by Jen Bradlee
A Twist of Fate
By
Jen Bradlee
A Twist of Fate
Copyright © 2017 Jen Bradlee
Published by BlackShip at Amazon.com
Cover Photo: www.periodimages.com
Cover Design: Samantha Holt
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
First Electronic Print, October 2017
Dedication
Thomas, you've done it again. Thanks for the inspiration.
The stubborn spot wouldn't come out. Hannah scrubbed harder, swearing under her breath until the dark stain began to lighten against the beige carpet.
"I told you to just try the salt trick," Niki said from the bathroom. "Works like a charm every time, but of course, now that you've scrubbed the hell out of it, that'll be a bitch to clean."
"I've got my special spray here. It'll be fine." Hannah prayed harder with every minute she spent scrubbing the carpet. After five minutes of torment, she breathed a sigh of relief.
The glaring red stain where a distinguished guest had spilled a healthy amount of merlot on the pristine carpet of the Founder's Suite was no more. She sat back on her heels and sighed.
"I'm done in the bathroom. Want me to check the amenities in the kitchen?" Niki's question interrupted her moment of triumph over the wine disaster.
Hannah nodded. "Yes, please. And make sure the bedding isn't rumpled."
"You checked it already, but I'll triple check it." Niki offered a smile in an effort to sooth Hannah's frazzled nerves. "It's not like the president is checking in."
"Only the governor." Hannah gathered her cleaning supplies and climbed to her feet.
"I know. It was a joke." Niki shook her head. "Are you going to the party tonight?"
"I hadn't really thought about it." As Hannah paced around the room, she straightened the lamp, picked a piece of lint off the curtain, and reorganized the papers lying next to the phone on the desk.
"You never go. Shit, you've been here five years and haven't been to one single masquerade." Niki pouted. "We get free admission, too, if we want to go."
"Are you going?" Hannah asked with a glance over her shoulder at her friend.
"I am, actually. Jason said he'd take me as long as I dress up like a Voodoo priestess and he gets to take advantage of me at some point during the evening." She wagged her brows suggestively.
"I'm not sure you should be telling your supervisor you intend to have sex with your boyfriend at the hotel you work at."
Niki shrugged. "I'm not gonna be on the clock. Besides, just because you're not getting laid tonight, doesn't mean I can't."
Hannah spun to face her. "Who says I'm not?"
"That perpetual resting bitch face you've got going on, not to mention the dank cave that is your panties." Niki waved her arms. "I'm your friend, I would know if you're getting laid."
With a sigh, Hannah conceded. "Whatever you say."
"Do you have a hot date tonight I don't know about?" Niki asked as she made her way toward the arched doorway leading into the kitchen.
"Oh, I thought you knew everything, oh Mistress of the Mysterious." Hannah bowed low in a mock show of reverence.
"Don't be a smart-ass. It doesn't suit you." Niki shelved her hand on her hip.
"No," Hannah rolled her eyes, "I don't have a hot date tonight. I just...I spend all day here, why would I want to spend my evening off trolling my place of work among the rich and infamous of our fine state?"
"To find a sugar daddy?" Niki tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Or maybe to get laid. Just an idea."
"Go check the kitchen." Hannah turned to face the ornate fireplace dominating the east wall of the room.
"You need a man to fuck you senseless!" Niki called from the kitchen.
Hannah hung her head. "All she thinks about is sex...and otome games. But mostly sex. What the hell am I going to do with her?"
She pulled the polish and a rag from her cart and stood before the huge fireplace. It didn't need polish. The marble gleamed and sparkled. The veins of color glinted in the dying light from the window behind her.
Her radio sparked to life. "Hannah, you there?"
She pulled it from her apron pocket and glanced at the screen. Front Desk. Hannah pushed the button. "I'm here, what's up?"
"Are you in the Founder's suite now?" Andrea's voice crackled through the speaker.
"Yes, I'm finishing up the last-minute details before the Governor checks in."
"Good. His secretary just called. They're on their way. He requested to have a fire built."
"We have a state of the art heating system in this hotel, why isn't that good enough?"
"Ambiance. Nothing screams 'winter getaway' like a roaring fire in the hearth. That's why they left the fireplace in its original state rather than upgrading it to gas."
Hannah shook her head. "I'll take care of it. Anything else?"
"He requested a bottle of Chardonnay on ice."
"At least it's not a merlot," Hannah mumbled to herself before pushing the button and addressing Andrea directly. "I'll have Niki get a bottle from the bar as soon as she's done in the kitchen."
"I'm already on it," Niki said as she pushed past Hannah and exited the suite.
"The room will be ready in fifteen minutes," Hannah said into the radio.
"Make sure you don't piss off the ghosts, we don't need any incidents tonight."
"I wasn't planning on it." Hannah sighed at the sound of Andrew's voice on the other end of the radio.
Considering the age of the hotel, it was pretty much a given that the employees would be superstitious. Andrew was the worst of the lot. At eighty-five years old, he was the hotel's longest working and still surviving employee. He'd started as a bellboy at the age of sixteen and worked his way up the ranks as a janitor, maintenance man, valet, front desk clerk, manager, and now in his semi-retirement, he'd taken up the post of resident storyteller. He had also taken on the roll as Hannah's guardian when her parents died.
"I'm serious, Hannah. The last thing we need is a ruckus tonight."
"Andrew, I've no intention of inciting a ruckus."
"Good. And if you see Lucius, run like hell."
Hannah shook her head at the mention of the founder's name. "Roger that, Andrew."
The radio went silent.
She slipped it into her pocket and dropped to her knees to build a fire in the hearth.
Andrew knew how to spin a tale. Over the past few years, she'd heard quite a few of his tales about the Founder, Lucius Lachlan. None of the stories were flattering. It seemed the founder and architect of the Grand Lachlan Hotel was an enigma, shrouded in secrecy and scandal. His hotel inherited his legacy. It was now the number one tourist spot for paranormal activity and historians alike. And some even claimed to have seen the
founder roaming the halls.
Hannah focused her attention on building the fire. The years of camping with Andrew and her parents gave her at least one life skill she used frequently. Hannah loved having an open fire during the late fall months. The nights tended to drop in temperature pretty frequently in November. Her small house boasted a fireplace, against Andrew's wishes. But she loved it.
After laying a few logs on the grate, she fluffed a bit of tinder beneath her meager pile and set to work. The fire sparked to life, quickly moving to the dry wood igniting it. She sat back and noticed the smoke backing into the room.
"Shit." Hannah scrambled to the lever on the side of the fireplace and opened the flue. The small flame blossomed and the smoke gently rolled into the chimney.
She stared into the flame, her hand supporting her as she leaned against the cool marble hearth. What if Niki was right? What if she was missing out by not going to the ball? Her fingers tapped against the stone.
"That's stupid. It's not like I'm going to meet my prince charming at the hotel's anniversary masquerade ball." She laughed to herself. "Or a rich sugar daddy."
The fire sparked, throwing embers toward her. She stumbled backwards and landed on her butt.
A dark shadow in her peripheral vision stole her attention away from the fire. Not a shadow.
A man.
A man stood next to the hearth, leaning against the sturdy marble ledge, his back toward her.
Hannah stared. She blinked a few times and rubbed her eyes to be sure she wasn't seeing things. It wasn't...he wasn't a hallucination. He turned slowly, his hand raised, reaching for the cigarette tucked between his lips. When he spotted her, he didn't seem startled by her presence. He arched his brow and stared at her...almost amused and irritated at the same time.
He wore a vintage tuxedo with a handkerchief tucked neatly in his pocket. A domino mask lay dark against the white of the handkerchief.
"Excuse me, sir, but I believe you may be lost." Hannah slowly rose to her feet and brushed her hands on her apron.
He simply stared at her.
"This is a private suite, and the guest will be arriving at any moment. I'd be happy to show you to the hotel bar where you can wait until the party begins."
Nothing. Not a peep, not a syllable. Nada. Hannah felt her patience wearing thin.
"Listen, you don't belong here." She motioned for the door. "C'mon, I don't want to get fired."
The gentleman cocked his head, and a lock of dark hair fell across his face. He brushed it away and pulled the cigarette from his lips. "You are an employee at this hotel?"
Hannah glanced down at her uniform and nametag, then back at the strange man. She studied him as she nodded.
"How long have you been employed here?"
"Six years next May." Hannah watched him take another drag from his cigarette and frowned. "Please put that out, there's no smoking allowed in the hotel."
He exhaled a thick plume of smoke and tossed the butt into the fire. "What are you wearing?"
"My uniform?" Hannah fidgeted with the material, suddenly uncomfortable being alone with him.
His gaze traveled down her body, over her legs, across her feet, then back again, until they met her gaze. Holy shit. His eyes flashed green as he crossed the room, moving toward her.
Hannah backed up until she hit the wall next to the door leading to the hallway. He stood close...too close. She could smell the tart, musky scent of his cologne, but the way it mingled with his heat struck a chord deep inside her that made her body burst into song. She failed to remember a single scent that could describe or replicate it. Unique...and intoxicating.
And dangerous! Her mind screamed to run. But her body lay paralyzed against the wall, the door handle just an arm length away.
He stood before her, but they didn't touch. The air grew thick around them. If Hannah had any sense of self-preservation, she'd have hauled ass out of that room, but his sharp eyes searched her face. All she could do was reciprocate the action.
Damn it. Handsome devil. Her mind raced with questions but her lips failed to voice any of them.
The handle beside her turned and the door swung open.
"Hey, is the room..." Niki froze as she spotted Hannah standing with the stranger.
"Shall I come back later?" Niki's gaze flashed between them. "I'll let the front desk know the room isn't ready yet."
"Nooooo!" Hannah screamed and lunged for the door. "This gentleman was just lost. I offered to escort him to the bar to wait for the masquerade."
Niki's eyes narrowed on the mysterious man, then she turned her attention to Hannah. "I'll walk down with you. Let me put the cart in the closet first."
She nodded.
The man stepped out in the hall after she waved for him to hurry up and exit the room. He seemed to be such a contradiction. Confident and self-aware, yet disoriented. Even as he stepped into the hall. His sharp gaze flickered around the room as if taking in every detail and committing it to memory.
Niki returned, and the man studied her carefully. A few wild curls escaped the tight bun she kept her hair in as she worked. Was he checking her friend out?
Hannah shook off the question and focused on the length of hall before her. The sooner she got him off her hands, the better. Handsome or not, something about this man felt like a double dose of trouble waiting right behind a carelessmistake.
"The bar is this way." Hannah started walking and glanced over her shoulder to be sure he was following.
He arched his brow, not in question, no. It suspiciously resembled Scarlet O'Hara's how dare you speak to me in such a way look from Gone with the Wind.
Hannah bristled at the way he treated her. It wasn't rude, but the contempt rolled off him in waves that battered against her sanity. She was used to dealing with all sorts of people especially in such a busy and extravagant hotel. But this guy, there was just something about him that didn't fit the whole picture.
Niki's phone rang. Hannah gave her a pleading look before her friend shrugged and mouthed sorry before answering the call. As Niki stepped away from them, the stranger watched her go, his mouth pressed firmly in a tight line.
They approached the elevator and stopped. Hannah pushed the down button. She tried not to stare at him, keeping him in her peripheral vision.
His arms hung at his sides, his hands clenching and releasing, over and over. Was he upset? His face betrayed very little emotion, almost pure indifference. The rapid flicker of his eyes as they took in his surroundings belied a hint of panic.
The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. When the doors slid closed, Hannah pushed the button for the lobby.
She noted how he gripped the railing inside the carriage as the elevator lurched and began its descent.
"Are you okay?"
His gaze snapped to hers. He licked his lips. "What is the date?"
"November second." Hannah cocked her head at him. Why would he ask what the date is if he was dressed for the masquerade? She shook her head. "Are you feeling well?"
"The masquerade is this evening, is it not?" he asked in a low voice.
"Yes, it's the hundred and twentieth anniversary, as it says on the banner in the lobby." Hannah leaned against the wall opposite him.
"Impossible," he muttered more to himself than her it seemed as he ran his hand through his hair. "What year is it?"
"Two thousand sixteen." Hannah prayed for the elevator to hurry. This man must be on something. Why would someone even ask that?
He reached over and pushed the emergency stop button. The carriage shuddered as it came to a stop between floors three and two.
A touch of dread settled deep in Hannah's chest. She had nowhere to go, trapped in the elevator with a man who was obviously delusional or high.
"Sir, if you'll let me..."
He spun on her, his face etched with determination. "I shall ask you only once more. What is the full date?"
Hannah struggled to find her voic
e. The words tumbled from her lips. Her voice trembled. "November second, two thousand sixteen."
He nodded once and leaned his hand against the wall.
Even though fear and uncertainty mingled with adrenaline coursed through her, Hannah found herself wanting to help the handsome, confused stranger.
"Sir, I'm not sure how I can help you."
He scoffed and shook his head. When he pulled a silver cigarette case from his pocket, she sighed.
"You cannot smoke in here." His hand hovered over the open case. "But I can take you somewhere you can."
She pushed the resume button and then pushed floor two.
The man said nothing as the elevator stopped. She led him down a hallway balcony overlooking the lobby. A wide set of doors lay at the end of the hall. She pushed open the door and the chill of the November evening bit into her bare arms.
A large veranda stretched before them. The flowerpots looked barren since the frost had stolen the last green of the year.
He wasted little time pulling out a cigarette and lit it as he wandered toward the railing overlooking Third Avenue. The scent of the tobacco lingered in his wake.
Hannah turned and glanced at the hotel towering behind her. The old brick and stone stood tall against the sky. The setting sun glinted off the windows, making them sparkle like gems in the twilight. Her heart twisted with a familiar warmth. She loved this hotel.
"Hannah."
She spun at the sound of her name. His voice and proximity startled her. He stood directly behind her, staring up at the building, just as she had been. His expression softened as he stared at the hotel. A flicker of recognition nagged at her. She'd seen him before, somewhere, but her memory failed her. Andrew might know. He knew everyone.
"Might I ask a favor, Hannah?" His polished tone made her heart beat a bit faster. Gone was the contempt, replaced now with a refined grace.
This man could be dangerous, she warned herself. "Of course, whatever I can do to help." Hannah eyed him as they returned to the warmth of the hotel.
He stepped forward and opened the door. His manners suddenly took on those of a true gentleman. She eyed him warily. What kind of games was he playing? She wondered if he had been hired to put on a show. Or to mess with her. If the latter, she'd kick their asses.
