ACCIDENTALLY KIDNAPPING MAFIA BOSS FOR EVERETT OFC
She wakes to the scent of smoked patchouli and cardamom— Everett's cologne. As her eyes flutter open, the temporary deafness ebbs and the shape of the luxury hotel room comes into focus. Slowly, she begins to feel aware of an alarm blaring like an air raid siren on the bed beside her. Halia swallows the groan caught in her throat and lazily hits the dismiss button on the screen, wishing they had booked a table for brunch at a later slot. She rolls over to find Everett Graves still asleep, sprawled across the bed on his back like a corpse hastily thrown into a shallow ditch.
Shuffling closer to the sleeping mafioso, she kicks the unused duvet off the king-sized mattress to make room for herself beside him. She sits up, checking the pockets of his suit jacket that had kept her warm the whole night for a cigarette and a light. Her head throbs. The night before was a high-octane blur of mixed vices that left her head spinning at all attempts at recalling any memories made after 5pm. Mentally, she chastises herself for being the one who suggested that they steadily day-drink to keep their buzz going until happy hour. Whatever, she thinks. They were most likely going to repeat that mistake again before the end of their trip.
"Ev," her voice is hoarse and dry even before she sucks in the hot smoke. Halia shakes his shoulders, "Wake up. We're going to be late for our reservation."
He stirs and makes a small sound of acknowledgement. A sleepy and dismissive hand waves her off before gesturing to his face. She repeats herself as she leans over him to wipe her smudged lipstick stain off his mouth, only to replace it with her lit Marlboro. He takes it eagerly between his teeth.
Halia waits for an answer that never comes.
"Okay, then. I'm taking a shower, Graves... I'm going to use up all of the hot water..." She sings the words at him as she backs away until her feet touch the floor. The Gucci sunglasses that cover his eyes betray nothing, but she hopes he's heard her. Her hands rest on her hips. "All right, well, don't fall asleep again and burn the hotel down, pretty boy."
He lets out a soft chuckle at her half-hearted obloquy (always a glutton for praise) and mumbles something along the lines of ‘oooooh, you think I’m pretty’. Halia rolls her eyes at the state of him while rubbing her red-stained fingers on the hem of her cocktail dress. He’s still drunk. What a mess— not that she's any better, of course.
Beside him on the nightstand, Everett's phone vibrates, threatening to throw itself onto the floor if not answered. She watches as he ignores it. Halia shakes her head at him as he sucks in the warm burn of the cigarette and releases an idle stream of smoke out of his nose. Something in her gut tells her that they're forgetting a significant detail of the night before.
"Hey. You did remember to let your goons know we were headed to Vegas for your birthday, right?"