Page 6 of Shy Girls Can’t Date Celebrities (Shy Girls Sweet Romances #6)

Throughout the flight, the only turbulence was inside me. The mixture of emotions sent me queasier than any motion ever could. When we disembark the plane, both Claire and Captain Ford ask me to give their best to Wyatt.

On the tarmac, the broad man in black, who spent the entire flight sitting silently in one of the armchairs at the front of the plane, walks us to a shiny black SUV. We’re not in the regular terminal area of the large airport. We landed in a more secluded area that screams of celebrity secrecy.

I’m let into the car first, and recoil at the sight of another person. “Oh, umm, hi.”

Randall gets into the car beside me and motions at the man sitting opposite us. “This is Martin Gilmore, head of financial management. He’s arrived this morning to meet with Erika at the hotel.”

“Will I meet Erika?”

Randall grins. “Of course. She’s excited to meet you.”

The car ride into the city center is mostly silent. Apart from Martin’s phone conversation and Randall hurriedly tapping on his phone. To ease my running thoughts, I stare out the window, hoping the emerging cityscape will be a useful distraction.

As the skyscrapers and oversized billboards come into view, it only serves to spike my anxiety. Instead, I take the opportunity to text Mom and Dad, letting them know I’ve landed in Cherry Beach. I also add, I’ll call them later, because we’re on the way to the hotel.

After the twenty-minute drive, the car slows and Randall announces, “We’re here.”

A doorman opens our car door. “Welcome to the Gran Palacio Hotel.”

Martin nods at the doorman, exiting the car first.

My hand pauses over the seatbelt buckle, too frozen to move.

Randall chuckles at me, gesturing to the open door. “Come on, Josie. This is us.”

I swallow hard and edge my way out of the car.

“This way, miss,” the door man says, gesturing to the revolving door at the hotel’s entrance.

I thank him and enter the hotel with Randall following behind.

The expansive foyer is floored with large sandstone tiles, marbled with veins of gold.

Overhead, a large five-tiered chandelier hangs from the twenty-foot high ceiling.

Red leather armchairs surround glass coffee tables with gold legs.

And ahead, well-dressed and professionally welcoming front desk staff await behind a tall counter.

Randall motions at the front desk area. “Let’s get you checked in.”

We move over to the counter and a man with slicked back hair greets us. “Hello and welcome to the Gran Palacio Hotel. Do you have a reservation with us?”

“Yes, this is Josie Bartlett,” Randall answers. “We reserved the presidential suite for her.”

My heart misses a beat. It wasn’t a dream. I’m actually staying in a presidential suite.

The front desk clerk smiles at me warmly. “Hello, Miss Bartlett. We’ve been expecting you.” He dings the counter bell. “Someone will be here shortly to show you to your suite.”

“That’s it?” I ask, glancing at Randall and then back at the clerk. “You don’t need anything else from me?”

“Everything is taken care of, Miss Bartlett,” he says, handing me a keypass. “We hope you enjoy your stay.”

I nod, backing away. “Umm, yeah, okay.”

An attendant in a red jacket approaches the reception area. The man at the desk gestures at me and Randall, asking the attendant to show us to the presidential suite.

“Certainly,” the attendant replies, taking my bag. “Please, this way, miss.”

We follow the attendant past the large, winding staircase and into a gold elevator.

After swiping his key pass below the elevator buttons, the attendant presses the button for the floor second from the top.

When we reach our floor, the attendant says, “The entire floor above belongs to the penthouse suite.”

I let out a whistle. “Wow.”

Randall nudges me. “We have the penthouse reserved for Wyatt when he’s released from the clinic.”

My jaw drops and Randall chuckles, returning to his phone .

The attendant swipes a card over the lock on the door labeled ‘Presidential Suite.’

“I can’t believe this is my room.”

He opens the door, welcoming me in. “Here you are.”

I walk in, feeling like I’m stepping into an alternate universe.

The opulence is out of control. The attendant continues to show me around, but he may as well be on mute.

I’m too overwhelmed to take anything in.

From the large dining area with beautiful bouquets of flowers, the spacious sunken living area, to the extensive bar area, I’m about to have a head spin.

When he shows me to the bedroom, with a bed that looks like two kings pushed together, and into the bathroom with more marble and gold than I’ve ever seen, I’m ready to keel over.

He then tells me which number to press on the room’s phone to order meals, and the other number for the front desk.

Randall thanks the attendant, tipping him with a few folded bills. I give into the head spin, flopping down on the overstuffed sofa and sigh at the detail work in the ceiling.

Is this a taste of what life as Wyatt Hayes is like?

Whoa. He really is worth mega bucks.

I shiver with a twinge of guilt as Randall comes back into view. “Who’s paying for all this?”

“The team,” he replies vaguely.

“Wyatt?”

“Don’t worry about it. He wants you here. Anyway, you’ll want to order your meals here,” Randall says, texting on his phone. “The food is way better here than at Clearview.”

“Clearview. That’s the hospital right?”

“Correct,” a woman’s voice answers, making me jolt in my seat.

I look over my shoulder and see a woman in a pale green pantsuit, walking into the living area.

She holds out her hand over the back of the sofa. “Erika Hartley, Circle 8 Management.”

I shake her hand, awkwardly twisting and attempting to stand. “Nice to meet you.”

“We’re very glad you’re here, Miss Bartlett,” Erika says. “No one more than Wyatt.”

I suck in an anxious breath. “Re-re-really?”

She smiles, nodding. “Of course. He’s been stuck on you since waking from the induced coma.”

I stand in alarm. “Coma? Wyatt was in a coma?”

Erika pushes a hand down. “Induced. It was a decision by the medical staff in order to help him recover from the trauma of his accident. He was under for no more than two days.”

“Oh, okay,” I say and take a steadying breath. “I haven’t really heard a lot about his accident. It’s been so secretive in the press.”

Erika pulls a document from her purse. “And that’s how we wish it to stay. We’re not thrilled about his memory loss hitting the news cycle, but such is life.” She hands the papers to me. “We need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement.”

My hands tremble as I reach for the papers. “Oh, really?”

“You’re going to hear about Wyatt’s medical history and condition. We need to ensure his protection.”

“I would never spread information about him.”

Erika smiles. “Of course, you wouldn’t. This document just gives us peace of mind.”

I swallow hard, glancing down at the papers in my hands.

“We need you to sign it before visiting Wyatt,” Erika says, tapping the face of her wristwatch. “And we want to get you over there ASAP.”

I frown. “It’s five pages long.”

“It’s standard stuff,” Randall says, glued to his phone. “Just scribble your signature on the last page.”

“Umm. I don’t get to read it? ”

Erika sighs. “Of course, you can. But Wyatt wants to see you now.”

Randall shows Erika the schedule on his phone. “He will have finished physical therapy now. He’ll be expecting her.”

Tingles ripple through my veins and I shift in my stance. “Wyatt’s expecting me?”

Erika smirks. “That’s why we’ve brought you all this way, dear.”

Even though my distrusting father is in my head, urging me not to sign something I haven’t read, I do it anyway. Whatever the fine print says pales in comparison to seeing Wyatt.

It doesn’t take Erika long to take the document back from me. “Great. Thank you. Now, I have to meet Martin downstairs. Randall, can you make sure the presentation is ready to go in the business center?”

Randall nods. “On it.”

Erika looks me up and down. “I suspect you’ll want to freshen up before you leave to see Wyatt?”

I flinch, unintentionally sniffing for BO.

Erika peers at her wristwatch. “Lexy will be here in thirty minutes to escort you to Clearview. That should give you sufficient time to shower and change.”

I wince. Change? I’m already wearing my best outfit.

“Problem?” Erika asks, taking in my twitchy mood.

“No,” I rush. “I’ll be ready in thirty minutes.”

Erika points to the floor. “Lexy will meet you in the lobby.”

“Lexy? Is she another assistant?”

Erika mumbles a laugh. “No, dear. Lexy is from public relations.”

I swallow as the information sets in. I’m going to see Wyatt with a PR person? Why? Is she here to ensure there’s the right spin on this trip?

Oh boy. I wish my dad and his conspiracy theories wouldn’t leap inside my head.

“Good luck with your visit,” Erika says, and then snaps her fingers at Randall, motioning for him to follow her out of the suite .

Finally alone in my hotel room, I exhale hard, looking down at my pink cardigan and skirt. Do I really need to change? I guess it was a long flight. But Randall took two flights and is still in the same suit.

Okay, I have thirty minutes. I can at least freshen up in the meantime. I move into the bedroom and find my bag on the bed where the attendant left it. I pull out my toiletries and unfold my clothes. I hold a green dress with purple flowers in front of me.

Hmm. Maybe this is cuter.

With a huff, I toss it back on the bed. No, I wanna wear pink. Heck, Erika’s not babysitting me. This Lexy person hasn’t seen what I was wearing on the plane.

Oof . But she is from PR. What does that mean? Is she going to spin a story I’m a bad dresser? Is this outfit bad? I sling my head in my hands and groan. Ugh. As if I wasn’t already nervous to see Wyatt, now I have wardrobe mind games to deal with.