Page 49 of Snaring Emberly
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A loud bang jerks me awake. I sit up, my heart pounding, and I glance from side to side. The room is dark, even though traces of sunlight peek in through tiny chinks in the curtains.
It takes several frantic seconds for me to sort out my thoughts and realize I’m in Roman Montesano’s downstairs guest room.
Was that a gunshot or a backfiring car? I close my eyes, clutch at my pounding head, and groan.
There’s no way in hell I drank two bottles of wine. I try to tell myself they were only half-bottles, but the throbbing hangover says otherwise. So much for self-restraint.
“What time is it?” I grope around for my phone and find it underneath the other pillow.
The display says 11:55 AM, which has to be bullshit. I couldn’t have slept away the entire morning. Sofia would have woken me for breakfast.
I swing my legs off the bed, stumble toward the door, and poke my head into the hallway. Dominic and the same huge guy from yesterday lean against the walls, deep in conversation.
“Hey,” I croak.
Their gazes swing in my direction.
“What time is it?”
“Nearly noon,” Dominic says with a grin, his gaze traveling up to what’s probably a bird’s nest of curls.
Shit.
Roman and I were supposed to meet up this morning for the portrait.
“Where’s Roman?” I ask.
They exchange glances before the taller one says, “He knocked on your door at six. When you didn’t answer, he came in and tried to wake you, then he left.”
“What?” I shriek.
“He said you were dead to the world.”
“Where is he now?”
He shrugs. “I ain’t the boss’s secretary.”
“Can you call him to say I’m ready?” When the man hesitates, I turn to Dominic and say, “Please?”
Dominic sighs, pulls out his phone, and taps on its screen. He presses it to his ear and waits several seconds before saying, “It’s gone to voicemail.”
“So, I’m stuck here another day?”
Now it’s Dominic’s turn to shrug.
“Shit!” I retreat into my room, storm across the room, and yank the curtains open.
Bright light assaults my eyes, making me wince. When I turn around, all signs of last night’s drinking are gone, replaced with a bottle of water and a glass.
I clutch at my throbbing temples, trying to sort out my jumbled thoughts. This isn’t a setup. Nobody but me drank all that wine. Maybe the super-rich get a selection of bottles with their meals and I just have zero willpower.
This is my fault. Nobody can reasonably expect Roman to wait all morning for a portrait when I’m the one who missed our appointment by drinking myself stupid.
Stupid. That’s what I am.
Jim is desperate to drag me into a cell and punish me for leaving his abusive ass, Lafayette wants to frame me for a crime I didn’t commit, and the only man willing to help me probably thinks I’m a flaky drunk.