Just a Kiss

by Tabatha Kiss

  I raise my glass, connecting the dots. “I see...”

  “So... when they get over here, I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” she says. “I’ll introduce you guys, we’ll swoon over each other for a while—”

  “Do I gotta stay all day?” I ask.

  “No, you can excuse yourself at any time,” she says. “Say you’re happy to finally meet them but you’ve gotta get to work or some bullshit. You plant a goodbye kiss on my cheek and walk out of here with twenty extra bucks in your pocket. That should be enough to successfully get me through the next few days of my life. Sound good?”

  I ponder silently, stretching the moment as her parents and beloved betrothed head in our direction.

  She bounces with impatience. “Please.”

  “I’ll let you know in a minute.”

  “Help me, random hot guy,” she begs. “You’re my only hope.”

  I grin. “The manipulation is strong with this one.”

  Her head tilts; eyes big and wide like a damned lost puppy but I made up my mind the moment I saw those curves. She could have asked me to rub her feet for all I care.

  “All right.” I nod. “I’ll do it.”

  “Thank you.” She flips her purse open. “Thank you, thank you—”

  “Penelope!”

  I throw on a smile and turn around as her parents stall behind us. Dylan McCoy hangs back, his eyes landing on me with a stiff, territorial sneer. I guess Penelope here wasn’t kidding about that mating ritual part...

  “Hi, Mom! Dad!” she pauses. “Dylan.”

  “Hey, Pen,” he says, still sneering.

  Her mother looks her up and down as Penelope leans in for a quick hug. She lowers her voice and says into Penelope’s ear, “Penelope, honey, this is a nice hotel. Not a brothel.”

  Penelope’s face falls as her mother steps back.

  I laugh loudly to turn the spotlight away from her. “You know, I told her the same thing, but if my Penny wants to shine, then she’s gonna shine. Am I right?”

  Their eyes land on me with confusion, somehow just now noticing I’m even here. A sharp scowl fills her mother’s face and she purses her lips, taking in my admittedly casual jeans and t-shirt.

  Her father clears his throat. “And you are...?”

  Penelope entwines her arm with mine and I take her hand, giving it a firm squeeze while she casually slips money into my palm like a trained magician.

  “Mom, Dad...” she says, “I’d like you to meet my boyfriend...”

  Her voice fades off as she realizes she has no idea what my name is.

  “Hayden,” I say.

  “Hayden,” she repeats. “This is my boyfriend, Hayden. Hayden, these are my parents, Trey and Mary Lou Warren.”

  I extend my hand toward her father. “It’s nice to finally meet you two. Pen’s told me so much about you.”

  Trey takes a half-step forward and gives my hand a firm shake. His expression never changes from its confused state as his eyes wander to the tattoos peeking out from under my sleeve.

  “I wasn’t aware Penelope had a boyfriend,” he says.

  “She doesn’t,” Mary Lou says.

  “No, I do,” Penelope says. “For...” She looks at me. “Oh, gosh! I’d say it’s been two, three months?”

  “Twelve weeks,” I answer, smiling. “Twelve weeks, three days, if we want to get pathetically specific.”

  Penelope laughs and playfully slaps my arm. “Oh, stop. You’re counting?”

  “I can’t help it. I’m a happy man.”

  Mary Lou fakes some amusement. “Well, this is the first time we’ve heard of you,” she says, her eyes darting toward Dylan on her other side.

  “I’m afraid that’s my fault, ma’am,” I say. “With my job, it’s often better to keep personal relationships quiet. At first.”

  She glares at me past the tip of her nose. “And just what do you do, Mr...?”

  “Botsford,” I answer, adding a smirk. “Hayden Botsford.”

  Penelope’s jaw drops as her head jerks in my direction but she quickly snaps it shut again to hide her surprise.

  “Botsford!” Her father stands taller as all confusion melts from his face and gets instantly replaced with keen interest. “As in the Botsfords?”

  I nod, smug as fuck. “That’s right.”

  He shoves his hand toward me again. “Well, in that case, I think I owe you another firm handshake!”

  I laugh, taking his hand and letting him whip my arm as if he’s herding cattle. His wife, however, continues to stare at me with doubt while Dylan silently stews beside her with his hands in his tan pockets.

  “What a surprise!” Trey says. “You know, we’ve been staying in these Plazas for years. Damn fine hotels. My wife and I even honeymooned at the Plaza in Rome just after it was built. First couple to christen the suite, as a matter of fact!”

  Mary Lou flinches. “Trey, please...”

  “It’s just a little humor, Mary Lou!” He laughs. “Anyway, the place was absolutely gorgeous! Wasn’t it, honey?”

  Her face doesn’t budge an inch. “Yes.”

  “Then, you’re related to Kingston Botsford?” he asks me.

  “Yes, sir,” I answer. “He’s my father, as a matter of fact.”

  “I once saw him give a speech at a business conference in Phoenix. Powerful man your old man. You should be very proud.”

  “I’ll be sure to kiss his ring with a little extra tongue the next time I see him,” I quip.

  Trey laughs loudly while Mary Lou continues feigning amusement.

  “You could have warned us you were bringing a guest, Penelope,” she says through gritted teeth.

  “Well, I...” Penelope stalls, her voice catching in her throat.

  I chuckle as I lay a hand on her hip and softly jostle her a bit. “She didn’t tell me about your reunion today, either. Just sprung it on me at the last minute, as she does.”

  Trey roars with laughter again. “That’s our Penelope, all right!”

  Penelope looks to me, showing a smile so sweet it gives me cavities while she digs her thumbnail deep into the back of my hand.

  “Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat, “I’m very sorry but I should be getting back to work.”

  “You won’t stay?” Trey asks. “Have a drink?”

  “I’m afraid I must be going. These hotels don’t run themselves.”

  Mary Lou nods, happy to see me leave. Gee, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she hated me or something.

  “Yes, of course,” she says. “Don’t let us keep you, Mr. Botsford. I’m sure you’re a very busy man.”

  “Yes, but...” I bring Penelope’s hand to my lips and give it a quick peck. “I always make some time for Penny here. She’s a lovely young woman. It truly is an honor to finally meet her family.”

  Penelope lets out a loving sigh while Dylan continues his quiet sneer behind Mary Lou’s shoulder.

  I keep smiling. “And do let the front desk know if there’s anything your party needs today. They have my private line. I’m just a phone call away.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Hayden,” Trey says. “Thank you so much.”

  “Believe me, it’s my pleasure, Mr. Warren.”

  “Call me, Trey, young man,” he adds, making Mary Lou’s brow crinkle downward.

  “Trey,” I repeat. “You got it, sir.”

  I release my hold on Penelope and turn to face her. “I’ll catch up with you later, Pen.”

  Her eyes lock on mine and she smiles. “All right.”

  I lean closer and her back stiffens. My lips just barely graze her cheek and my nose twitches as I sense the gentlest perfume in my nostrils.

  I kiss the edge of her closed mouth, purposefully missing the previously agreed upon location on her cheek but as her lips softly curl to touch mine, I get the feeling she doesn’t mind.

  I pull back as a rush of warmth clenches my gut. “Bye,” I whisper.

  “Bye,” she
says, her voice just as low as mine.

  I take my leave, quickly bolting for the entrance and doing my best to look very important in my jeans and t-shirt. I’m a very busy man, after all.

  I wait until I pass over the velvet rope again before opening my palm and inspecting my payment. Twenty dollars, just as the young woman promised. She certainly got her money’s worth. For that performance, I easily could have charged an even fifty.

  I stuff the bill into my back pocket and smile to myself as a keen realization takes hold of me.

  That was the most fun I’ve had in weeks.

  I think I just found my new hobby.

  Penelope Warren.

  Two

  Hayden

  I leave the bar with a skip in my step. I came down here before feeling like an old, worn-out tire, but now…

  Penelope Warren.

  I must know more.

  I head toward the front desk, ignoring the slight twinge in my knee as I move a little faster across the lobby. I quickly slip behind the desk, instantly drawing the attention of the young man working behind it. I see the nerves cross his face but they dissipate the moment he notices it’s just me slinking back into an employee-only domain.

  “Oh, hi, Hayden,” he says as he relaxes his shoulders.

  I pause by the computer terminal nearest to him. “Hey, Rian,” I greet, gesturing at the keyboard. “You mind if I...?”

  “Uh…” He hesitates before sidling away to give me space. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “No, just...” I take control, pausing to search my memory on where we stored information for private parties. “Just taking a peek…”

  I haven’t worked behind the desk here since high school. My last day of high school, actually. My father was a little peeved that I’d chosen to become an athlete instead of following in his mighty footsteps so he forced me to stay on the clock for as long as possible. What can I say? I knew what made me happy. And that was, and still is, baseball.

  “Hayden Botsford, I have been looking everywhere for you.”

  I glance up, my focus locking on the very busty redhead in front of me as she leans into the counter. She slides her heart-shaped glasses off her pointed nose and I sigh at the familiar face.

  “Trisha Wells,” I say. “Sports Illuminated magazine.”

  “Oh, good!” She smiles. “So, you have been getting my messages.”

  “And you apparently missed the one I sent that said I wasn’t interested.”

  “Hayden…” she says, trying hard to sound sweet. “Hayden, Hayden, Hayden—”

  “Don’t wear it out, now,” I say.

  “I have been very patient with you.”

  I cock my head. “Have you, though?”

  “We’ve been in this business together for almost ten years,” she says, “and you’ve never once let me run an exposé on you.”

  “Because I’m not interested and neither is your reader base.”

  She raises a finger. “Bullshit. The SI reader base is fifty-one percent female. We are very interested in LA’s billionaire bachelor baseman, as a matter of fact.”

  I frown. “I thought it was forty-seven.”

  “The magic of marketing in the right places, sweetie,” she says.

  “Or, you know, just making Daisy take centerfolds of greased-up, half-naked athletes.”

  She nods. “That, too.”

  I roll my eyes and turn back to the computer. “Thanks, but no thanks, Trisha.”

  “But here’s the twist!” she says. “I’m not interested in your greased-up half-naked bod.”

  “No?”

  “No one’s gonna rush out and buy what they can open your Instagram and see for free,” she says, her eyes flicking toward my right arm. “Love the new ink, by the way.”

  I nod. Point taken. “Then, what do you want?” I ask.

  “I’m more interested in what’s going on below the belt.” She throws on a sympathetic pout. “How’s the knee, honey?”

  “It’s fine,” I answer. “Nothing the general public needs to get Illuminated about.”

  “Fine doesn’t put you on the bench for half the season,” she argues.

  “I’ll be good as new in a few weeks. Just ask the coach.”

  “I have.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He…” She huffs. “He said you’ll be back in a few weeks.”

  “Well, would you look at that?” I say. “That exposé sure does write itself.”

  “And in the meantime?” she asks. “You’re just… sitting around here? Eating room service and diddling the maids?”

  “Yeah. It’s going great.”

  She squints in thought. “I was hoping there’d be more…”

  “Well, there’s not.”

  “Don’t you have… I don’t know… emotional frustrations?” she asks. “Some painful, agonizing torment over being stripped down in your athletic prime? Anything at all I can work with?”

  I shrug. “Not really.”

  “Dammit.” She exhales in defeat. “Came all the out to this friggin’ desert hellhole for nothing.”

  “I’m sorry, Trisha.” I smile. “Maybe next time you should check your messages.”

  She glowers at me before snatching her sunglasses off the counter and sliding them onto her nose. “Bye, Hayden,” she says.

  “Bye-bye…”

  I wait until she’s really gone before looking at the computer again.

  Now, where was I?

  Ah, right. Party Planning.

  I double click the program and it opens, displaying the information for all events, parties, dinners, etc. taking place at the hotel over the next few months. No, make that years.

  We book out five years in advance now? It used to be three but I guess that’s supply and demand in action. It’s kind of sad if you think about it. People are so desperate to be even the least bit associated with golden Botsford luxury, they’re booking their daughters’ sweet sixteens on their eleventh birthdays.

  Warren, Trey.

  Click.

  I scan quickly, absorbing every little detail I can of their booking. Looks like the Warren family reunion is an annual affair at the Las Vegas Plaza and has been for the last decade.

  So… Penelope’s been here before. The reunion always seems to be scheduled smack dab in the middle of baseball season. That would explain why I’ve never seen her before. I was so desperate to get out of here, after all...

  The irony isn’t lost on me.

  I keep scrolling. They have the bar booked out until five. Then, a reservation for thirty in the restaurant until eight-thirty…

  I think back to that fateful encounter in the bar. Years in the elite Botsford family have prepared me for exactly the kind of people the Warrens are. Wealthy, entitled. Snobbish. Penelope herself barely got a hello out before her mother reamed into her about her choice of dress, which, by the way, is still burned into my mind. I believe the cliché is she was poured into it.

  Hubba hubba indeed.

  People like the Warrens respond in kind to money — especially money they don’t have to spend — and seeing as how Penelope hired me to make her life a little easier this weekend…

  I click over to the Payment Information tab, quickly navigating to the specials and discounts area. A 20% friends and family discount on their dinner reservation tonight ought to give Penelope a few more brownie points. With her dad, at least. Still not quite sure about her mother but I’ll figure her out eventually.

  Authorization code required.

  Hrmm.

  I pause before my smile slowly returns.

  Not a problem.

  I don’t work for the hotel anymore but Graham sure does and I just so happen to know his authorization code, so...

  I tap it in and the discount saves. Excellent.

  I move to close out but stop when I spot the Guest Information tab. My pulse spikes, suddenly realizing the obvious.

  Penelop
e said they’re here for a few days. Which means…

  They booked rooms.

  I click the tab so hard it hurts my finger but I don’t care. Twenty rooms, I read. All on the 20th floor. Casino packages, so they’ve all got a few tokens to hit up the strip with…

  Okay, that’s nice, but which room is hers?

  The monitor goes black and I twitch.

  “Wha—” I gasp.

  A blackout? Now?

  “Sorry, Hayden.”

  I look up at Rian. He stands with his hand over the monitor’s power button, his face twisted with tension.

  “I can’t let you see that,” he says.

  “What?” I furrow my brow. “Why not?”

  “Guest names and room numbers are confidential information,” he says slowly, obviously reciting verbatim from his employee handbook.

  “No. No. No, it’s fine,” I say. “My name is on the building. Totally cool.”

  “But you’re not an employee.” He glances around. “Honestly, Oli’s gonna have my ass if he even sees you back here at all.”

  “Oliver’s my main man!” I wave a hand. “Come on, Rian. Please? I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  He exhales. “Dude, I would, but... I’m getting college credit working back here. I need this job.”

  “Pfft. You don’t need college. I didn’t go to college and I turned out fine.”

  “Yeah, but... your name is on a chain of multi-billion-dollar luxury hotels. Mine’s not.” He doesn’t budge. “Sorry, Hayden. Guest information is confidential and available to employees and security personnel only.”

  My brow piques. “Security personnel, you say?”

  Three

  Penelope

  Hayden Botsford.

  How the fuck was I supposed to know that guy was a billionaire? Hell, the bartender looked cleaner cut than he did. I thought he was just a normal guy! A normal guy drinking at a hotel bar at one in the afternoon but it doesn’t get more normal guy than that, right?

  Now, not only do my parents think I’m dating a billionaire, they think I’m dating the guy whose family owns their favorite line of hotels. My little white lie just got a metric shit-ton more complicated than it was ever supposed to be.