“I limit myself to topics of public interest, and even if this fit the definition—which it doesn’t—it’s not something—wasn’t anything—to brag about.”
Dignity be damned. She was not letting that slide by unchallenged. “I wouldn’t know. Must not have been that memorable an experience.”
“Then forgetting it happened at all won’t be a problem for you.”
“No, it won’t.” That was a lie, but Donovan had no way of knowing better, so it was a safe lie. And it allowed her to hold her head up as she gathered the rest of her things.
Her small purse was upside down by the door, her phone, lipstick and room key spilling out. Not far from that was one of her shoes, then Donovan’s tie and shoes, then her other shoe. It was a breadcrumb trail of shame that led straight to the king-size bed.
Lord, was there anything less dignified than searching for your underwear? She picked up Donovan’s jacket and gave it a shake. Nothing. Dropping to her knees, she looked under the bed. She found an empty condom wrapper, alleviating one of her fears, but finding two more had her cringing.
No sign of her underwear, though.
“If you’re looking for these...” Donovan drawled. She looked up to see him dangling her panties from one finger. She bit her tongue and settled for shooting him a dirty look as she jerked them from his hand and tucked them into her purse. The addition of the undergarment, as tiny as it was, was too much for the little bag, and it refused to close. Heat flushing her face, Lorelei had no choice but to take the extra time to put them on.
Funnily enough, she felt a little less flustered once she had. Underwear was a form of armor, it seemed.
Squaring her shoulders, she went to the door and examined the fire-safety map posted there. According to the red X marking her location as room 712, she could easily get to the fire stairs, go down one floor and she’d come out only a few doors away from her own room. Excellent. The chances of running into someone she knew had just decreased exponentially. Something might actually go her way this morning.
“Planning your escape route?”
She turned to see Donovan stacking the pillows on the bed into a comfortable back-prop, and then reclining, remote control in hand. He wasn’t even looking at her, and, if anything, he now sounded bored. Obviously this was not an out-of-the-ordinary morning for him. Why am I not surprised?
“Exactly. Goodbye, Donovan. I hope I don’t see you again for a very long time.”
She didn’t wait for his reply. Cracking the door, she peeked into the hall and found it empty. With at least a hundred of last night’s guests having taken advantage of the location to enjoy Connor and Vivi’s open bar, she just needed her luck to hold for a few minutes. The quick dash to the stairwell was no problem, and her stiletto heels clacked on the stairs as she moved as fast as possible in the tight skirt. At the door to the sixth floor she paused, took out her room key, and took a deep breath. Another peek showed two people in the hall, but neither of them looked familiar. Just to be safe, she waited until they were at the elevators before making the last break for her door.
Only to find that her stupid key didn’t work.
* * *
Donovan was relieved Lorelei had left in a huff. He’d been awake for about fifteen minutes before her, and he’d spent that time anticipating a number of equally horrific and awkward scenarios.
But Lorelei had gone straight to indignation and huff—which, in this case, had been more than he’d dared hope for.
Of all the women who’d attended what was arguably the biggest society wedding of the decade, he’d managed to hook up with Lorelei LaBlanc. He’d known both Connor and Vivi at least tangentially since high school and, while they might not be close friends or anything, they were business associates and often traveled in the same social circles now.
He might be considered an interloper by some in those social circles, since his blood wasn’t quite as blue as theirs, but no one had the courage to say that to his face anymore. And, while he might not have generations of Old South manners ingrained into him, even he knew it was bad form to bed the sister of the bride after the reception.
Yeah, pretending it had never happened was an excellent idea.
Another excellent idea was liberal quantities of aspirin and coffee until he felt human again. That might take days.
The little two-cup coffeemaker on the desk didn’t have the best quality coffee included, but it would do for now. He set it to start and the smell of coffee soon filled the room.
The jackhammering behind his eyes had been honestly earned. He’d lost count of the tequila shots, but there might have been a bet involved about who could drink who under the table. He and Lorelei had never been friends, never hung out together, so how they’d got to that point last night was a mystery.