Chapter 2 - The Lobby AmbushTwenty minutes later, I walked out of the elevator and into the glittering, marble-floored lobby of the Grand Horizon Hotel. I had swapped my travel t-shirt for a crisp black button-down, rolling the sleeves up to my forearms to hide the nervous twitch in my hands.
Scanning the lounge area, I spotted Amanda first. She was waving frantically from a booth in the corner, a martini glass balanced dangerously close to her fingertips. Sitting right next to her—looking devastatingly chic in an emerald green slip dress—was Rachel.
Abort mission, my instincts screamed. But it was too late. Rachel’s eyes locked onto mine the second I stepped into the light.
“Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Amanda announced loudly as I approached the table. “The man who breaks tackles on Sunday and room invasions on Friday.”
“Shut up, Amanda,” I muttered, sliding into the booth opposite them. I kept my gaze firmly fixed on the cocktail menu, though I could feel Rachel’s eyes burning a hole straight through my forehead.
“Relax, Tyler,” Rachel said, her voice smooth, laced with a teasing edge that sent a strange shiver down my spine. “It’s not like you saw anything you haven’t seen in a neighborhood swimming pool ten years ago.”
My head snapped up. “I will remind you that I was twelve ten years ago, and I wore neon green swim trunks with cartoon sharks on them.”
“True,” Rachel smiled, taking a slow sip of her gin and tonic. “And you’ve improved significantly since then. Though your hallway-retreat technique needs work.”
Amanda looked back and forth between us, her eyes narrowing with sudden, suspicious amusement. “Wait. What hallway retreat? Did something happen before I texted you?”
“Nothing,” Rachel and I said in unison, a bit too quickly.
Amanda’s grin widened into something feral. “Oh, wow. Something definitely happened. Tell me everything right now, or I’m telling Mom about your college fake ID collection, Tyler.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I warned, though I knew she absolutely would.
Before the interrogation could deepen, a shadow fell over our table. A tall, impeccably tailored man with silver-streaked hair and an expensive-looking Rolex cleared his throat.
May you like
“Rachel?” the man asked smoothly. “I didn’t expect to see you here in Chicago.”
Rachel’s entire posture locked up. The playful warmth vanished from her face in a microsecond, replaced by a chilling, arctic frost.
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