by Kate, Jiffy
“What’s up?”
“I’m helping a...uh.” I pause, not sure what to call Carys. She’s merely an acquaintance at this point, but I can’t help the feeling of wanting her to be more. “A friend. She’s, uh, having trouble with her computers and I thought you might be able to help.”
“A friend, huh?” Shep asks, picking up on my hesitation. “What’s in it for you?”
“I’m shocked you’d assume such a thing.”
“Actually, you’re a fucking do-gooder, so it’s probably some nun you met at confession.”
A picture of a younger Carys hanging on the wall in front of me catches my attention and a slow smile spreads across my face. I’m thankful I didn’t Facetime Shep and I can keep this to myself for the time being. Damn, she’s definitely no nun, and she’s certainly not innocent. In the picture, she’s laughing with a woman who looks like an older version of her, and their wild blonde hair is blowing in the wind. Actually, it looks like it was taken just a few blocks from here at the river. She’s younger, but she’s still sexy as sin, in an unintentional way. It’s so appealing.
“Mav?”
“Yeah.”
“Thought I lost you there for a second. So, what’s the problem?”
I begin to tell him everything I’ve checked so far, having ruled out all the easy stuff, and why I turned to him. “So, has to be her software.”
“Where are you?”
“The Blue Bayou,” I say without hesitation. Unlike my father, Shep gets me. He might be a trust fund baby, but he’s nothing like the rest of the douchebags we went to school and now work with. Both of his feet are planted firmly on the ground. He’s not afraid of a hard day’s work or getting his hands a little dirty, even though on most days, he’s rubbing elbows with all of the bigwigs in the hotel industry. His father is a lot like mine, trading million-dollar properties like kids trading Pokémon cards.
After telling me how outdated the software is, he finally agrees to take a closer look at it, but that requires him having remote access to the computer system. I don’t feel comfortable granting him that without talking to Carys first. I trust Shep with my life, but this is Carys’ life, so she gets to call the shots.
Hanging up with him, I head to the door.
Laughter coming from the other side makes me pause. It’s hers mixed with a deeper, male laugh and my hackles are immediately up.
Get a grip. I laugh for letting myself be so affected by a mere...acquaintance. I just met her. We’ve shared names and a few bits of information about ourselves. That gives me no right to feel ownership over her or her laughs, but fuck if I don’t love them.
“Carys.” She turns her bright blue eyes on me and they sparkle with mirth. Her smile still on full display.
“Oh, hey. Is it fixed?” she asks, but then immediately laughs. “I’m kidding. Nothing around here is ever that easy.” She turns back to the guy who I’m assuming is her new employee. “Hope I’m not scaring you off, Jules, but it’s better you know now.”
“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.” Jules places his palm on his chest in a grand gesture as his eyes scan me from my head to my feet.
I smirk and shake my head at my ridiculousness. If anyone should be jealous, it should be Carys, because if I’m reading him right, and I think I am, he’s inspecting me like a fresh piece of meat.
“Uh, it’s not fixed, but I know someone who can fix it,” I tell her, glazing right over the insinuation dripping off Jules’ comment.
Her face falls, and she looks a little downtrodden. “How much?”
“Free, hopefully. But he’s going to need remote access.”
“So, he’s coming here too?” she asks, a bit confused.
I hide my amusement and shake my head. “No, he’ll just need me to give him online access to your computer. There’s a program we use sometimes. Free,” I assure her. “He’ll use that and log into your computer. It’ll be like he’s sitting in the office. I’ll be there the whole time to make sure he doesn’t steal any family secrets.” I wink, and she gives me a slow smile.
“You trust him?” she asks, going a bit serious again. “I mean, it’s someone you know?”
“My best friend. He’s on the up and up, I promise.”
She purses those full lips and looks at me with an investigative stare. “Okay, Maverick Kensington. If you trust him, then so do I.”
“Okay.” I nod, unable to take my eyes off of her.
After a minute, or maybe a century, Jules clears his throat and breaks the spell, forcing me back into the safety of the office. Once I’m out of their sight, I groan. What is wrong with me? Maybe this entire place is under a spell, some voodoo shit. I mean, this is New Orleans, after all.
Exhaling roughly, I throw myself back in the chair and dial Shep back. “Let’s do this, jackass.”
“Talk sweeter to me or I’ll make you pay.”
“That’s the bad word of the day, don’t let Carys hear you say that,” I tell him with a shake of my head. Maybe she’ll let me take a look at her books once we’ve figured out this computer stuff. She’s got a great place here. There’s no reason she shouldn’t be making money. I’m sure I could help her find ways to bring in more customers. Like I was telling her earlier, in all the times I’ve been to New Orleans, I’ve never seen an advertisement online or in person. That’s one thing we need to fix. I wonder if she even has a Facebook page or website?
“Carys, huh? Is that the friend?”
“Yeah, I guess she’s more of an acquaintance at this point, but—”
He barks out a laugh. “You like her.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to. I’ve been listening to you talk about the female gender for more than a decade. I know when you want to know one in the biblical sense.”
“Let’s get this computer shit put to bed first.”
“You’re such a sly dog,” he says as I hear the clicking of keys in the background. “Did you pick this place out because of her? Is that why you’re not staying at the Mont?”
I sigh. “No and no.”
“Are you logged in?” he asks.
“Yep, waiting on you.”
“I’m here.”
About that time, I see his avatar pop up on the screen, letting me know he’s online. After I upload the remote access program, he’s in the system and in control of the mouse as I sit back and watch him work.
After a few minutes, the questioning resumes. “So, what made you go to the Blue Bayou?” He says the name of the hotel like it’s foreign.
“Don’t,” I tell him.
“What?”
“Don’t make it sound like I’m slumming it,” I tell him.
“I’m not. But I’ve never known you to go to New Orleans and not stay at Hotel Monteleone.”
Sighing, I rub my hand over my forehead as I try to decide how much I want to get into this with him right now. “Well, I went there originally, but when I walked in...I don’t know. I guess, I was just looking for something different. I’m so sick of the Kensington standard, you know?” I can say that, because he does know. Without me explaining the specifics of this particular argument with my father, Shep knows the basics. It’s something we’ve talked about a lot over the years. “When I walked in and the doorman recognized me, I just bolted. I’m trying to get away from my father, not be in a place where people are going to ask me about him every day of my stay. Plus, if I’m being completely honest, I didn’t want him to be able to track me down.”
“How’d you find this place?” he asks, chuckling to himself. “Damn, this program they’re using is ancient. One of the first hotels my father bought out when I started working for him after college was using this, or I wouldn’t have a clue how to find my way around. Has she thought about upgrading to new software? That would take care of all of her problems, plus she’d have so many more options.”
I laugh. “Well, this isn’t really an option kind of place.”
“Does she run a different program for keys?”
“You mean the extra-large bronze one that’s currently poking into my ass right now?” I ask, pulling the bulky thing out and turning it over. Not only is the key large, the key ring is a large wooden fleur de lis with the Blue Bayou engraved on it.
“Real keys?” he asks incredulously.
“How did she put it?” I muse, smiling to myself. “She likes antiques.”
Shep laughs. “Doesn’t like change or spending money, collects antiques. She sounds like my grandma.”
“She’s definitely not your grandma.”
“Send me a picture.”
Standing out of the chair and walking over to get a closer look at the picture hanging on the wall, I take in even more details of Carys—her long golden legs, carefree smile, and a few freckles on her nose and cheeks. The frame next to the photo is of an older man and woman with a baby. On a second glance, I recognize the front steps of the hotel and realize they’re standing in front of the doors of the Blue Bayou. A plaque on the bottom of the photo reads “Blue Bayou—where folks are fun, and the world is ours.”
I want to know more about you, Carys Matthews.
“Fuck no, Shep. This one’s all mine.”
Chapter 6
Carys
Hurrying down the street, I nearly drop my grocery bags. I spent too much time talking to CeCe, my friend at the nearby coffee shop, and I told Mary I’d be back to the hotel by noon so she could run her own errands.
I should’ve known better. CeCe and I always find a million things to talk about, and this morning I was so excited about how smoothly the front desk was running that I had to tell her about Maverick and his friend Shep and the magic they worked. It hasn’t worked so flawlessly since I started running the hotel on the daily. I’ve always known it needed upgrading, but that word freaked me out. To me, upgrade equals money, but Shep knew about a hotel management software that’s user friendly, current, and surprisingly cheap. It was more money than I had to spend, but an investment worth making because I can already tell it’s going to save me days of frustration. With Jules coming on to help with the front desk, it’s like I can finally see the light at the end of the very long, dark tunnel I’ve been walking down for the past year and a half.
“Shit!” Just as I make it to the breezeway leading to the front door, the handles of one of my bags rips and groceries start rolling everywhere. Quickly, I get down on my hands and knees and start collecting the items in my arms to save them from the street. Looking around, I realize they’ll never fit in my other bag, so I stuff what I can in there and then take my cardigan off, laying it on the ground to use as a bundle.
I can make this work.
Just call me MacGyver. Carys MacGyver.
A low chuckle catches my attention and slowly I look up to see none other than Maverick Kensington standing a few feet away, arms crossed, leaning against the side of the building with a bag of his own hooked around one arm. The smile he’s giving me makes my knees weak, so for that, I’m thankful I’m not standing.
And with that thought, my mind begins to spin, heading straight for the gutter like it always does when he’s near.
“Need some help?” he asks, cocky grin still in place.
“Nope, got it covered,” I tell him as I begin to tie the arms of my cardigan and stand, dusting off my pants.
“Mess,” he says with another chuckle.
“What?” I heard him, but for some reason, I ask anyway.
He smiles, kicking off the wall and stalking toward me. “Mess,” he repeats and then pauses as he looks down at my feet and then back up to my eyes. “You. Are. A. Mess.” Each word is pronounced emphatically, and it makes my stomach flip.
Now I’m the one laughing, but it’s the result of nerves because his smile combined with the stalking has my breathing labored. “Yeah, I’ve been told that before.”
“A hot mess, emphasis on the hot, but a mess nonetheless.” Without asking again, he frees me from the makeshift bag and we both begin to walk toward the front door of the Blue Bayou.
“What did you buy?” I ask, needing to say something to fill the space between us, or maybe in an effort to create some space between us, because it feels like he’s coming on to me. I mean, I know he is. I might be blonde, but I’m not stupid. And I might be busy and preoccupied, but I’m not oblivious. At first, I thought it was just my wishful thinking, but last night, before he retired to his room, he asked me if the hotel had turndown service. It was a joke, but I could tell by the way he looked at me, he wasn’t kidding.
The scary part is that I almost took him up on it. I had to force my feet to walk to my apartment, instead of upstairs to his room. I’ve never done anything like that before, never even entertained the thought. But I guess there’s nothing illegal about it. So what if I own the hotel he’s staying in? It’s not like I’m his doctor and he’s my patient, although I wouldn’t mind giving him a thorough examination.
Not helping, Carys.
“Stopped at the hardware store down the street. I was at a bookstore a few doors down and thought I’d stop in there on my way back to see if they had a knob for the office door. I noticed it was missing.”
I pause with my hand on the door and just stare at him. “You didn’t have to do that...or don’t have to do that. George has been meaning to fix it, but he just hasn’t got around to it yet.” I can’t explain what I’m feeling because there’s such a whirlwind taking place inside me. It’s hard to decipher one emotion—fear that I’m doing everything wrong, shame that someone else is coming into my hotel and fixing problems, overwhelmed with everything that needs to be done, and last but not least, relief that Maverick wants to help.
“I know I didn’t have to, but I want to. I saw that it was broken, and I’d like to fix it.”
He smiles and opens the door for me.
He wants to.
I don’t know why, but him fixing things in my hotel does something to me. It makes my insides warm. Since me and the hotel are a packaged deal, when Maverick does something as simple as fix a door handle, it feels personal.
Have I mentioned how perfect he is? He shouldn’t be this perfect. He’s making me want to do things that aren’t good. I shouldn’t want him like I do. He’s a guest. He’ll be gone in a few days, a week at most. But I’m strong. I can resist. I know I can.
“Do you always have to fix things?” I ask, turning to face him once I’m inside.
He shrugs, his eyes fixed on mine. “I like to. My grandfather used to always have a project he was working on, and even though he had enough money to pay people to fix things for him, he wanted to do it himself. I think he must’ve passed that on to me. I like working with my hands, it’s relaxing.” With that last statement, he raises his eyebrows suggestively.
Was he coming on to me again? I think there was an innuendo in there.
Ignore.
Deflect.
Be strong.
“Well, I really appreciate it, but it feels weird letting a guest do a handyman’s job.”
“I want to. Think of it as an amenity—an incentive to stay here. You’ve said it yourself that the Blue Bayou isn’t a hotel with bells and whistles, so let this be something that you let me do because it makes me happy.”
“You’re weird, Maverick. Has anyone ever told you that?”
His strong jaw flexes and I’m worried I’ve offended him, but then he breaks out in a loud laugh, tilting his head back and making me ogle his neck.
What? I don’t even pay attention to guys’ necks. So what if his is strong, without being too muscular? So what if my insides do funny things when his Adam’s apple moves? So what if I’ve wondered if the scent—the one I can only describe as pure Maverick Kensington—originates there, right at the base, between his neck and his shoulder? So what if I’m now having fantasies about nestling myself right in the bend...right there in the perfect spot, where you can feel a person’s heartbeat.
“Pot meet kettle,” he says when he dips his chin and shakes his head.
“Please let me repay you, at least for the knob,” I tell him, redirecting this conversation back to the matter at hand.
“Okay,” he agrees.
“Good.” I set the bag down and reach for the one he carried in for me, setting it behind the counter. As I’m going to the cash box behind the counter to get money, he stops me.
“I don’t take money.”
Pausing with my hand on the metal lid, I stare down at the bills and change, afraid to look up at him—afraid of what I’ll see or what he’ll say next...afraid of the resolve I’d made just a few minutes earlier. “Oh?” I ask, unable to think of anything else.
“Yeah, see I was thinking I’d take you to dinner,” he says in a low, husky voice. “I’m sure there’s a great place somewhere close. Jules comes in at six, so let’s say seven?”
He’s thought about this—taking me out to dinner—like before now. Maverick wants to take me to dinner for replacing my broken door knob. Shouldn’t I be the one to take him out to dinner if it’s to repay him for his help? This man has knocked me off my rocker, I swear. Nothing about this seems logical, but everything about this feels right.
“Okay.” I actually can’t believe the word leaves my lips. I planned on putting up a fight, forcing him to take the money and telling him I’m way too busy to go out to dinner, but the truth is I want to. I have to eat. Why not eat with Maverick? Also, something else, call it fate or the universe or whatever, brought him into my hotel. So, who am I to get in its way? Besides, it’s just dinner. We’ll eat. We’ll have a nice conversation. We’ll come back to the hotel and I’ll tell him goodnight. My repayment will be made. No harm, no foul.
“It’s a date,” he beams. “I’ll see you right here at seven sharp.” Running up the stairs, he calls back over his shoulder. “Don’t be late, Carys.”
A date?
Is it a date?
How long has it been since I’ve been on a date?
“It’s a date, huh?” Mary asks quietly, startling me so bad I nearly scream. I was so caught up in my mental deliberation I kind of forgot where I was for a second.
