Restraint (Mason Family 1)

Did I have it to get the rental car? Yes, I did.

Okay, breathe.

Did I have it at dinner?

The line crackles as the attendant comes back.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” the woman says. “How may I help you?”

I sigh, imploring myself to be patient.

“This is Blaire Gibson in room 1924. Has anyone turned in a credit card with my name on it?”

“Not that I recall. Can you hold, please?”

“Sure.”

The line gets muffled before she returns. “It’s not here. If it gets turned in, we’ll call your room or the number on file.”

“That would be excellent. Thank you.”

She laughs. “I wish all my customers were as pleasant as you this morning.”

“Bad day?” I ask as I rub my forehead.

“No. It’s just that all of America is calling for a hotel room next week, and they aren’t taking nicely to the fact that all hotels in Savannah are booked. But that’s what happens when you have the Seafood Fest and a Kelvin McCoy concert in town the same week.”

She goes on about the concert and how she tried to get tickets, but they were sold out in twenty minutes. All the while she’s telling me this, a phone ring incessantly behind her.

“Well, maybe you’ll get some next time,” I say, raising my voice slightly in hopes it will draw her back to her, our, current predicament. “If you get my card, please call. I need to go cancel it, I guess.”

“Absolutely. Have an excellent day, Miss Gibson.”

“You as well. Goodbye.” I set the phone back on the receiver.

The towel wobbles on the top of my head as I sit on the bed. I remove it and unwind my hair from the bright white material.

I could call the restaurant from last night. And the hotel. And Holt.

While there is an undeniable pull toward the last option—and I even find my eyes searching for my phone at the thought—I quickly bring myself back to reality.

I left him this morning for a reason. It was a calculated, non-emotional rationale that I’m fully confident was the right decision. Nothing good would have happened if I had stayed.

The corners of my lips twitch.

Well, something very good probably would’ve happened—if I could be so lucky. But then it would get awkward with a walk of shame through a hotel in the morning rush.

“I need to cancel my card and move on,” I tell myself as I get to my feet. “It’s the logical solution.”

I run a hand through my locks as I make my way to my phone. As soon as I reach it, it rings. It’s an Illinois area code.

“Hello?” I say.

“Hey, Blaire. It’s Sienna.”

“Oh, hey. I didn’t recognize the number,” I say, switching the phone into my other hand so that I can detangle the opposite side of my head.

“I’m borrowing my friend’s phone. Mine isn’t charging and Walker and Peck are using a … whatever you use to air up a car tire to try to clean out the port.”

I laugh. “Oh, dear lord.”

“I know, I know. Anyway,” she says, her tone lighter than before. “I come bearing gifts.”

My stomach growls. “Of muffins? Please be muffins. I’m starving.”

“No. Better than muffins.”

“Not sure anything tops muffins right now.”

“This will. Promise.” She pauses for what I think is effect. “I come bearing … information. Well, information and a ton of questions, you little minx.”

She giggles.

I look at the ceiling as I fill with dread.

There’s zero chance she isn’t calling about Holt Mason. How that’s possible, I’m not sure. The simplest solution would be that her brothers mentioned that I left their house with Holt, but does word travel that fast between siblings?

It doesn’t in mine. Not that Lance doesn’t keep me in the loop regarding all their shenanigans, but I don’t hear about them the next morning unless Machlan, our youngest and rowdiest brother, has done something borderline illegal like punching someone in the face. That does warrant an early morning call. But this? The behavior I’m uncharacteristically exhibiting is, or was, characteristic for the Gibson boys. It’s never gotten me a phone call.

“It appears that Holt Mason has your credit card,” she practically sing-songs into the phone. “Wanna explain that?”

“I do not.”

She laughs. “Blaire! Come on. I want details.”

I straighten my shoulders and clear my throat. “There are no details to be shared. I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“That’s bull, and we both know it. There’s only one reason a woman would be with Holt in a situation so … intense that she loses her credit card. Especially a woman like you.”

I can’t help but laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t exactly slum it, Miss High Brow Attorney. You’re beautiful, smart, and there’s no way you didn’t sleep with him, especially after Lincoln called and told me that Holt basically chased you out of there last night.”