Enemy Beloved

22 | night affairs

★

V A U G H N

I don't carry Claire for long. Not because I wasn't enjoying the feel of her skin against my hand or her nails grazing the nape of my neck but because when we got out of the woods, a very busy street greeted us, making me realize that the woods we trespassed through were the private property of someone.

I can only hope that no one saw us. I don't want a jail record right after being mugged.

I put her down on the pavement when I see people stopping to stare at us. Ignoring their questionable looks, I grab her hand and pull her with me across the street. She tiptoes when her feet hurt as she hits the road.

My watch — the only thing the goons didn't take from us (rookie mistake) — reads close to 7 pm and the hustle-bustle of LA is already at its peak. We are about a few miles from Beverly Hills and somewhere close to Hollywood. We look out of place with our tattered clothes among the others on the road.

The building we head towards is tall and magnificent. It reads 'Hotel McClarke' above the gate in golden letters and the guard at the glass entrance throws us a judgmental look once we reach. I fish into my pocket to take out my wallet and bring out my ID. The guard checks it before letting us in.

The interior of the hotel is dazzling. There are overhead chandeliers, and doubling art lights constructed in the ceiling. The lobby is busy with people walking around with luggage and bellboys helping guests to settle in. There is a beautiful fountain at the center with plants placed around it. I see Claire admiring the view before her and mentally congratulate myself on my success.

When we reach the reception counter, Claire grabs my arm, stopping me.

"What are you doing?" she asks, looking at the counter where receptionists are busy registering new guests and guiding others to check out. "We don't have money...or cards."

"Relax, babe." I squeeze her hand as I pull her with me to the reception.

A young woman — one of the receptionists — greets me with a smile too big for her face. "Welcome to McClarke. How may I help you?"

"I would like a manager," I blurt out and then shake my head. "I mean...I would like to see the manager."

The lady looks at us with a scrutinizing glance. I see a hint of nervousness in her eyes as she exchanges questionable stares with her co-workers behind the counter. They follow her line of sight and take in our appearances.

We look nothing like we left home as. Our clothes are covered in mud and twigs and Claire's hair has little leaves stuck in it. She brushes her hair with her hands, an act which brings her wedding ring to the notice of the receptionist.

"Damn it, Vaughn," Claire mutters under her breath. "They are suspicious of us."

I look at her, frowning. "Zip it, Claire." I imitate the action of pulling a zipper over my lips and she looks away, letting out an exasperated breath.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience but may I see your IDs?" the receptionist inquires and I hand it over to her. She reads my name and quickly, a look of realization crosses her face.

"Mr. Jackson!" she exclaims, handing me back my ID. She scurries out of the counter and rushes towards us. "I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't recognize you. The manager is not available as of now. But is there something else I can do for you?"

I smirk as I see Claire giving the lady a confused look.

"Yes, you can." I pull Claire by her waist to press her to my side. "My wife and I had an incident on our way here. If you'll be kind enough to check your data, you'll find a room booked under my name. Will you show us up?"