by Rayne, Piper
Wyatt’s good deed from last night comes to my mind again.
I need to thank him, and I know just how to do it.
Thirteen
Wyatt
Finally, I got to turn in the damn bellhop uniform. Not that exchanging it for a housekeeping uniform is much better. Especially since it’s made from the same material as the bellhop’s was. Polyester is my new existence. I have to say it’s durable. When a guest spilled her coffee on me two days ago, I barely had to wipe it clean.
My phone rings over my Bluetooth and seeing it’s my mom, I’m better to answer now than let it go to voicemail.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Two weeks and no calls. I had to follow your Instagram after Haylee told me how beautiful Alaska looks.”
Cue my mom’s melodrama.
“Well, I am working and besides, all you like to talk about lately is my future never-going-to-be wife.” I turn down Main Street and spot Liam hanging up a sign outside one of the shops, cluing me in on the fact that he must own the tattoo shop, Smokin’ Guns. Of course, he does. That shouldn’t surprise me.
“I’m just trying to make sure you’re happy.”
“I am.”
“You’re really not. A mother knows.”
And she wonders why I dodge her calls.
“What else is going on?” I ask. “Haylee good?”
“We’re at the four-month mark, so things are getting busy. Flowers, cake, groom’s cake, taste samplings, dress fittings. It just brings a happiness to everyone. Except your dad, he keeps grumbling about the money.” Her nervous laugh rings over the phone.
“Because twenty-thousand dollars on flowers that will die the next day is ludicrous.”
Great, I was on speakerphone.
“Hey, Dad.”
“I hope that’s not how you talk to the guests. Hey, should be stripped from your vocabulary.” I hear the sound of ice cubes being dropped into a glass. I still forget the time difference sometimes between here and New York.
“Haylee only deserves the best.” My mom’s sweet tone suggests this is a topic of conversation in the house regularly.
“How are things there?” my dad asks. “You’ve yet to send me the numbers I asked for.” More ice clinks into a glass.
“I’m close,” I say.
“It doesn’t help that Bradley’s parents are demanding so many guests, but I guess this is what you get when your daughter is marrying a future congressman.” My mother continues with her line of thinking in an attempt to remove work from the conversation, as usual.
“I suppose so,” I say in response.
Funny thing is, Bradley was my closest friend through high school and probably still is although I’ve taken a back seat to his politician friends. In truth, we’ve drifted apart.
“Maybe his family should open their billfold. This isn’t some big affair.”
“Your daughter is getting married. It is. Which brings up the topic, Wyatt, any date prospects?”
I roll my eyes. “Mom.” I turn into the parking lot of my apartment complex.
“It’s a simple question. I’m not trying to pry.”
“That’s exactly what you’re trying to do, Mom.”
“If he knew what was good for him, he’d be calling Veronica Adley,” my dad grumbles.
I blow out a breath.
“I heard that,” he quips. “She’s a perfect fit for you.”
“Now, Abe. He should get to pick his own wife.”
“Wife?” I choke on my own saliva. “Slow down. Veronica is nice—if I’m comparing her to a mountain lion.”
It’s the typical story. Our dads are friends. Well, as close as two alpha dogs can get. I escorted Veronica to her debutante ball and after she flipped out on a waiter for spilling a drop of champagne on her white dress, that was it for me.
“Okay fine, how is the hotel doing? The picture of the lake that you posted on Instagram was gorgeous, honey,” my mom says with a wistful quality to her voice.
What is it about knowing your mom is stalking your Instagram page that makes you want to stop posting on it?
“You have time to post to Instagram but not get me the numbers?” my dad adds.
I really wish she’d take me off speakerphone now.
“It’s good. Definitely needs some changes implemented, the previous owner lets his employees walk all over him.” I park and sit idle in the lot, my gaze fixated on an apartment they shouldn’t be.
Her blinds are open and that shouldn’t make me happy, but it does.
“It’s a small town. Employee and bosses tend to be closer in a small town,” my mom says.
My dad chuckles. “That’s why your mother heads up charity functions and doesn’t run million-dollar businesses.”
There’s silence on the line for a few seconds. My mom says nothing in rebuttal, and I have no idea why she bites her tongue when he insults her like that. But I’m happy to use this as my opportunity to get off the line.
“Okay, I need to run. Love you.” I click the phone off, thankful to escape that conversation. I’m sure my mom understands.
Turning off the car, I head through the parking lot to the front door of the building.
The day runs through my mind while I make the trek up the three flights of stairs that grow easier to climb each day. I need to make a list of what to conquer first. In four months, I’ll be sitting in front of my dad at Haylee’s wedding and he’ll want a full report, if not sooner.
Stepping onto the third floor, again, my eyes fall to Brooklyn’s door, but I shake my head. I intruded yesterday, nothing good can come of me doing it two days in a row.
I turn to my door, finding a small basket filled with little glass bottles and a big plastic one.
I pick up the basket, seeing a small note stuck between two of the bottles. Opening the card, the girly script tells me it can only be from one person unless I have a secret admirer.
Wyatt,
Thank you for dinner and the company last night. Look on the back for directions.
Brooklyn
I flip the card over seeing a list of scents and the ailments they can cure. Lavender for sleep, eucalyptus for headaches and sore muscles, sandalwood to heal dry skin, peppermint with almond for colds, lemon and orange body wash to invigorate.
I huff, tuck it under my arm and open my apartment.
Digging through the basket, I open the bottles, testing each scent. None of them are too flowery. Since my head has felt like there’s a beating drum in there since lunch, I pull out the Eucalyptus and place some on my temples like instructed. After that I go through my mail, change out of my clothes, and stare into my fridge, realizing I have nothing to eat. At least nothing I want to.
It’s not twenty minutes later that I realize my headache is gone. No way it could’ve been the oils I used, not after four aspirin earlier in the day didn’t work. I pick up a bottle and her card to read the directions over again. She must believe in this shit.
Screw it.
I leave my apartment and knock on her door.
“It’s me,” I announce since she’s probably fearful it’s her family.
I’m crossing my fingers Rome, Denver, and Liam can keep a secret otherwise, this newfound friendship with Brooklyn is going to die a quick death before it ever begins. Then I’ll have a neighbor and an employee who hates me.
She opens the door looking as cute as ever with her hair pulled up in a high messy bun, a frilly apron wrapped around her body, and color back in her cheeks.
“Come in.” She turns to head into the kitchen and I notice those damn dog socks on her feet again.
“How many pairs of dog socks do you have? And if you love dogs, why don’t you own one?” I ask, shutting the door behind me.
She stirs a pot using a wooden spoon at the stove. “Jeff was allergic, so this is the best I got.”
There’s no frown on her face at the mention of her ex-fiancé which I’ll take as a good sign.
&
nbsp; “I just wanted to say thank you.” I walk into her kitchen to see bottles of oil placed along the counter. “I had a killer headache and it’s gone after your eucalyptus sorcery. I have to admit, I was skeptical.”
She laughs and places the spoon down on the counter. “Yeah, most people are.”
“So, tell me, is this your passion, hobby or what?” I lean against her cabinet, watching her measure out ingredients.
She glances over to me. “It’s been a hobby and I’m passionate about it, but now that I’m single again and I have to afford this place I’m thinking about doing something more with my love.”
Shit. This is why I should have kept my ass in my apartment. I’m her boss and she doesn’t even know it.
“So, I was at work today...”
She glances over again. “I’m such an idiot, I never asked you where you work. What do you do in Lake Starlight? Sorry, I’ve been in my own head for too long.”
“I don’t blame you. But you should know something.”
She stops measuring and sets everything down on the counter, turning in my direction. “What is it?”
“I’m the new manager of Glacier Point Resort.” I chew my lip. “Your new boss.”
She stares, her eyes wide like we’re having a staring contest and whoever blinks loses. I wave my hand in front of her face. She blinks.
“Well, great. Now I just told my new boss that I’m thinking about starting a business which would mean that if it’s successful I’ll quit and you’re probably trying to see where you can cut back so it’s like I just waved my hand in the air and said, ‘pick me.’ Excuse me while I bury my head under the covers for another two weeks.” Her face falls in her hands.
Usually, finding out an employee is going to leave would make my job easier. Cut the one looking to move on because usually those people aren’t working as hard as they could, and they’ve got one foot out the door anyway. But I don’t think that with Brooklyn. If anything, I want to encourage her. Especially since whatever this stuff is, it got rid of the headache I’ve been fighting all day.
“No. Relax. It’s fine.”
She peeks through the opening of her fingers. “It is?”
“Yeah.” Because I won’t be here forever, I think to myself. “But also, FYI, we’ll be working side by side for the next two weeks.”
She laughs. “Your bellhop duties are done?”
I tilt my head. “You knew?”
“No. But I have friends who messaged me about the new boss.”
Intriguing. “What did they say about the new boss?”
She narrows her eyes and shrugs. “Nothing major.”
“Nothing?”
“Just that you’re always writing notes in your phone.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, that’s true. Anything else?”
Her cheeks flush, matching the color of the dried rose petals next to her. “Nope.”
I slide closer and bend my head, so our eyes meet. “I don’t believe you.”
“Some people might have thought that you’re kind of good looking.”
My cheeks hurt from how hard I’m smiling. “Really?”
She gently shoves me. “Like you didn’t already know.”
I catch my footing. “And what about you?”
She stills and looks at me. Electricity crackles in the air. A different time and circumstance and I’d break this distance and kiss her. Say screw everything—her ex-fiancé, the fact that I’m her boss, that we don’t really know one another—but my body yearns for her to be underneath me. To make her moan and whimper, softly calling my name in praise and showing me what she likes until we’re both a sweaty mess. Feeling her clench around me when I push inside her...
“You’re all right.” She shrugs.
Well, the daydream was good while it lasted.
“Yeah, you too.” I slide up on the counter, wishing I never asked her because now I’m staring at the curve of her neck. Her long thin fingers running the length of the herbs, and the thought of what they’d look like gripping my dick pops into my head.
I swallow, pushing all sexual thoughts out of my mind. She’s literally two weeks off a broken engagement. Then again, I’m not looking for forever, just a little fun and she seems like she could use it.
“So, tell me. If you could do or be anything what would it be?”
She glares at me as if asking me what my end game is.
I hold up my hands. “You will not lose your job at the resort because of what you tell me. Promise. What happens here, stays here. Like Vegas.” I grin, but her demeanor doesn’t change. “I’m off the clock.”
She picks up the wooden spoon again. “I’d love to sell these and make a business out of it.”
I lean my arms back on her counter. “Then you’re in luck. I happened to be a business graduate and I have a lot of connections.”
The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself. Let’s not forget, I’m lying to her about who I am. I can’t very well say, I went to Columbia for undergrad and graduate school. That I’ve been mentoring under my dad for years. That I have the education and the experience. Now I’ve never tried to market a product like this—essential oils for health benefits, but I know people. People who know me as a Whitmore. People who hear my last name and take my calls.
But all that will cause problems for me if she finds out.
“That’s okay. I’m going to sell some at the Farmer’s Market and start small.”
Thank goodness she’s the rational one here because I would’ve put myself at risk for what? A woman there’s no hope of ever sleeping with and definitely zero longevity? I need to get laid before I ruin the opportunity to own a chain of hotels before I’m thirty.
“I’m sure you’ll do great.” I hop off the counter, determined not to let this budding friendship grow into a full-blown bloom. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Oh, you don’t have to go. I mean… I didn’t offend you I hope?”
I turn back to face her when I reach the door. “You worry too much. We’re good.” I leave, thankful for the distance.
Brooklyn Bailey doesn’t look like trouble with her innocent demeanor and beautiful smile, but my gut is telling me that’s exactly what she’ll be for me.
Fourteen
Brooklyn
I inhale a deep breath and circle through the revolving doors of Glacier Point Resort.
Here goes nothing.
“Hi, Brooklyn.” Mac smiles, looking up from helping a customer with their bags.
“Good morning, Mac.”
I beeline across the lobby, ignoring Neil and Noelle, wanting to start work and forget all the sad and depressing looks from my co-workers who were guests at the wedding. I spent the entire weekend making new oils with ingredients I already had because I couldn’t very well go to my garden at my family house. I lied and told Savannah that I got a ride from the airport, which she was pissed about but she’ll get over it.
As far as my family is concerned, I got in late last night, but I fully expect some calls after work today.
I open the door to the employee lounge and streamers fly above my head and a loud horn rings in my ears. “Welcome Back!” Reagan screams, tossing confetti up in the air.
“Thank you.” I laugh at my crazy co-worker who knows me better than I thought.
It bothered me that I couldn’t ask her to stand up in my wedding, but with four sisters and Jeff scraping the bottom of his barrel for groomsmen I had no choice but to tell her I would if I could.
“I’m ecstatic that you’re back.” She swings her arm around my shoulders. “And I forgot to text you because this weekend was…” She waves me off like she doesn’t want to get into it. “We get to work with hottie today.” She leads me to our side-by-side lockers.
“Funny story there.”
We both open our lockers.
“About hot boss?” She frowns.
“Turns out he’s my new neighbor.”
She pushes
me in the shoulder and I’m not ready for it because I’ve been away from her for two full weeks, so I fall to my ass. “Seriously?” She offers a hand and helps me up.
“Across the hall and,” I look around. “He didn’t tell me until last night after I told him about starting my side business.”
She laughs and covers her mouth. “Only you.”
“Only me is right, but he was cool about it.”
“Well, rumors here say he’s a dick.”
I shut my locker and wait for her to say she’s joking. But she shuts her locker and sits down to tie her shoes, saying nothing more.
“Are you sure?”
She shrugs. “Mac says he’s cool, but Neil said he overheard him talking to Mr. Clayton telling him that he should be tougher on us. That he wants absentees written up with three warnings before being fired.”
I sit next to her on the bench. The man I met doesn’t come close to the person she’s describing. Then again, I’m not a very good judge of character.
“Well…”
I don’t even know what to say. That request isn’t unreasonable, but people like Reagan who are going through a hard time right now would be affected. When Molly’s daughter had the flu, which resulted in her getting the flu, she was out for over a week. But she’s always here otherwise.
“I’m sure he’s just trying to puff out his feathers.”
“He’s not a peacock, Brook.”
I wrap my arm around Reagan’s shoulders. “Well, the male peacock is the one with all the pretty colors.”
She giggles. “Did you just compare him to a peacock?”
I rest my head against hers. “Well, he is the best-looking man I’ve ever seen.”
“Why are the male peacocks the beautiful ones?” Reagan grumbles.
“I know. As if they don’t get enough in this world.”
The door opens and Wyatt stops and stares at us before continuing to the locker area.
“Men suck,” I say.
