The security guard, a tall man named Frank who had worked in the building for years, stepped out from behind his desk to intercept the group.
“Good evening, ma’am, but I have been instructed to inform you that you do not have authorized access to the ninth floor tonight,” he said firmly.
Sienna came to a dead stop in the middle of the lobby floor and stared at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated disbelief.
Then her eyes shifted toward the corner of the room where I was standing with my arms crossed and my back against a marble pillar.
“Are you honestly playing some kind of sick joke on me, Leona, because it is one o’clock in the morning and we are exhausted?” she demanded.
“That is precisely why you should have picked up the phone to ask me for help instead of assuming you could treat my home like a free hotel,” I countered.
She let out a sharp and incredulous laugh while she adjusted the sleeping toddler on her hip and took a step toward me.
“I sent you a message to warn you that we were coming, so don’t act like this is some massive surprise that caught you off guard.”
“You didn’t warn me, Sienna, you simply informed me of your decision to violate my boundaries, and those two things are not the same at all,” I replied.
The wheels of her suitcase rattled loudly against the polished stone floor as she moved further into the lobby, ignoring the guard’s watchful presence.
“We just flew in from Nashville and we missed our connecting flight to Tampa, and every hotel near the terminal was either booked solid or charging five hundred dollars a night,” she explained.
