Haze by Andrea Wolfe (best motivational books for students txt) 📕

at that iconic hotel, slowing down as we approached the front. I had seen it in movies more than once, its iconic shape climbing into the sky with lights that you could see for miles. Kind of like a metropolitan lighthouse.

I remembered it first from that dumb Charlie's Angels movie but then also in an episode of Entourage, which Timothy had liked to watch much more than I did. The Roosevelt appeared to be very popular—which didn't surprise me, of course—and my eyes kept excitedly scanning the scenery for celebrities.

"As you can probably tell, we're here." He gave me a wide smile. "I hope it suits your needs, madam," he said in a phony French accent.

"That was just rotten," I said. "Sorry to say it."

"I know." He buried his head in his hands as if I'd really hurt his feelings. His shenanigans ended promptly when the door opened and a couple of guys helped us with our bags.

The lobby was gorgeous, as initially mesmerizing to me as the city had been. I waited while Jack quickly checked in and then we headed up to our room. My eyes profiled every person coming in, desperately hoping that they would be some movie star or famous musician or something. My overactive imagination was actually wearing me out. Just keeping my eyes open had never required so much work.

Done at the front counter, Jack led us toward the elevator. "It's a Cabana Suite," he said. "I don't get the super huge ones anymore. It's just a waste."

"I wouldn't know," I said, following behind him.

"Well, people get rooms that are bigger than a small house. I don't know what we'd do with that much space."

"Start a family?" I asked playfully.

"I think a house would be the better option. I can't even imagine how a kid raised in this sort of environment would turn out."

"I would assume like Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian," I added. "Not that hard to imagine anymore."

"Yeah, you're right." Jack let out a hearty laugh.

We got into the suite—it was big, but not too big. It was like half the size of a house, which was still huge to me. I think his New York Palace suite was bigger than this, but I wasn't sure. There were multiple TVs as well as a gorgeous, wide-open balcony over the pool and bar area that gave me a full, unhindered view of the city.

"I want to just sit out here later, Jack, and look. Can we do that?"

"If you're still up to it later, sure, we can. We might be out late tonight, especially with the time difference." I had forgotten that it was almost ten in NYC right now. "If we need it, we can get a cup of coffee with dinner."

Jack always had a solution for everything.

We took a quick shower—the rain showerhead in the bathroom was incredible; I suggested to Jack that he get one in NYC—and got dressed to go out on the town. Jack had reservations somewhere, but informed me that we could dress casually.

I threw on the most stylish blouse/skirt combo I had, feeling intimidated by the style I was probably going to encounter. My repeated trips back to the mirror set Jack off.

"You don't need to worry about that bullshit," Jack said, noticing my panic as I dug through my suitcase. "You look beautiful."

"I just..." I just what? "I don't know. Everyone is so cool out here. You didn't even try and you look better than me." His low-slung jeans and polo shirt looked impeccable as usual.

He laughed. "How do you know I didn't try?" I was busted.

"Dammit. I don't know. You just said that there might be famous people around and—"

He walked up to me and looked straight into my eyes. "None of that matters. This is a popular hotel, but I'm not as famous as some people and so no one gives a shit about snapping my photo. And you actually look really good, despite the fact that I know you don't believe me."

I took a deep breath and sat down on the bed. My hands settled on my thighs. "You mean it?"

Jack leaned forward and kissed my forehead. "I promise. I caught you off guard with the trip, so now you're over-compensating."

After a short introspective pause, I felt dumb about my tiny outburst. "God, you're right. I'm never this superficial. I don't know any of these people."

"You think Tom Cruise gives really a damn about how you're dressed?"

"Joseph Gordon-Levitt might." I gave him an evil smile. "If he asked me out, I don't know what I'd say."

Jack raised one eyebrow. "Is that right? Maybe you're onto something there. I've got a camcorder and I could film you guys—"

"Doing what? You're such a sicko."

"I was just suggesting that you do an interview with him," he said, obviously lying through his teeth.

None of it mattered, because Jack had successfully distracted me from what was an irrational problem anyway. Sometimes being a girl was hard, so hard that you needed a guy to tell you it was okay.

"We should go," he said, extending his arm to mine. I took it and rose to my feet with him.

I grabbed my purse and took his arm as we walked out to the limo. My eyes were on the prowl the whole time, searching for anyone famous who might be nearby. I didn't even notice the eyes on us as we climbed into the limo. After I was seated, I noticed a few people pointing at the car.

I couldn't lie—feeling like a pseudo-celebrity wasn't bad at all. After weeks or years of this, it might get old.

Our dinner was at an Indian restaurant called Gangadin, a place that wasn't really what I expected for L.A. yet exceeded my expectations entirely.

"I always eat here," Jack said. "It's great. You'll like it." Indian food was fine by me.

The restaurant was smaller than I had expected but great. Right after our appetizer arrived, a seemingly very star-struck college-age guy walked up to