Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(29)

“Walk like you own it,” I mutter to Megan as we stride towards the elevators. It is essential to keep the pace of a person who belongs here. Too fast or too slow will arouse suspicion. Our noise level has to be just right too. “Like you’ve stayed here every day since birth.”

We reach the lifts without being stopped.

Megan looks confused. “What now?”

I exhale heavily. “This is a long shot,” I say in a low voice, jabbing the elevator button. “Paul Sharpe from uni told me that he was so drunk one night that he couldn't remember which hotel room he was in, so he slept in the hallway next to the gym. The plan is to take refuge somewhere for a few hours.”

As soon as the elevator opens, I pull her in. From the control panel, the gym and spa are on the lower ground floor.

We exit the elevator into a dark hallway.

I breathe a sigh of relief. There are no bedrooms on this floor.

“Come on.” I walk down the hall, keeping Megan upright. “Let’s just find a corner to nap for a few hours. No one will be using the gym until at least 6 a.m.”

There’s one nondescript door without a key card lock, I decide to try it. Maybe it’s a spa with lounge beds? To my surprise, the door swings open to reveal a linen closet with rows of wooden shelves filled with bed linen.

Like bunk beds.

Dare we? The shelves look sturdy enough to take our weight. We would even have bed linen. I can’t imagine the cleaners starting before 6.

I make an executive decision. “This’ll do.”

“Is this allowed?” Megan peers in.

“It’s not illegal,” I say to convince myself more than Megan. “I think. Just frowned against. Up to you. Do you want to sit outside on the floor or lie horizontal for a few hours with some sheets over you?”

She walks inside and plops herself on the bottom shelf.

“Just lie down, then we’ll leave really early, okay?”

She fires her shoes off like she’s at home and lies down then rolls the linen sheets over her until she's buried in them. “Good night.” She smiles up at me.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” I warn, slipping off my strappy sandals. “We’ll have to make a quick exit. We need to be out before the cleaning shift starts.” I climb up to the shelf above her and lie horizontal, gently covering myself with a sheet. The last thing I need is to be liable for damage to hotel property.

That feels good. I’ll just take a brief nap…

***

Something’s wrong. My head feels like it’s been fracked overnight for precious fuels. Memories and thoughts are foggy.

Am I dreaming?

Two female voices talk animatedly. Not in English, Spanish perhaps? The pounding in my head won’t let me focus. I shift in my hard wooden bed. Oh God, that feels bad. A shudder throttles my spine as my back spasms. With a huge effort, I force my eyes open and tilt my head towards the noise.

Shit!

We fell asleep.

Three hotel cleaners are standing in the doorway, limbs flapping and talking in a highly animated tone. It’s too fast for me to decipher what they’re saying, but I get the gist. They are furious.

I abruptly incline and hit my head on the shelf above. “Megan,” I bark as I rip the linen off me. “Get up. NOW.”

She moans softly below me, but I don't hear movement.

The cleaner that appears to be in charge jerks a thumb in our direction and gets out her radio phone.

“I’m so sorry,” I say. I scramble to get down from the shelf but get caught up in bed linen. “We’re leaving! Right now.”

She says something in Spanish over the radio.

I make out two words and catapult myself off the shelf. ‘Gerente del hotel.’ Hotel Manager.

“Hop it, Megan!” I shrill, fumbling with my stilettos. She’s lifted herself off the bed but is moving too slowly given the situation.

“You stay here until our manager arrives!” the head cleaner snaps at me.

“I’m so sorry,” I repeat as I push past her. What else can I say? It’s not like we can redeem ourselves. “Megan! Hurry the fuck up!” How bad is this situation? Can we get arrested? We haven’t technically damaged property unless they count the fake tan on the sheets.

We leg it out of the linen closet and down the hall with the cleaners in a high-speed pursuit. My heel abruptly decides to snap off, and I go down on my ankle. My ankle twinges, but I don’t falter; I keep going with my heel hanging off.

“Not the lift!” I shout to Megan when I see her shuffling towards it. “The stairs.”

We sprint up the stairs gasping for breath with the Spanish inquisition ascending behind us. There’s lots of noise coming from their radio. It sounds like an angry hotel manager.

In reception, a manager-looking bloke and two others are waiting for us. Every face in the check-in queue turns to see what the commotion is. Behind us, angry cleaners close in.

We are surrounded.

“Ladies, can you explain what you were doing in one of our linen closets?” The manager stares at us, aghast. “Are you guests in this hotel? Did you take a wrong turn?”

“No,” I say meekly. “We ran into a few unfortunate events last night and we needed to…ah…” I search for an appropriate word, “...borrow one of the linen closets.”