Six
My phone shrieks from the bedside table. I fumble for it, groaning as it flips onto the floor and I have to roll to my side to grope for it. I squint through tired eyes at the screen, quickly deciding that second bucket of beers last night was probably not the best idea.
Nikki is calling me. On my cell phone. Not the hotel phone. And it’s only 8:00 a.m.
“I cannot deal with this yet …” I moan. I let the call go to voicemail, sit up, find a water bottle, swallow two Advil, take a pee, and rinse with mouthwash. Now I can call her back.
“Good morning, Nicolette,” I say.
“Why didn’t you answer? Did you listen to the voicemail?”
“I was indisposed. What can I do for you?”
“You’d know if you’d listened to the voicemail. Now I have to say it all again?”
“Is everything all right, Nikki?”
