SLAY by Brittney Morris

Author:Brittney Morris
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon Pulse

10. AWAY GAME

* * *

BEIJING, CHINA

My name is Maurice, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now than in my tiny hotel room here in Beijing.

When I open the door and slip the key card into the slot to turn on the lights, I’m met with the scent of lemon and household cleaners. Housekeeping was here, even though I’m checking out in the morning.

I let the door shut behind me and step out of my brown Louis Vuittons, which at the time I thought were too expensive but am now grateful for. They’re sturdy but soft inside, making my feet much less achy at the end of a long day than my old Nauticas. I spot a new bottle of water on the counter next to two new coffee mugs, empty the bottle into the kettle, and set it to boil. Although everyone in China assures me that boiling the tap water is safe enough, why take the chance when hotels eagerly replenish water bottles and tea bags every morning?

I shrug out of this enormous coat that fits me a bit weird in the shoulders. It’s March, and the weather outside is surprisingly cruel. I had to buy this coat from one of the shops that line the streets a quarter mile from the conference center downtown. I loosen my tie, slip off my blazer, and make myself a cup of English breakfast tea, which I’m shocked they have. This is the first time I’ve seen anything but green tea in my hotel room basket. I sink into the edge of the bed and sip it gratefully, letting it warm my insides.

The tea is gone too fast, and I set the mug on the bed, lean back against the pillows, and close my eyes. I could sleep like this if I let myself drift off—pants, dress shirt, belt, and socks still on. That number that’s been running through my head all day crops up again. Six dollars and sixty-five cents.

Six dollars and sixty-five cents sounds pretty affordable, but when multiplied by sixty thousand, it’s . . . not a good number. But Mr. Min insists that’s the lowest he can offer, and as much as I want to keep haggling, it’s the lowest offer I’ve gotten out of all fifty-some trips, and it’s the factory with the most airtight safety regulations. As a responsible business owner, I should probably keep researching to find a manufacturer who’s ethical and cheap. But I really don’t want to come back to Beijing. I’m looking forward to spending at least a month straight with Sylvie, sharing cappuccinos at our breakfast table every morning, debating whether we should leave the parlor window closed so I don’t freeze to death, or leave it open so she can hear the bluebirds while we eat.

A knock at the door startles me from my thoughts.

“Yes?” I ask into my empty hotel room. No response. I peel myself from the bed with the most hushed sigh of frustration I can manage and drag myself to the door.

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