Truth

settled into her room, presumably for the night. Phil had watched her for almost three weeks. She wasn’t the wild and crazy kind. Room service was a 99.9% assured outcome. Rarely was Phillip Roach wrong.
    The electronic sensor startled him back to reality. It was a non-conspicuous devise attached to her suite door. As long as the door remained closed the devise remained silent. When the door opened and separated the connection, an alarm sounded in his room. Immediately, Phil jumped to the peep hole, expecting to see a waiter delivering room service.
    Instead, stepping from her suite, dressed to kill was Claire Nichols. No wonder Mr. Rawlings was so interested in this women, she’s frig’n hot! Phil thought as he watched the petite frame in the flowing white sundress and high heels. Although his view was somewhat distorted due to the domed glass peep hole, the woman he saw looked more like the woman in the pictures. She looked like Mrs. Rawlings.
    Phil grabbed his sport coat, combed back his hair and splashed his face with water. 57 seconds after Claire left her room, Phil double stepped it down the stairs to the lobby, only eleven floors down.
    The firm soles of his shoes hit the marble floor of the main lobby. Phil inhaled and exhaled, regulating his breathing as he walked toward the large glass entry. Being Saturday night, the hotel as well as Riverwalk bustled with people, most paired and appropriately adorned for evening revelries. It was after all, a five star establishment. The magnitude of private conversations created a dim drone as Phil scanned the open foyer. The ceiling towered many stories above, the enormous fireplace blazed, and the tile floor echoed with the clicks of stiletto heels. An occasional whiff of food cooking in the distance reminded Phil that Citrus, the hotel’s finer restaurant, was nearby.
    His tenacity was rewarded as Phil passed the glistening, metal, beaded, chain curtain separating the ultra-sleek Vbar from the Hotel Valencia. Just beyond the semi translucent drape, he saw the beautiful outline of Claire Nichols. Her white dress shone like a beacon within the dimly lit tavern.
    Phil followed the piano music and entered the posh lounge. The low lights, red carpet, and intimate groupings, created a chic romantic atmosphere. He watched from afar as her face, illuminated by a flickering red candle, smiled and spoke to the attentive waiter. Using his phone he casually snaped a few photos. Walking nonchalantly through the busy lounge Phil positioned himself on a leather stool at the shiny black bar. Each time he raised his head Ms. Nichols sat directly in his field of vision. He ordered a Blue Moon and waited.
    Fifteen minutes passed; no one joined his assignment. She didn’t seem worried, wasn’t fidgeting with her phone; yet, her attire screamed date . He waited, but no one joined her, perhaps no one was coming. Phil contemplated the woman he’d spent the last three weeks getting to know. Many women sitting alone in a bar would be self-conscious. Ms. Nichols looked completely content, composed, and confident. She sipped a glass of red wine and gazed around the room. Suddenly, their eyes met. Phil fought the urge to look away. He reminded himself, they’d met on the elevator. His mind wheeled as she smiled and tipped her glass his direction. Could this be an invitation? Perhaps if I talk to her, maybe I can learn where she’s been?
    Phil smiled and raised his mug in response. The bartender broke their trance, “Sir, would you like another beer?”
    Phil became aware of his near empty mug. Maybe the stress of the last four days had gotten to him. “Yes. And could you please send the lovely lady in the white dress another glass of wine, with my compliments.”
    “ Certainly, sir.”
    He covertly watched as the waiter gallantly delivered the wine to her table. He couldn’t hear their conversation but read her body language: surprised, pleased, and appreciative. When she turned toward him, she lifted the new goblet and mouthed thank you . Phil bowed his head. When he looked up, her gaze was no longer his. Had he expected an invitation? Fifteen more minutes, she remained alone. Phil puffed his chest, exhaled, and eased himself from the tall leather stool.
    Lost in thoughts she didn’t acknowledge him until he was directly in front of her. “Thank you, for the wine.” If he’d startled her, there was no reflection in her voice. He assessed, she is either considerably calm or an