Rosalie's control over her careful facade fell to pieces around her as she flinched, first at the harshness in his voice, then at the words, the indistinct shadows of memory playing through her head. "You can bet that you're not on it," she snapped.
Gathering her bags, including the one she had dropped, she forced her way past him and down the stairs. Not wanting to be exposed, she risked the elevator, which thankfully took her directly to the seventh floor. Depositing the bags right inside the door, she hastened to take a scalding hot shower, staying in there until she was sure that she had cleansed herself of every leer, every poisonous look that he had sent her way. Then, feeling completely drained, she fell asleep again, not waking up until the sky was nearly dark.