It's just 44 hours, really, and weddings are supposed to fly by. Right?
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The moment he stepped onto the hotel property, Ian should've realized a mistake was made. He should've expected something when his ex-girlfriend's bridesmaid kept asking him f...
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Closing his eyes a little tighter, Ian stirred in the backseat of the car, trying to hide from wherever the glare was coming from. The light seemed hell-bent on waking him up, so, accepting defeat, Ian sat up, his jacket falling to the floor, and pressed open the car door, just enough to let fresh air in but not far enough to hit the car next to him. His throat was dry, and clearing it did not help. With every turn of his head, Ian's neck protested. He could not remember a worst night's sleep. His dreams were painful, full of remembrance, cloaking him in shame and pity.
His head pounded slow and steady beats that reverberated through his body.
Yawning, he checked the time on his phone. 05:02 AM. There were four messages already. The sun was already starting to peek over the hotel.
You were late sending them, was Reed's, sent a little over an hour ago. idk what you did but they're not the design we agreed on. Timpson's breathing down my neck now for them. get them to me by lunch.
He nearly sent Reed back DRAW IT YOUR OWN FUCKING SELF, YOU RAT-FACED SLACK-JAWED SLUG OF A TRUST FUND BABY but did not. Ian bared his teeth, trying to stop the upset and frustration building behind his eyes. He worked for hours on those designs, finishing them just after midnight. He found a secluded nook to draw. An area with good lighting to send them to Reed and upload them to the employee drive. He might've taken a few liberties with the ornamentation, but Ian was tired. He was sick and tired and scared.
Hi, one of the wedding guests has morning sickness, was Rachel's, sent just after midnight. Ian didn't remember receiving the message at all. I just remembered that I should mention that to you last night. Can you go out and get some meds for her?
That one Ian ignored. A foul taste lingered on his tongue; he shuffled from the car into the morning air. Icy stretches of the night sky were being erased. He stretched, grunting as his limbs trembled in the middle of empty asphalt. Before him glowed the hotel, basking in the morning light, long and low and wonderfully horizontal, yet Ian couldn't help the pang of irritation of wishing there was even a closet available for him to sleep in. Anything more comfortable than the backseat of the rented car.
"Whatever," he sighed, bleary-eyed, as he gathered some toiletries and a change of clothes from his bag in the trunk. He slammed it harder than he intended and half expected alarms around him to go off. Still, Ian slipped into the lobby building from a side entrance. He brushed his teeth in the empty men's room. Deodorized and changed clothes in the stalls. He wet his hair and then dried it with a spare undershirt. Ian Randolph emerged from the restroom, looking tired but refreshed.
The lobby was cloaked in shadows, muted earthy tones stretching as far as the eye could see. The lights had been turned off, leaving the building ghostly, while a handful of employees wandered about, readying themselves for the day.
Ian approached the front desk, the person behind it blank-faced and humming something he didn't recognize. He smiled, feeling all the more pathetic. "Hi, I know I'm early. Like ridiculously early, but would it be possible to request an early check-in?" He offered the desk agent his ID and credit card.
