What Else, If Not love?

CHAPTER 1

Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. It seems to be the only word that I know right now. And it wasn't even because of my lack of vocabulary or English being my second language. It was purely due to the panic mode my mind has switched to and it was replaying the one word that made sense in the current situation. I carefully removed the thick blanket covering my barely dressed body, and cold air hit my skin through the white linen shirt that was three sizes larger and the only material that preserved my modesty. I was barely breathing, afraid that even the slightest sound would wake the stranger sleeping soundly next to me. His face was facing the other side, and for the love of God, I couldn't remember his face. The sheet was draped around his lower half, giving me a quick view of the muscled back and the blue ink that seems to cover his entire exposed skin. A quick inspection of the image almost made me believe that he was someone related to some cult.

The slight streak of sunlight that shone through the ruffled curtains was the only illumination that guided me around. There were clothes all around the floor and it was very difficult to locate mine among them. On top of clothes, many items that I didn't have the time to notice were also littered around. What in the world happened here yesterday?

My head was throbbing from the inside, owing to the alcohol I drowned in yesterday, and also most probably because my drink was spiked. But I knew the tattooed man with whom I just spent the night was not the one to blame for it. In fact, the vague memories that clouded the outskirts of my conscious mind tell me he was the one who had to suffer the aftermath of my spiking episode. Luckily, I found my phone right on the bedside table and my Louis Vuitton purse was lying like an abandoned child on the couch, under a waistcoat that lacked buttons and looked in terrible condition. Something tells me I am the artist behind it.

I threw one last glance at the muscular form and gently slipped out of the room, my heart repositioning itself in my throat. What if he calls me from behind? Should I make a run for it while I am out?

I finally released a sigh as the door was completely shut and I couldn't hear any movement from inside. However, my relief had to suffer a premature death as I stared at the wide hallway of the hotel. It was roughly seven in the morning and almost everyone was asleep after the late-night charity event last night, but the staff were definitely around and I might stumble on anyone I knew or rather, anyone who knows me. These are the times that make it sucky to be a celebrity. Shit, I didn't even know which floor I was on. I briefly studied the room number, which showed 3017, and from the mild knowledge I had, I assumed it was the thirtieth floor and my room was on the twenty-fourth floor.

Can I risk getting caught in the elevator, or should I take the stairs? And why in the world was I on this floor? All our crew members stayed on the twenty-fifth and twenty-fourth floors. Whom did I even sleep with?

Not willing to jeopardise my public image any further, I dashed to the other side of the corridor and thanked God for finding the emergency exit. There was an echo of a woman's laughter from somewhere above, but other than that, I couldn't hear any footsteps, confirming that I was safe to go.

The cold granite bit into my bare feet and I almost wanted to laugh out loud at the ridiculous situation. Here I was, a world-famous singer and songwriter, winner of two Grammy awards, running away in the break of dawn in nothing but a flimsy shirt that belonged to a total faceless stranger whom I bedded with after being spiked by God knows who. Wow, only if the media gets a whiff of it. I will make headlines for the next two months.

Within ten minutes, I was back on my floor and did a happy dance upon seeing the empty corridor. God was really on my side today, or so I thought until I opened my purse to get the key card. Missing!

I groaned in frustration and pathetically pulled down the handle of the door to my locked room. I must have lost it yesterday and the spare key was at the reception. Can it get any worse? Probably yes. Because my heart leaped to my throat again as the adjacent door to my room opened, and for the love of God, I couldn't remember who my neighbour was. Whoever it was, my reputation was doomed. Gone. Poof. Ruined.