It Started With A Book

Chapter 19

Pretty sure they'd send you back an hour in with your annoying self.
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Exiting a stall, Brin stood before a large glass mirror. She splashed water across her face in an attempt to look more wide awake and patted herself dry with towels folded neatly by the sink.

Hot towels by the sink?

Strange.

Lifting her head, she examined her whereabouts. In her defense she hadn't given herself much time to marvel what with increasingly important matters to attend to.

Her hands rested on a long slab of porcelain countertop. A small vase of flowers bridged the empty gap.

The faucet which she had her back turned away from, was made of real gold and not the kind which made up costume jewellery. No this was the type from which expensive items such as Brin's locket shared a common trait.

A chandelier resembling a large ball of light dangled from the ceiling.

She detected the scent of lavender, a benefit to working in her cousin's garden in past summers.

She could stay here forever until realizing that a washroom no matter how nice wasn't an ideal place to sleep in.

Everything from the moment Brin put the car in park to now standing in a lavish hallway was a blur.

So much so that she hadn't watched where she was going. A sea of red hair greeted her when she tumbled to the floor. Her hands sprung out in an attempt to catch herself to no avail.

"Sorry Elliott. I didn't see you there."

Glancing from where the individual stood she saw that she was utterly mistaken.

For one thing, he was much taller, sporting a handlebar moustache which Elliott wouldn't be caught dead in. Green eyes met her dark brown ones.

This man wore a suit and watch, looking to be more than what Brin made in months.

Crap.

It dawned on her that she hadn't informed Jeff where she was going nor when she would be back.

Eh, the store would be fine.

Then again it was Jeff she was talking about...

She made it a point of duty to call in the morning.

"I'm so sorry Mr. ? I didn't catch your name." Brin accepted the outstretched hand who helped her up.

"Hillingsworth. Miles Hillingsworth," the man smiled, straightening his bow tie.

"Hillingsworth. Why does that name sound familiar?" Brin questioned.

"Because it's on everything in this Hotel. It's on the napkins, the uniforms, the pens, the shampoo bottles even on the underside of the toilet seats."

"Odd place to put it, don't you think?"

"When you're rich, your decisions don't have to make sense," he answered, pleased with himself having an opportunity to flash his wealth to common folk.

The man walked down the pristine hallway with wall lights lining the sides of multiple elevators.

Two pots of bamboo sat beside the help desk.

People dressed lavishly fluttered about the space either immersed in their phones or reflections.

It would be a dream to stay here even just for one night. Brin walked out towards the car with determination flowing through her.