Lost Me, Gained Regret (Jane and Bryant Ferguson) novel Chapter 883

Before Christine could fully process what was happening, she found herself watching Dailey stagger to his feet. But just as quickly, he collapsed against her. She instinctively reached out to support him.

Dailey leaned heavily on her shoulder, his breath hot and alarming against her neck. "Weren’t your people supposed to stick with you like glue? How did you end up alone and this feverish?" she asked, hearing his faint voice.

"Take me back to the hotel…" he murmured.

Christine was exasperated. "You’re not even going to tell me which hotel?" she thought. With no other choice, she dug into his pockets to find his phone. After patting down the pockets of his trousers, she realized he didn’t have his phone on him. He was only wearing a white shirt, no jacket. So that meant no phone.

No wonder he hadn’t contacted his team. But something didn’t add up—they were supposed to be inseparable. Before she could piece it together, his hand suddenly gripped hers.

"Stop rummaging…"

Christine bit back her frustration. Seeing him delirious, she held her tongue. "What’s the name of the hotel?" she asked.

"The Regal Court."

"Really?" she thought. That was her hotel, too. She hoisted his arm over her shoulder and slowly guided him outside. They reached the lobby, but there was no sign of Duke Northwood. Assuming he might be waiting at the entrance, she stepped out of the restaurant, but there was still no sign of him. She took out her phone to call him, only to find his phone was turned off.

Christine was starting to believe the night was full of strange coincidences. Surely, Dailey had the means to arrange things differently… "I’m cold, Chris…" Dailey mumbled.

With a resigned sigh, Christine flagged down a cab and took Dailey back to their hotel. Once there, she faced another hurdle: he didn’t have his room key, and the front desk required identification. "He’s Dailey, a guest here. Could you make an exception and swipe us in?" she pleaded with the receptionist.

"I’m sorry, ma’am," the receptionist replied. "As a high-end establishment, we must ensure our guests’ privacy and security. Without identification, we cannot grant access."

Dailey might have been influential elsewhere, but here his name held no sway. Left with no alternative, Christine led him to her room. She laid him on the bed, intending to fetch a cold towel and medicine. But as she turned to leave, he caught her wrist and pulled her onto the bed.

Christine’s eyes narrowed. "Feigning illness, are we? Just for some… company?"