“I’m a little early,” Xander says when I look up, surprised.

The clock on the register says twelve thirty. The party was supposed to be done a half hour ago. I hadn’t realized it was so late. Had I noticed I would’ve gone to the back and hurried them along, like I have to do a lot.

He walks closer and rubs a finger across his cheek. “You have something on your face. Paint maybe?”

“Oh. Yeah.” I wipe at my cheek.

“It’s still there.”

He’s walking closer, and I realize I’m still holding the paintbrush with the gold paint and the doll with the gold-flecked eyes sits on the counter in front of me. “Will you watch the store for a minute?” I blurt out, jumping off the stool, grabbing the doll, and heading for the back without waiting for his answer.

“Mom, you’ve gone over.”

“What? I have?” She claps her hands together. “Time to finish up, girls.” She throws me a look over her shoulder—a combination of “I’m sorry” and “you know me.” I do know her and that look makes me laugh.

“Are you done with that doll?” She picks up the electric heater off the counter to dry the eyes.

I look down at the doll in my hands. “Yes. Oh, wait. No. I messed up on it.”

She studies the doll’s eyes. “That’s kind of pretty,” she says. The gold streak across its pupil looks purposeful, like a shimmer. “I think you should leave it.”

“Okay.” I hand her the doll. “My friend is here.” Her eyes fly around the room with the announcement. “I won’t leave until the girls are gone, but just leave the mess for when I get back. I’ll help you.”

“Sounds good.”

I head back out front. Behind me my mom says, “Okay, let’s get this dolly’s clothes on.”

Xander is staring at a business card again when I come back out.

“There’s no hidden message there,” I say.

He puts the card back down. “You don’t have a cell phone.”

“Did the card tell you that?” I clean up the paints, closing their lids, and then wrap the paintbrushes in a paper towel to rinse off in the back. I glance over my shoulder, hoping my mom doesn’t come out right now. I’m trying to figure out how to ask Xander to leave the store without making the reason obvious.

“You’re never holding one, you don’t have a square lump in the pocket of your jeans, and you haven’t given me the number.”

“Your observation skills are getting better. Although I don’t think the last factor proves your theory.” I put the paints in a plastic bin. “I’ll be right back again. Why don’t you wait for me in the car, okay?”

He doesn’t move.

“I shouldn’t be long. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay.”

I wait for him to walk toward the door then take the paintbrushes to the sink in the party room, rinse them with soap and water, then put them in a jar to dry. The girls are gathering up their things and comparing dolls. I hurry ahead of the group and when I round the corner see Xander still standing there. I stop in my tracks and the kids push around me. He smiles as the girls sweep by his legs. I whirl back around and maneuver through a few girls, blocking my mom’s view.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“I think one of the kids left her jacket back there.”

“Okay. I’ll go grab it.”

One little girl stops by Xander. “You look like my Ken doll,” she says, staring up at him.

“I do?” he says.

She nods.

“Do you know who you look like?” He squats and starts to pull out his phone, but by this time I’ve reached him. I grab hold of his arm and drag him out the door.

“We have to go.”

He lets out a grunt. “Caymen, I was talking to that little girl.”

“Who is clearly delusional.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Clearly you look more like Derek, the brunette, than Ken.” I walk him all the way to his car and then say, “I’ll be right back.”

My mom has come out of the back room by the time I get inside. “I didn’t see a jacket back there.”

“I must’ve heard her wrong. Sorry.”

“Okay.” She sighs. “That was a fun party. The birthday girl couldn’t stop hugging her doll.”

“They seemed to have a good time.” I shift nervously from one foot to another. “Anyway, my friend is waiting. I’ll see you later?” I head quickly for the door.

“Hey, Picasso!” she calls.

I stop, thinking she’s seen Xander outside and is going to call me out. I turn slowly.

“You have paint on your face.” She sticks her thumb in her mouth then comes at me with it.

“Don’t you dare.” I wipe at my cheek.

She laughs. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’m sorry to leave you by yourself.”

“It’s fine, Caymen.”

“Thanks.”

Xander is sitting in his car fiddling with the radio when I get in. The smell of new leather assaults my senses. His car has more buttons and screens than I’ve ever seen in a car in my life.

He turns off the radio as I buckle my seat belt. “So you’re saying even if you had a cell phone, you wouldn’t give me the phone number?”

It takes me a second to realize he’s picking up our previous conversation. “I didn’t say that. I just said that wasn’t a concrete factor to prove your theory.”

He lowers the visor in front of me and flips open the mirror. “You still have paint on your face.” He runs a finger down my cheek, tracing the paint line. My breath catches for a moment when his finger seems to linger a second longer than necessary.

“Stubborn paint.” I turn my head to see the blue streak better. I rub it until it’s gone.

Xander opens the compartment above my knees and takes out a pair of leather gloves. As he pulls them on, I can’t help but laugh.

“What?”

“You have driving gloves.”

“And?”

“And it’s funny.”

“Funny adorable?”

I shake my head. “If you say so.”

He revs the engine a few times and then pulls onto the road. “Why do I get the feeling you didn’t want me to meet your mom back there?”

I thought it had escaped his notice. Apparently not. “Because I didn’t.”

“Well, that would explain the feeling.”

“She’s . . . Let’s just say I need a little time before you two meet.” Fifty years would probably do it.

“I’m sure I’d like her.”

I laugh. “You would like her just fine.”

He stops at an intersection and three women in brightly colored coats cross the street in front of us. “Wait, are you implying she wouldn’t like me? I’ve never met a mom who didn’t like me.”

My gaze rests on his gloved hands. “There’s a first time for everything.” I watch storefronts go by for a while then ask, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Fifteen minutes later we pull up in front of The Road’s End hotel.

Chapter 14

“Your hotel? I’m pretty sure I don’t want to be a maid when I grow up,” I say to Xander as he drives through the parking lot.

“Even if you wanted to I don’t think you could. That’s a hard job.”

I start to say something sarcastic back but am too surprised by his comment to think of anything. He parks the car in front and gets out. I follow him.

“This is not hotel-related. Except for the fact that the hotel serves as the backdrop.”

“For REDRUM?” I ask in a croaky voice.

“What?”

“Haven’t you ever seen The Shining?”

“No.”

“Jack Nicholson? Slowly going crazy?”

“No.”

“Probably a good idea since your family owns a bunch of hotels. I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s a horror movie that takes place in a hotel. So. Scary.”

“What does red rum have to do with anything?”

“It’s murder spelled backward.” I finish with three warning beats: “Dum dum dum.”

He gives me one of his are-you-for-real looks again. “Sounds terrifying.”

“That’s it. You have to watch the movie. I don’t care if it makes it so you can never step foot in a hotel again. You’re watching it.”

He tosses his car keys to an attendant standing by the entrance and then opens the door. The lobby is gorgeous. Luxurious furniture, large plants, shiny tiles and . . . bigger than my entire apartment. The front desk people smile when we walk through. “Good afternoon, Mr. Spence.”

He gives a small nod and directs me down the hall by placing a hand on my lower back. A chill goes through me. We come to a double-door gold elevator and he pushes the Up button, dropping his hand from my back. There’s an actual elevator guy inside wearing a blue jacket with big gold buttons. He says hi to Xander and me and I wave. He presses the button next to the number twenty. The elevator goes higher and higher until it finally stops with a ding.

The hall we step into is wide and leads to only one door. I have no idea what could be behind the door of what is obviously the penthouse suite that could possibly have anything to do with discovering what I want to do for a living.

Xander seems excited, though, as he turns the knob and opens the door. I’m overwhelmed by a lot of chaos and noise. Big shaded white lights are being assembled by a couple of guys. A few women arrange pillows on the couch. A man with a large camera hanging around his neck walks around analyzing different locations. Every once in a while he takes out a black stick thing and pushes a button.

“What are we doing here?” I ask Xander.

“It’s a photo shoot. My dad wants some new pictures taken of the room for the site so he sent me here to oversee it.” He walks to a large hutch against a wall, removes a camera from a case, and attaches a lens. “You are going to shadow the photographer. You’ll be like his apprentice.”

“Did you warn him that some girl who knows nothing about photography is going to get in his way all day?”

“I did.” He steps in front of me and slides the camera strap over my head then frees my hair from beneath it. I try not to sigh. He smells like expensive soap and laundry detergent. “He was flattered someone wanted to learn from him.”

“If you say so.”

His cell phone rings and he turns away to answer it. “What do you mean ‘where am I?’” His voice has gone hard and cold. “Yes, I’m at the photo shoot. That’s where you asked me to be. . . . Yes, well today I decided to . . . Okay . . . Yes . . . No, I have other plans tonight. Fine.” He hangs up without saying bye.

I raise my eyebrows and look at his phone.

“My dad.” He shrugs like his coldness on the phone was just an act.

“Mr. Spence,” the photographer calls. “If you’re ready we’ll get started.”

“Just let me change.”

Change?

While he’s gone the photographer calls me over and shows me a few basic functions of the camera and how and when to shoot. Xander comes back out wearing a suit that he totally rocks. A suit, coupled with his conservative haircut, makes him look a lot older than seventeen. He picks up a magazine off the table and sits on the couch. Seriously, I’ve never seen someone look so good in a suit. The photographer takes a few shots and then starts directing him. After he takes a dozen or so he turns to me. “Why don’t you try a few while I set up the next scene?” And then he goes into the kitchen (the hotel room has a kitchen) and starts moving things around.