by Kate, Jiffy
While other kids my age were off at the pool or zoo or having sleepovers, I was here meeting people from all over the world. I adored this place. I still do, I just have to somehow help it get its mojo back.
And to be fair, business isn’t always this dreadful. We have our busy seasons and our slow seasons, like any business in the tourist industry, but this particular season seems to be slower than a herd of turtles and it has me nervous. Summer is just around the corner, though, and I’m hopeful it’ll be a great one for us.
The Blue Bayou is located just outside the French Quarter, sandwiched between Jackson Square and Bourbon Street, which is where most tourists want to visit. You’d think we’d be sold out most nights, but we’re not. Before I inherited the hotel, it seemed like we were always filled to the gills with businessmen, as well as families on vacation. Now, we only seem to get late-night stragglers who’ve partied too hard to remember where they’re staying, or those who wait too long to book elsewhere and have no choice but to stay here. We still have some of our regulars, but most of them are older and we only see them once or twice a year.
In days gone by, word-of-mouth was enough, but nowadays, you need a presence on the internet and paid advertisements. I know all of that but having the time and money to do it is another question.
I wish I could figure out how to get more customers, especially returning customers. I’ve thought about hiring a marketing firm, but I can’t afford it right now. But without good marketing, I might never get this place filled back up.
It’s a catch-22 if I’ve ever seen one, and a vicious cycle that keeps me up at night.
As the afternoon drifts on, my eyes begin to cross from looking at my computer screen for so long. The tech guy who came over to help only wanted to sell me a new computer, which I can’t afford. I finally convinced him to fix the damn thing enough for us to get by, but we’re still not able to run credit card payments, so it looks like I’ll be putting in another call soon.
“How about I open the front door for a little bit and let some fresh air in?” Mary asks, already heading toward the door. She opens one side of the double door and a smile instantly spreads across my face.
There’s a nice breeze blowing in, bringing with it the smell of Cajun food and the sounds of jazz music from down the street. It’s faint, but it’s just enough to soothe my mind and remind me how much I love my city.
“Watch out for Rusty,” I warn Mary. “He’s been trying to sneak in lately.”
Technically, Rusty is a dog; however, he looks more like a long-haired baby goat, with about as much grace as one too. He’s a sweet little thing, but I’m always afraid he’s going to destroy this place.
“Did you tell Floyd he escaped?”
“I did, but I can call him again,” I tell her. Floyd runs one of the horse-carriage tours around the Quarter, and when he works, he leaves Rusty at home, which is around the corner from here. No one can figure out how he escapes, but he does. Frequently.
Mary sticks her head out the door, looking for Rusty, I presume. When she’s back inside, she has a sneaky smile on her face. “Oh, let me handle it. There’s a cute young man walking down the sidewalk and I think he just might need a room.”
I roll my eyes at her as I walk over to refill the pitchers of water on the side table. Cute young men are a dime a dozen in New Orleans, but without a gym or pool or bar, not many want to stay here, so I don’t get my hopes up.
Still, I wouldn’t mind catching a glimpse of whomever it is that turned Mary’s head. I may be too busy to even think about dating, but I’m certainly not dead.
Peeking out the glass of the door that’s closed, I nearly swallow my tongue when I see him.
Faded, slightly tattered jeans.
A well-worn t-shirt that’s snug over his shoulders and biceps.
He’s carrying a leather duffle bag that makes his arms flex as he continues down the sidewalk. The closer he gets, the more his features come into view.
Dark, messy hair.
Light stubble covering his well-defined jaw and chin.
Speaking of chins, I need to wipe the drool off mine and get back to work. He’s a dreamboat, for sure, but Mr. Dreamboat is not going to help me get this hotel back in its groove. Although, he could get me back into mine, I bet. Just call me Stella.
I step away from the door and laugh at myself as I walk back to the table, straightening the water glasses on display. The sound of the bell jingling above the door catches me by surprise, but not as much as Mr. Dreamboat does when he walks inside. I’m so caught off guard by his presence, not to mention his blinding, white smile, I don’t even notice Rusty rushing in behind him until it’s too late.
“Rusty, no!” Trying to control the crazy dog does me no good. In fact, I only seem to excite him more, which causes him to run and jump on me, knocking me off-balance and into the table. When I fall to the floor, it’s like I’m in the Matrix and everything happens in slow-motion. Thankfully, somehow, my typically clumsy self manages to catch the glass pitcher before it crashes to the floor beside me, but now I’m completely drenched.
Rusty runs back outside, leaving me alone with Mr. Dreamboat.
Chapter 3
Maverick
Wet.
I don’t know who this woman is, but she’s gorgeous. And wet. Soaking wet.
Did I forget to mention she’s wet?
It takes me longer than I’d like to admit, to help her up. Eventually, the manners I was raised with finally click into place and I rush to the lady on the ground, offering to help her up. When I stick my hand out for her to grab, she just stares at it like she doesn’t know what it is.
Did she hit her head? Maybe she has a concussion. I’m really out of my element here but I can’t leave her lying on the floor.
“Ma’am, are you okay? Take my hand and I’ll help you up.”
Something about my words must grab her attention because she finally makes eye contact with me, setting the empty pitcher on the ground beside her. Now I’m the one stunned, because fuck me if she doesn’t have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. I can’t tell if they’re blue or green or some color that hasn’t been discovered yet, but they’re incredible.
I watch as she tilts her head to the side like she’s trying to figure me out, her eyes blinking a few times before going wide. I assume she thinks I’m about to harm her in some way, or maybe she thinks I’m the one who knocked her down instead of that dog. Suddenly, she takes in a large gulp of air bringing my attention back to her wet shirt, and I’ll admit, her fantastic rack, and I brace myself for her scream. I mean, I don’t blame the woman. Here I am, a stranger, standing over her, ogling her tits with my hand stretched out like I’m going to grab her. It’s time for some fast talking.
Come on, Mav. You can do this. Just explain yourself. Quickly.
Before I can say anything, though, the woman busts out a laugh. Not a scream, but a laugh. Her belly-aching laugh soon has me relaxed enough to snicker at our situation.
“Holy shit, what a day I’ve had,” she gasps out between chuckles. “Did you just call me ma’am? Please tell me I’m not older than you. That would be the icing on the cake, let me tell you.”
“Umm, well, I don’t know your age, but it doesn’t really matter. I also don’t know your name, so I had to call you something, and I was raised better than to refer to you as ‘hey, lady’. Are you going to take my hand and let me help you?”
“What? Oh, right. Okay.” She finally slides her hand into mine and I’m overcome with a feeling I’ve never experienced before. It’s a mixture of calm and excitement and I know without a doubt I need to know more about her. I have to know more about her.
“So, what is your name?” I ask as she stands up. She’s taller than I thought she’d be, and it’s difficult not to imagine what it’d be like with her long legs wrapped around my waist. Or shoulders. I’m an equal opportunity kind of guy, you know.
“Sorry,” she says, sh
aking her head, still trying to get a grip on herself. “Carys Matthews, and you are?”
“My name is Maverick, nice to meet you.” As much as I’d love to hold her hand again, I don’t want to scare her off, so I give her a little wave instead and she gives me a small one back. “Pardon me for being so bold, but are you staying at this hotel?”
Yeah, that’s not creepy at all, dumbass.
Carys laughs again, thankfully. “No, it’s worse than that, actually. I own and run this place. Are you lost? Looking for directions? You don’t want a room, do you?”
I’m taken aback by her questions because, as a business owner, she should be encouraging me to rent a room from her, not talking me out of it. But, I’m not here for work. I’m on vacation or something like that, so I ignore that part of my brain and answer her instead.
“Actually, I do...want a room.”
“Really?” Her eyes light up, but also look frazzled, just like her. “Well, you can have just about any room you’d like, including mine!” She laughs again before realizing what she has said and once she does, a deep blush covers her cheeks and it’s fucking adorable. Unfortunately for me, she covers those cheeks with her hands and blocks my view. “That was very unprofessional of me, I apologize. It’s just been an extremely stressful day.” She clears her throat and looks down, obviously trying to get herself together.
“Don’t worry about it—”
“Oh, shit, I forgot about my shirt,” she hisses. Her comment forces my attention to her still wet, but very perky breasts.
When I look up, she meets my eyes and hers go wide with embarrassment. “Shit! I’m sorry,” she says, apologizing again. “I’ll be right back.” Bolting through the door behind her, off to what I assume is an office, she disappears and leaves my head spinning a bit.
“Huh,” I murmur to no one but myself, since the rest of the lobby and foyer are deserted. Smiling at the closed door, I try to wrap by head around this place and Carys Matthews. This girl is practically the poster child for the hot mess express. Not gonna lie, I want a ride.
Out of work-related habit and genuine curiosity, I start looking around the hotel lobby, cataloging things I notice that need repair or an upgrade. I can’t help it. Fixing up properties is the part of my job I actually enjoy, so it’s hard for me to walk into any establishment and not analyze it, looking for ways to improve it and make it better. Somehow, I need to find a way to relax, and hopefully, have some fun while I’m here. What’s the point of escaping town and abandoning your job if you’re not going to let loose and blow off some steam?
Speaking of fun...
I turn back just in time to see Carys step out of the office and walk behind the front desk. She’s more presentable now with her clean shirt and hair pulled away from her face, but no less adorable than she was before.
“Is your name really Maverick?” she asks with another light blush creeping onto her high cheekbones.
“It is, in fact.” I already know what’s coming, so I wait for her next question.
“Were you named after Tom Cruise’s character in Top Gun?”
And there it is.
Normally, I’d have bristled at her question because it happens nearly every time I tell someone my name, but she seems to be truly interested, so I want to answer. Of course, it could just be my wishful thinking that she’s interested, but I don’t care. Maybe if I share a bit about myself, she’ll return the favor.
“No, I can pretty much guarantee my parents have never seen that movie. I’m named after my grandfather.”
“Sorry for the stupid question. I bet you get that all the time, huh?” Her blush deepens, and she starts fidgeting with the pen in her hand. I swear, I could watch her all day.
Normally, girly behavior isn’t really a turn on for me. I can’t stand fake giggles and hair twirls, but this girl—woman—standing in front of me is anything but those things. Sure, she’s a mess, in the most literal sense of the word, but she’s also a breath of fresh air. It’s like the universe drove me straight here and blew me into the doors of the Blue Bayou.
“I do, but I get it.” I laugh slightly, shaking my head at the crazy turn of events. “I mean, it’s not a very common name, is it?” She smiles as she shakes her head in response, her eyes locked on mine. But as soon as I place my forearms on the desk in front of her and lean in a bit, her eyes widen and the pen she’s tapping starts moving in overtime. Apparently, I make this woman nervous. Interesting. “Carys is also a name you don’t hear very often. Are you named after someone?”
“Ha, no. My mom was a bit of a free spirit and loved being different from everyone else. She thought it’d be cool to give her daughter a name no one around here could pronounce,” she says, laughing. “Someone once told me it means ‘precious’ or something like that but I don’t know if it’s true.”
“Precious, huh? I think that’s fitting.” I give her my best crooked smile, and she swallows audibly.
I swear, I’m not usually this much of a flirt but I’m really enjoying seeing her react to me. It makes me want to do less honorable things to her, so I can see and hear her reactions. Just thinking about what could happen if I were lucky enough to spread her out on my bed has my dick aching.
Thankfully, we have this tall front desk between us, so she doesn’t seem to notice when I adjust myself.
“So, about this room you have available...”
“A room? Yes, of course!” She begins to shuffle things around on the desk in front of her. “I really should apologize for my verbal vomit earlier... and for not realizing sooner how inappropriate my shirt was. I’m horrible at first impressions on a good day, but I really raised the bar today.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. I think you were just stunned from being bowled over by that dog, and besides, you’ll get no complaints from me regarding your verbal vomit or the wet shirt, for that matter.”
I’ve really caught her off guard with that statement because her mouth is hanging open and her eyes are blinking in some kind of random pattern. Surely, this isn’t the first time she’s been flirted with. Surely, she knows how gorgeous she is.
“So, a room?” I remind her again.
“What? Yes, a room.” She shakes her head a bit. “A room, of course.” She turns to her side and grabs what looks like an old-fashioned ledger before pausing and asking, “Uh, are you sure you want to stay here?”
“Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?” I counter.
“No, of course not. I mean, I—we’d love to have you as a guest here. Lord knows we need to fill some rooms,” she rambles nervously. “I just feel like I owe it to you to warn you about what you’re getting yourself into.”
Now, this should be good.
“What exactly am I getting myself into?” I quirk my eyebrow a bit to let her know I’m fine with whatever she wants to get me into. That is what quirking an eyebrow means, right?
“What am I doing?” she mutters, rubbing her forehead forcefully, obviously talking to herself. “Well, for starters, our computers are hit and miss at the moment, so I’ll have to check you in by hand.”
That explains the ledger.
“Not a problem. What else you got?”
She goes serious all of a sudden and swats at my hand, startling me and making me laugh. “Don’t tempt fate like that!” she scolds. “Seriously, we need the business, so I shouldn’t be trying to run you off, but today has been one for the books. I should change the name of this place to Murphy’s Law because whatever can go wrong around here, will.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Carys, but you didn’t scare me off. In fact, I’d love to offer my services and see if I can help with your computers. What do you say?”
I’m not sure why I offered to help with her computers. I’m much handier with power tools but I don’t want to overwhelm her more than she already is.
Carys’ eyes narrow at me and she puts her hands on her hips. “Are you some kind of salesman? Because, if you
are, you can get right on out of here. I don’t have the time or money to deal with any more salesmen today.”
I’ve obviously hit a sore spot with her, so I need to make this right.
“No, I’m not a salesman, but I’m very familiar with the hotel industry and feel like I could be of some help around here. I know my appearance doesn’t scream ‘professional’ but I swear I know what I’m doing. Trust me.” I hope my face looks as legitimate as my words are because I want to help her just as much as I want to get to know her.
Finally, she lets out a deep breath and relaxes her stance. “Okay,” she sighs and looks at me long and hard for a moment, not like she’s checking me out again, but like she’s trying to decide if my word is good. Once she comes to her conclusion, she begins again. “I’ll let you stay here, and if you want to take a look at the computers, you can; but if you do, I’m not charging you for your room.”
I start to protest but she holds her hand up to stop me. “That’s the deal. It’s the only way I can pay you for your services.” Her voice goes quiet and even though I’m thrilled she’s accepting my offer, I hate seeing her look so defeated.
“Well, don’t put that in writing just yet because I may not be able to help at all. For all you know, I may make things worse.” I give her a playful smile and after a few moments she returns it, oblivious to the relief coursing through my body as she does.
After filling out the ledger with my personal information, she hands me a key. Like, a real key, with a big, bulky keychain that reads Blue Bayou. I don’t even remember the last time I saw one of these in a hotel. Carys catches me staring at it and jokes, “What can I say? I like antiques.” She smiles and shrugs. “Room 304. Elevator is behind the staircase.”
To say I’m smitten with this woman is the understatement of the year.
Chapter 4
Carys
So far, today is going much better than yesterday. I was able to enjoy my coffee in peace without spilling a drop, and the computers worked long enough for me to check out our departing guests. Granted, I’ve only been up for two hours and could, unknowingly, be facing a horrendous afternoon, but I’m trying to stay positive.
