Page 6 of Slumming It

"Maybe," I conceded. "But I'm still not gonna answer."

"Saysyou."

I eyed the phone as it continued to ring. Just how oldwasthat thing, anyway? My own age was just past thirty, and the damn thing looked twice as old. I asked, "What's your point?"

"I'm just saying, you're a curious guy."

Hey, I'd been called worse – at the truck stop for instance. "Notthatcurious."

"Bullshit," he said. "Twenty bucks says you answer."

Nowthatwas funny. "A whole twenty, huh?"

"Hey, we've got to keep scoresomehow."

The logic made sense in a Slade sort of way. "Alright." I almost smiled. "So I'll collect it when I see you."

"And when will that be?" he asked.

I considered why I was here. "One, maybe two weeks." On the nightstand, the phone finally stopped ringing, leaving a sudden silence in its wake. Now Ididsmile. "I win."

"Not if they call back."

"AndI answer," I reminded him. "Which I won't."

"We'll see," he said, sounding like he knew something I didn't. And with that, he ended the call.

It was just like him, seizing the final word and calling it a day. But on this, Slade was dead wrong.

Soon I would be heading out. And then, the phone could ring all day for all I cared.

Like I said…not my problem.

Chapter 3

Emily

Under the bed, I was practically quivering – not from nerves, but from righteous indignation.A shithole? Seriously?

Okay, yes, the place needed some work. Anyone could see that.But the hotel had a certain charm, not to mention a terrific location – right downtown and within walking distance to the beach.

Sure, we had just sixteen rooms in a city that garnered only a tiny dot on the map of Michigan, but the hotel would be a lot nicer once we got rolling. It just needed some paint and elbow grease, that's all, along with a few upgrades.

Plus new furniture.

Especially new beds.

Right on cue, the bedsprings above me creaked yet again, making me stiffen on the dusty carpet.Was he settling in for a nap?

If so, that would totally suck.

But then I perked up. His cellphone conversation was obviously over – not that he had bothered to say goodbye. And it's not like he'd taken off his clothes.

The thought had barely crossed my mind when I saw his feet hit the floor. His socks were black, and his feet were significantly larger than my own, which of course made me recall some of the things I'd read last night on the gossip blogs.

Supposedly, the guy had a massive tool and knew how to use it.

But so what?