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Chapter Two


I was just backing out into the hallway after finishing cleaning up room 4563 when the elevator doors dinged open. I glanced down the span of new carpet and there he was -- Nick Carter, in the flesh. Now I'm gonna be honest, I was a pretty big Backstreet Boys fan 'back in the day', but I lost track of them sometime after Kevin quit the band back in 2004. It wasn't that I didn't like them anymore, it just became harder to keep up with them after that, and to be honest I didn't have a lot of time. My parents had died around that time and between my brother, Jake, turning douche bag and the stint I did in therapy I just never quite caught back up. The Nick Carter that I remembered, therefore, was kinda frumpy and overweight -- the Nick Carter that was so obviously coked up that it was embarassing at times. But the Nick Carter that came walking down that hallway --- well, this was an entirely different breed altogether.

I think my heart stopped.

"Hey," he said, looking at the room door, "Are you about to clean in here?" he asked. "I was here about - maybe forty-five minutes ago... I think I left my wallet." He held up his room key.

I couldn't answer, my throat felt constricted. I just moved aside and he pushed the door opened and went inside. I followed him. I opened my mouth to tell him that I had his wallet, but no sound came out.

"Jesus," he said, looking around the room, "You cleaned up quick..." He looked at the freshly made bed, then bent down and looked under it. His ass stuck up in the air and if I'd been close to regaining my composure I quickly lost it. He glanced over at me. "You speak English or what?" he asked.

I nodded.

"What are you, like Swedish or something?" he asked.

"What?" I asked. The question was so... left-field that I was stunned into answering. My voice croaked out of my throat like I hadn't talked in a couple centuries.

"You -- are you Swedish or something? You got blonde hair." He waved his hands at his shoulders to indicate my hair. I reached up and touched it.

"No... I'm -- You have blonde hair too," I stammered.

"Sorry," he said, "I don't mean to offend you or sound like racist or nothin'..." he paused, standing upright, and looked around the room. "I gotta have left it here somewhere... I had it... in my pocket..." Nick came toward me and stood in the door way and started moving through the motions that he and Cora had evidently taken when they'd come in the room. He waved his hands at his pants then in a motion like he was tossing them into the corner I'd found the wallet in. He stared at the carpet, as though expecting it to materialize there. "Hmm..." he furrowed his brow.

I reached into my apron and touched the wallet. Wrapped my fingers around it. I was about to pull it out of my pocket when Nick did a couple tight circles, then ducked across the room. "Cora went in the bathoom..." he muttered and pulled open the door and stepped into the bathroom.

I used the opportunity. I took the wallet out of my pocket, put it on the floor behind the desk and, still bending down from putting it there, I said, "I found it."

Nick came back out of the bathroom, a relieved look on his face. "Oh thank God," he said. He rushed over, hands extended and I stood up, and dropped it into his palms. "I ain't freaked out like that in a long time... she would've killed me if --" he paused and studied me. "So yeah, thanks."

"You're welcome," I said. I stood still as he shoved the wallet into his pocket, then headed for the door.

"Tell Cora hello for me," I said.

I heard him stop short in the doorway. He turned back. "How did you know --"

"You said her name," I replied.

He backed up, squinted at me. "When?"

"Just now. You said Cora went in the bathroom."

Nick's eyes were narrow.

"Does Hugh know?" I asked conversationally.

Nick's eyes narrowed even further.

"How long have you two been having an affair?" I asked.

"We haven't, we were talking business," Nick lied. "We're thinking about having Cora out on the next Backstreet Boys single."

"There was a used condom in the trash," I said. Nick face looked like a little kid confronted with the news that mommy found the lid off the cookie jar and he stood there helplessly before me. "Besides, why would you go to a hotel all the way across town from the after party Cora's supposedly at tonight?" I asked. I rubbed my chin, "A VIP booth at the club would've been just as effective as checking into a hotel for an hour... No, no I don't think you were doing any kind of business in here..." I shook my head. "There's a few tabloids I'm sure that would be fasssscinated by this information," I said in a hum-ho tone.

I couldn't believe that I was in the process of blackmailing a Backstreet Boy.

He pulled his wallet back out and opened it hastily. "How much?" he said.

"Hm?"

"How much to keep your mouth shut, Sherlock?" he asked, pulling out about seven hundred dollar bills.

I shrugged.

Nick looked paniced. "Please," he said, "Please. I - I really love her, I don't wanna fuck this up." He held out the bills. "This is all I have in cash," he said. "Please. Please don't tell anyone about this."

I studied the bills. I reached out, took them, folded them neatly, shoved them in my bra and said, in as casual a tone as I could muster, "About what?"

Relief panned across his face. "Thank you," he said.

He started for the door again.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr. Carter."

He lingered in the doorway a moment. "It was expensive meeting you, miss.....?"

"Samantha," I said, "Samantha Roades."

"Miss. Roades," he finished. He paused. "Well... I'll give ya a call if I ever need a crime scene analyzed 'cos, damn, you're practically Adrian Monk." And just like that, he ducked out of the room.

I reached into my bra and pulled the money he'd just given me out. I fanned the bills out in my hands. Seven hundred dollars. Just like that. "Stupid," I whispered, "I should've asked for more."