“Well, I guess you do. But you could be a nice guy and show me to a hotel..or I could sit here on my luggage until another mysterious, dark, tall, and handsome man comes to sweep me off my feet.” Nicolette jokes, showing him a sweet smile.
“Alright, here’s what I’ll do.” Holden pulls out his checkbook, ripping off one of the unused slips and flipping it over. With the pen that’s usually tucked into the fold of his pocket, he scribbles down two addresses and a phone number. Then he hands it to her.
“First address is the nearest hotel, the Walcott or whatever it’s called. Second address is the Townsend estate, more popularly known as my house. Then there’s my number. Oh, and ––”
He fishes through his pocket and pulls out two twenties, handing those to her as well. “There’s that. You’re welcome. Don’t call to check in.”
