The Reckless Secret, Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire In Love BBW Romance) by Alexa Wilder Page A
Authors: Alexa Wilder
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her time.
Her throat swelled thickly as she headed towards Grant’s room. She spent minutes knocking and knocking at his door and getting no answer. The second man of the day to disappear on her. She was starting to sense a pattern here.
Several of the wedding party were loitering in the lobby when she made it downstairs, and if she cast a surreptitious gaze around for Declan, no one needed to know. He wasn’t there.
All of a sudden, and for no explicable reason, Maggie so very deeply wished her mom was here. She was supposed to have been, of course, a big family wedding like this. But she’d very wisely chosen to take her latest boyfriend to Europe instead.
But Aunt Constance was here, holding court in the center of the lobby, loudly dictating the disposal of the wedding flowers.
Maggie ducked her head and hurried over to the desk.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, trying to avoid drawing anyone’s attention. Especially Aunt Constance’s. The girl behind the desk smiled up at her blandly. “Did the guest in room 249 already check out?” Because it was either Grant had left her here at the hotel alone, or he’d gotten so black-out drunk last night that he was currently in a coma in his room, completely oblivious to her hammering on his door. Neither option was particularly pleasant.
The girl tapped at her keyboard. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Maggie said swiftly, and then tried to get the girl to move as quickly as possible through the check-out process. She could hear Aunt Constance’s voice getting closer, and sooner or later, one of her cousins or a weird old uncle would spot her here, even as she half hid herself behind a large potted tree.
“Should I call a car for you?” said the girl, because of course there’d be a selection of town cars on retainer. No one from the Emerson family should ever be expected to make their own travel arrangements.
“No thank you, I’ll get a cab,” said Maggie, and booked it out of there.
The cab took her to the train station, and the hour-long train journey home was a battle in self-discipline. She point-blank refused to think about Declan Archibald or how terrible she now felt about the whole thing, but her overactive mind had different ideas. She fought against memories of his perfect face and toned muscles all the way home, and ended the journey with a headache and damp underwear.
She was full of bad mood as she slammed the building door behind herself, trudged up the stairs with irritation, feeling like a black cloud was hovering over her head and making her hate everything.
And then she froze.
Sitting on her doorstep, propped against the frame and brightening the gloomy hall like a burst of brilliant sunlight, was the largest bouquet of mixed flowers she’d seen in a long time. And in the middle of it, enclosed in a dainty silver envelope, was a note.
She knew instantly it was from Declan, her instinct firing up and filling her with annoying giddiness, and her stupidly romantic brain was already tumbling with possible messages:
…sorry I had to leave…had an early meeting…didn’t want to wake you…
…hated leaving you…want to see you again…
…couldn’t wake you…snoring…
The last one made her blush, because that could’ve been a very real possibility.
But the card didn’t say anything like that—didn’t express regret at leaving, didn’t ask to see her again, didn’t do a damned thing to dissipate her black cloud.
In a rushed, can’t-be-bothered kind of scrawl, it simply said: Thanks for the great time. –D
Never in her life had she felt so soundly and instantly dismissed. And it left a wretched hole in her stomach that almost made her want to cry.
Which quickly and violently turned to anger.
How dare he use her like that—make her think his history of wanting her would lead to something more than a random hook-up at a wedding, so seedy and unfeeling and so very the opposite of how Maggie liked to conduct
Her throat swelled thickly as she headed towards Grant’s room. She spent minutes knocking and knocking at his door and getting no answer. The second man of the day to disappear on her. She was starting to sense a pattern here.
Several of the wedding party were loitering in the lobby when she made it downstairs, and if she cast a surreptitious gaze around for Declan, no one needed to know. He wasn’t there.
All of a sudden, and for no explicable reason, Maggie so very deeply wished her mom was here. She was supposed to have been, of course, a big family wedding like this. But she’d very wisely chosen to take her latest boyfriend to Europe instead.
But Aunt Constance was here, holding court in the center of the lobby, loudly dictating the disposal of the wedding flowers.
Maggie ducked her head and hurried over to the desk.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, trying to avoid drawing anyone’s attention. Especially Aunt Constance’s. The girl behind the desk smiled up at her blandly. “Did the guest in room 249 already check out?” Because it was either Grant had left her here at the hotel alone, or he’d gotten so black-out drunk last night that he was currently in a coma in his room, completely oblivious to her hammering on his door. Neither option was particularly pleasant.
The girl tapped at her keyboard. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Maggie said swiftly, and then tried to get the girl to move as quickly as possible through the check-out process. She could hear Aunt Constance’s voice getting closer, and sooner or later, one of her cousins or a weird old uncle would spot her here, even as she half hid herself behind a large potted tree.
“Should I call a car for you?” said the girl, because of course there’d be a selection of town cars on retainer. No one from the Emerson family should ever be expected to make their own travel arrangements.
“No thank you, I’ll get a cab,” said Maggie, and booked it out of there.
The cab took her to the train station, and the hour-long train journey home was a battle in self-discipline. She point-blank refused to think about Declan Archibald or how terrible she now felt about the whole thing, but her overactive mind had different ideas. She fought against memories of his perfect face and toned muscles all the way home, and ended the journey with a headache and damp underwear.
She was full of bad mood as she slammed the building door behind herself, trudged up the stairs with irritation, feeling like a black cloud was hovering over her head and making her hate everything.
And then she froze.
Sitting on her doorstep, propped against the frame and brightening the gloomy hall like a burst of brilliant sunlight, was the largest bouquet of mixed flowers she’d seen in a long time. And in the middle of it, enclosed in a dainty silver envelope, was a note.
She knew instantly it was from Declan, her instinct firing up and filling her with annoying giddiness, and her stupidly romantic brain was already tumbling with possible messages:
…sorry I had to leave…had an early meeting…didn’t want to wake you…
…hated leaving you…want to see you again…
…couldn’t wake you…snoring…
The last one made her blush, because that could’ve been a very real possibility.
But the card didn’t say anything like that—didn’t express regret at leaving, didn’t ask to see her again, didn’t do a damned thing to dissipate her black cloud.
In a rushed, can’t-be-bothered kind of scrawl, it simply said: Thanks for the great time. –D
Never in her life had she felt so soundly and instantly dismissed. And it left a wretched hole in her stomach that almost made her want to cry.
Which quickly and violently turned to anger.
How dare he use her like that—make her think his history of wanting her would lead to something more than a random hook-up at a wedding, so seedy and unfeeling and so very the opposite of how Maggie liked to conduct
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