Page 40 of The Publicist

I dial Quinn’s number again, and this time I hear it click through.

“Hello?” A familiar, tired sounding, Irish accent comes through the receiver.

Chapter 35

I’m lyingin my bed with the worst imaginable hangover of my life. I didn’t think I drank that much, it was only two drinks, but I can’t remember half the night. I groan and turn to my side. Tait is lying on top of the covers, still fully clothed. “Tait, what are you doing here?” I ask, my voice raspy and distant sounding.

“Oh, thank God, Quinn. You really scared us.”

I scrunch my face up, confused. “What are you talking about, Tait? What happened?”

“You don’t remember? You were fairly out of it.”

“No, I don’t remember anything.”Oh God!I don’t remember anything.What happened to me?

“We think you ingested some kind of drug. I have to call Elena and let her know you are all right. We’ve all been worried sick. I stayed to make sure, if you needed anything, I’d be able to help you.”

“If you thought I was drugged, why not take me to the hospital?” I rub my forehead, trying to jog my brain.

“We don’t need that kind of publicity, and I had Andrew, the staff physician, check you out. He thought you might have ingested some sort of roofie.”

“Who the hell would roofie me?” I panic.

“I don’t know. We think it was one of the drinks that arrived. The ones we thought the club sent up to us for free? Maybe the club didn’t send them up.”

He gets up and dials Elena’s number, stepping out onto the patio to call her. I begin running through the events of the evening. Elena, Sam, and I got ready in my room to head out. We had the driver drop us off at the club around nine and were ushered to the VIP section. We were laughing, gossiping, and having a good time. There were some guys a few tables over that kept checking us out—well, checking Elena out anyway. Then some drinks arrived, the waitress telling us they were on the house, and that’s when things get a bit fuzzy.

I remember feeling a bit dizzy, chalking it up to drinking on a semi-empty stomach. I couldn’t stop laughing, and all I wanted to do was dance. I spent some time on the dance floor, and I distinctly remember being groped a few times.I pushed them away from me, I remember that much.I remember thinking they didn’t feel like Caleb, and I didn’t want them near me.

Tait found me on the dance floor and brought me outside. I just wanted to sleep, and I kept closing my eyes and using him as a pillow. I’m pretty sure the words, “My Irish hottie pillow,” escaped my lips at some point, or multiple points. I remember some arguing, and then I remember waking up with the worst hangover of my life.

Tait walks back into the room, concern on his face. “Are you all right?”

“No, I feel like I want to die. This is so much worse than being drunk.” I curl up in bed again, my body shivering on its own. Tait is kind, tossing the blankets up over me, and I tuck them under my chin.

“Can you call Caleb and let him know I’m okay?”

“Yeah, about that. I thought I was answering my phone and picked up yours. I think it might have been Caleb. He didn’t say anything, just hung up. I didn’t look through the call list though, so I could be wrong.”

My heart sinks, and I know now I’m going to be sick. I know exactly what Caleb is probably thinking, especially with how he feels about Tait. “Tait, can you give me my phone?” He hands it to me, and I see I have a few unread text messages and a few messages; all of them, I presume, are from Caleb. I turn the screen brightness down on my phone to help my burning eyes and read the three messages from Caleb.

Caleb:Hey, I haven’t gotten a text from you tonight. Hope you are having a good time. Stay safe!

Caleb:Hi, it’s 9 in the morning. Can you please call me, or message me? I’m getting worried over here.

Caleb:Quinn, I’m about to go on stage for the panel. I need you to call or text me ASAP. I’m worried.

I dial his number, hoping to have the chance to talk to him, but it goes straight to voicemail. I type a quick message and send it, hoping he will call me back sooner rather than later.

Me:Caleb, we need to talk. Call me.

I am fighting with my urge to go back to sleep, get something to drink, and use the bathroom. Finally, I decide to get up, and I sway as I try to stand. Tait is beside me in an instant, making sure I don’t fall over. When I get my bearings, I wave him off and trudge to the bathroom to freshen up. I text Elena, asking if she can come to my room, and she responds that she will be right over.

After splashing some cold water on my face and relieving my bladder, I leave the bathroom and sit on the bed again. I try to call Caleb again, and it goes straight to voicemail. I don’t have the number for Giselle, so I opt to call Steve instead, to see if he has it. He answers on the third ring, and he does not sound happy to hear my voice.

“What, Quinn?”

“I can’t get in touch with Caleb. I think his phone is off. Do you have Giselle’s number?”