There are three women behind the table checking guests in along with two security guards flanking the doorway. The security guards look like rentals from an agency, more for show than actual brute force, but still, it's not like I'm going to attempt to outrun them.

The women look like they're involved with the event. Official. Snooty. Problematic. I continue up to the table anyway because I can't very well turn around now.

"Name?" One of the women looks up from her list, her face bored. She's wearing an elegant name tag with her name engraved on it, identifying her as Margo. There's a table full of identical name tags behind her, which tells me immediately that not only am I supposed to be on a list, there should be a matching tag to identify me.

"Daisy Hayden," I tell her, knowing damn well my name isn't on the list. I fake nonchalance all the same.

She gives me a once-over before flipping through the pages and announcing I'm not on it.

"Oh! I'm here as a plus one." I say it as if my heart isn't beating a mile a minute in nerves. "With Kyle Kingston. Perhaps I'm listed under his name?" I smile politely, as if where my name is listed is of little importance to me, as if getting inside this event is a foregone conclusion.

"You're here with Kyle Kingston," she repeats, eyeing me once again. I send a silent plea to the universe that she doesn't know him personally, or well enough to call my bluff. I have no idea if these women work at the KINGS corporate office or if they're part of the event staff.

"Yes." I say it as dismissively as I can, which is difficult because dismissive isn't really in my nature but it's essential for faking my way in.

"Kyle doesn't have a plus one," she responds, eyeing me with undisguised interest.

"Are you sure he didn't add me to the list? He said he'd make sure I was on the list when I spoke with him earlier." I nod towards the stack of papers with a frown. "Perhaps he sent an e-mail?"

"He hasn't," she replies without breaking eye contact. This lady is so not buying what I'm selling.

"You're not going to check?" I stare back, annoyed that she's not even going to make a pretense of pulling out her phone to look for something that doesn't exist. My nerves are shot, my adrenaline is waning and all I want to do is go back to my room and take a pre-bedtime nap. Why does this have to be so difficult?

The woman exhales as if I'm really trying her patience now. I worry she's about to wave the security guys over when she drops her gaze to my clutch and back to my face in what I can only decipher as a flat-out challenge. "He just arrived a few minutes ago. Why don't you call and ask him to come back and escort you inside?"

Right. That would make sense, wouldn't it? I nod as I slip my cell from the clutch while my thoughts race. He's here. He's really here, she just confirmed as much, didn't she? God, I'm so close. I just need to get past this door troll, find Kyle and be done with this. The snooty blonde waves the person behind me forward while I stand awkwardly hitting buttons on my cell phone pretending to make a call. She seems to know this woman and skips the entire pretense of asking for her name to instead gush about the woman's recent engagement. She's cooing over the ring and asking if they've set a date. The girl is beaming and waving her hands around while going on about how romantic the proposal was. Gross. She's probably engaged to someone who doesn't borrow money from her and I'm not jealous at all.

"He's not answering," I interrupt, hoping to capitalize on her interest in this other guest and earn a free pass inside. "He's probably accidentally turned the ringer off, you know how it is."

"I don't." She shakes her head with an apologetic smile that doesn't ring true in the least.

We stare at each other in challenge as engagement girl heads into the party.

"Is there a problem here?" Now another of the ladies working the event has slid over and is glancing between us, brows raised. Her tag identifies her as Maureen. I get the impression that she's in charge by the way Margo straightens and rearranges her resting bitch face.

"She's with Kyle but she's not on the list. And she doesn't have an invitation." Margo shrugs before adding, "And she can't seem to get hold of him," in a tone that implies I smother kittens in my spare time. I make a mental note to add the name Margo to the list of names I am never, not ever, using for this baby.