Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
After thanking the driver, I follow her with a dubious grunt.
“I promise the room isn’t bad,” she continues, leading the way toward the steps, fishing her key from her purse. “And it’s a nice size for New York. My mom and I came to the city to see a musical for her birthday a few years ago and we could barely get both our suitcases inside the room. We kept bumping into each other and left covered in bruises.”
“Older hotels do tend to have tiny rooms,” I agree, doing my best to keep an open mind as she taps the keycard to a sensor that lets us into the lobby.
The lobby, which smells like feet and stale coffee with a top note of aggressive cologne thanks to the exhausted looking man at the front desk who barely manages a mumbled, “Welcome back,” as we start toward the stairs…
“The elevator is broken,” Maya whispers as we climb. “But it’s only four flights up and you’re in way better shape than I am.”
I grunt again, fighting the urge to tell her that I’m moving her to a boutique hotel in the heart of safe, bougie Chelsea right fucking now. I’ll find one that accepts cats or bribe them with a large enough deposit that they’ll make an exception for her.
But I’m not supposed to be a billionaire who can afford five-star hotels. I’m supposed to be an escort who lives in a modest apartment in the East Village.
Still, the higher we climb, the tighter my jaw clenches. The stairs smell even more like feet and despair than the lobby, and the peeling wallpaper and water stains on the ceiling are doing nothing to change my low opinion of this dump.
Maya’s breathing harder by the time we reach the fourth floor, but when a loud yowl sounds from down the hall, she breaks into a jog, rushing past the doors of three other rooms before coming to a stop in front of the last door on the left and urgently tapping her key to the sensor.
I don’t believe in bad omens, but if I did, the crooked “13” on the battered wood would be a solid one.
“Pudge?” Maya’s voice rises with concern as she taps the key again and again, while the device continues to buzz and flash a red light. “What’s wrong, baby? I’m coming. Hold on!”
Finally, the sensor recognizes the key card, and she throws open the door.
Inside, the room is smaller than she let on and boiling hot, with more peeling wallpaper and a window that doesn’t quite close. The smell of lemon-scented cleaner is strong, but it can’t overcome that damp, foot smell that I’m beginning to think is due to some kind of mold.
Probably a mold that would make a person sick if they stuck around this hellhole for too long. Maybe that’s why the man at the front desk had puffy eyes and a red nose.
“Pudge? Pudge, where are you?” Maya asks, raising her voice to be heard over the radiator in the corner. It makes an ungodly sound, like a garbage disposal gargling a handful of spoons. “Pudge?”
A tortured yeowwwwl sounds over the racket, and Maya and I both lean down to see a massive orange cat crouched under the sagging bed, his tail puffed to twice its size as he hisses at the offending fixture. He casts an agonized look Maya’s way, as if pleading for his mom to make the madness stop.
“Oh no, honey. You poor thing. I’m here, it’s okay. You’re safe.” Maya drops to her knees beside the bed. To me, she adds, “He hates the radiator.”
“I also hate the radiator,” I agree.
She casts a quick glance over her shoulder, a half-smile quirking at her lips. “I know, it’s awful, but it doesn’t make that noise all the time, only when—”
A crack like gunfire sounds from the street below, rattling the thin walls. Maya screams and launches herself into my arms. Before I can assure her that we’re okay, Pudge follows, scaling my leg and wool coat to drape himself over my shoulder like a furry gargoyle.
A very large, heavy gargoyle who makes me gulp as he wraps his paws around my neck and digs his claws into my scarf…
Thank God I haven’t had the chance to take it off yet or I’d be bleeding.
“It was just a car backfiring,” I say, hugging Maya close as I reach up to rest what I hope is a calming hand on the cat’s back. Thankfully, Pudge relaxes his claws, but the soft, miserable meow he offers in response is flat out pitiful.
The need to protect Maya—and her traumatized fur baby—hits me like a punch in the gut, eliminating my concerns about blowing my cover. “Pack your things.”
“What?”
“You're not staying here.” I release her long enough to gently gather Pudge off my shoulder. Proving he’s a sweet beast, he goes quietly, but continues to tremble as I guide him into Maya’s waiting arms. “Neither of you are. I’ll get you another hotel room, my treat. Or I have a spare bedroom if you’re okay with staying with me. Either way, I’m getting you both out of here.”