Room Service

by Amy Garvey

  “Rhys Spencer?” the reporter asked. New interest lit up his eyes. “The same Rhys Spencer who cooked at Blue Door in London and Ferris Grill in Chicago, and is a contestant on Fork in the Road?”

  “Well, yes,” Olivia said. A warning bell went off in her head, distant but demanding. “He’s a guest here.”

  “Really?” Petrillo scribbled notes on his pad, flipping to a new page when he ran out of room. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “Of course,” she said, although she would have much rather stuck to the subject of the hotel than to the subject of Rhys. Her mistake, of course, but how was she supposed to know some random feature writer would know who Rhys was? Apparently everyone in the world watched more TV than she did.

  “So what does Mr. Spencer think of the Coach and Four?” he asked.

  Well, he thought the menu was as outdated as the décor, and that the kitchen needed renovation, and their sous chef was, in his words, “green as a blade of spring grass,” but she wasn’t going to tell this man any of that. Rhys’s life was his business, even his thoughts on her restaurant. “You’d have to ask him,” she said carefully, and moved toward the door to the ballroom. “Can I show you what we did to emphasize our zombie theme? It was really a lot of fun to brainstorm with the staff, most of whom have worked here for years—”

  “So Mr. Spencer didn’t have anything to do with the menu for tonight’s party?” Petrillo asked, scribbling again. He had followed her without once looking up from his little notepad. “No culinary tidbits to share at all?”

  “Mr. Spencer is a guest,” she repeated evenly. At least she hoped her voice sounded even. She wouldn’t do it, she wouldn’t throw his name around simply to ensure this piece made it into the paper. And it was infuriating that the only thing the man seemed interested in was Rhys. The ball had been her idea, after all.

  “As one of Fork in the Road’s final three competitors, Mr. Spencer should be expected back in L.A. anytime for the finale, right?” Petrillo stared at her, pen poised over his pad.

  As if she needed another reminder that Rhys was leaving. Damn it, tonight was supposed to be fun. The big payoff after all the weeks of work. The first step toward putting Callender House back on the map. She was dressed as a princess—couldn’t she wave a scepter and have some courtier deal with this guy?

  He was still waiting for her answer, but before she opened her mouth she saw a pair of zombies loitering at the bottom of the staircase. “Excuse me,” she said to Petrillo. “Why don’t you enjoy yourself for awhile and we can talk some more later?”

  She took off before he had a chance to protest and scooped up her skirts to run down the steps. The zombies were Marty and Davey, the new guys—at least she was pretty sure they were. But they’d both said they weren’t coming tonight, hadn’t they?

  She waved at Roseanne, who was dressed in her usual wenchy barmaid Renaissance Faire costume, as she made her way over to the guys. Yup, it was definitely them. Not that it mattered, of course, because everyone on staff was welcome, but it was probably better to have them upstairs with the others instead of hanging around the lobby like…well, like a couple of zombies.

  “Marty?” she said tentatively.

  He turned around, blinking. His gray makeup had been caked on with a heavy hand, but he’d certainly gone lighter on the blood than Davey had.

  “Miss Olivia,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Hey.”

  “It’s just Olivia,” she told him in a confidential whisper. “Really. So you two decided to come?”

  “Angel called, ma’am,” Davey said. He flicked a tattered piece of cheesecloth away from his face. “His wife is in labor, so he asked if we could fill in for him. Keep an eye out. In case you needed anything.”

  “Theresa’s in labor?” She glanced over at Roseanne, who was busy checking IDs and fastening armbands on the latest arrivals. A baby! She’d forgotten all about the impending birth in the last few days, but she was confused, too. Angel wasn’t supposed to be working tonight. He and Theresa were planning to come as a mouse dressed in footman’s gear and Cinderella’s magic coach—after it was turned back into a pumpkin, of course.

  “Yeah, um, labor,” Marty said, but not before he elbowed Davey in the ribs.

  Okay. Either way, they needed to be up in the ballroom with everyone else. “Well, why don’t the two of you head upstairs and have some fun,” she said. “Angel wasn’t really supposed to be working tonight, and I’m sure everything’s under control. Go on, go upstairs, have some food, dance with a pretty…zombie girl.” She laughed, and quickly shook it off when Marty and Davey stared at her blankly. “Okay, then.”

  From behind her she heard, “Everything all right?”

  And there was her…gorilla. She smiled again, a happy warmth lighting her up from inside. “Everything’s fine. How about in the kitchen?”

  “Right on schedule,” Rhys murmured, pulling her close with one leathery gorilla paw. “Care to dance, princess?”

  “I’m beginning to regret that fact that I never saw Planet of the Apes,” she said, but she let him lead her up the stairs. It was their night together, gorilla mask or not.

  And upstairs in the ballroom, with the lights low and the band playing, it was their night, she thought. Rhys took off the gorilla mask and turned her around the floor when the song was a slow one, and when it wasn’t he filled a plate with food for them to share off in one of the dim corners of the room.

  He’d outdone himself, as always. There were pumpkin ravioli and garlic gougeres and tiny cranberry-walnut turkey sausages, parmesan crisps and tempura-fried sweet potato slices, and tiny crab tarts. Later there was going to be pork tenderloin glazed with wine and grapes, and roasted vegetable stew, with pecan caramel tarts and chocolate cupcakes for dessert.

  She had no doubt that he was going to win the cooking competition, she thought as he crossed the room with fresh drinks for them both, the heavy brown fur of his costume sagging in some strange places. She just wished he’d won it already, or that the finale was being held in New York.

  Or that she could get her hands on that time machine she’d been daydreaming about all those weeks ago, and she could fast forward through the next few weeks without him. He was leaving in two days and they still hadn’t talked about what would happen when the competition was over. She couldn’t bring herself to ask, and she wasn’t even sure he’d thought about it.

  Rhys was famous for saying whatever was on his mind, after all. Hadn’t he told Angel just the other day that Theresa looked like a beached whale? A pretty one, he’d been quick to add, a glowing one to be sure, but that hadn’t exactly mitigated Angel’s outrage.

  So it stood to reason that if Rhys had decided one way or another what he planned to do when the competition was over, he would have told her. Except…he hadn’t. And she was too much of a chicken to ask him. At least for now.

  Tonight was about magic, made-up or otherwise. And Rhys was the only one she wanted to share it with.

  “Prosecco,” he said and handed her a long-stemmed glass. “I ordered it just for you, for tonight. Go on, try it. Bellinis are made with Prosecco.”

  “What is it?” she said, sniffing the inside of the glass with pleasure.

  “A sparkling wine,” he said, coming closer. “To match your eyes.”

  She smiled up at him, blushing. “And just how much have you had to drink so far?”

  “Not much.” His lips brushed her cheek, then the tip of her nose. “I’m not drunk, love. Nothing but the truth from me.”

  Without warning, her eyes welled with tears. If only the truth was that he loved her. That he was never leaving. She could do without sparkling eyes then. Hell, she’d be happy to be blind.

  She swallowed back the sudden lump in her throat and looked up at him through a faint haze of tears. If he saw them, he was kind enough not to say so, and instead put his arms around her, gorilla fur and all.

  “Dance with me,” he whispered and swaye
d against her as he lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss.

  He tasted so good, so dark and hot and rich it was dizzying. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, letting him make love to her mouth, pouring everything she felt for him into the way she kissed him back.

  And for a moment, everything went away. The ballroom, the music, the laughter a few feet away, the clink of glasses and the rhythmic thud of feet on the dance floor. There was nothing left but her and Rhys, here together, connected so deeply that she could feel his pulse thrumming in time with her own.

  Naturally, that was when the lights went out, something crashed to the floor, and someone started to scream.

  She and Rhys jumped apart so quickly, their teeth knocked together.

  “What the bloody hell…?” he muttered, pushing her behind him.

  The music had stopped when the electricity went off, but there were enough candles lit to provide a slight glow in the darkness. Which was obviously a mistake, Olivia saw with horror, because everyone was panicking and shoving toward the doors, making the flames flicker dangerously.

  “Stop!” she shouted, struggling to get around Rhys, the big gorilla, who seemed set on protecting her from the chaos. “Everyone calm down, please!”

  “They can’t hear you, love,” Rhys grunted. “And why did the sodding power go out?”

  “We need to get to the basement.” She grabbed his arm. “Maybe it’s just a fuse or a circuit breaker or whatever those things are.”

  “Needs to be faster than that, yeah?” He gestured toward the room. Half of the guests had crowded into the hall already, and it was now clear that the crash she’d heard earlier had been Willie and Helen, dropping trays of food in their surprise. Perfect.

  It was turning into the kind of romantic evening only Stephen King would imagine, and there was nothing to do about it but wait for someone to dump a bucket of fake Halloween blood over her head.

  Until Rhys grabbed up his gorilla mask and shoved it back on his head. She blinked, watching as he jumped up onto the nearest table and bellowed out a roar worthy of Tarzan.

  And once again, everything—and everyone—stopped, turning to the gorilla at the far end of the room.

  “Oi!” he yelled.

  His British was coming on strong, she thought, and bit back a hysterical giggle. But he had the room’s attention, and for that he could have been shouting obscenities and she would have kissed him.

  “It’s just the lights, yeah?” he went on, finally taking off the mask so his face was visible. “No one’s hurt, nothing’s on fire. Everyone needs to take a breath and relax until we can get the breaker fixed. That’s it,” he added as a crowd of the partygoers moved back into the room. “Brilliant. It’s dark, so kiss your lasses and finish your drinks. We’ll get this bloody party going again in just a moment.”

  A roar of laughter met his last remark, and Olivia sighed in relief.

  Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, she thought as Rhys jumped off the table and grabbed her hand. And if nothing else, at least they could make out in the basement for awhile.

  Chapter 14

  I t was brilliant to know he could find work as an emergency electrician if he fouled up his cooking career, Rhys reflected sometime around three A.M. They’d rummaged flashlights out of her office, with the help of a candle, and made their way down to the basement, where someone had very obviously been messing with the circuit breakers.

  And that was troubling, but at the moment he was too damn exhausted to think about it. Salvaging the party hadn’t been quite as easy as flicking on the lights, in the end, despite the chance to grope Olivia in the darkness for a few minutes.

  Several good trays of food had been ruined, and some wanker had also found the leftover paint tins in a closet on the second floor—and proceeded to tip them all over the lobby floor, which made a slimy, slippery green mess all over the newly polished tile.

  Trying to sabotage the Monsters’ Ball, he knew. The question was who.

  Olivia hadn’t wanted to address the issue, at least not right away. They’d got the guests fairly well sorted and had pooled credit cards to order a few pizzas since some of the food in the kitchen had been ruined by the time he got the electricity on again. In the end, a good time was had by all, despite the chaos. It had been a strange mix—lots of college students on shoestring budgets and out-of-towners, one gay and lesbian club whose venue had closed without warning, a handful of adventurous seniors, and locals who had seen the thing advertised in the neighborhood. The band’s music and the flowing alcohol had overshadowed the few glitches, he thought. Yeah, a very good time had been had by all.

  Including him, he thought as he stretched his legs out in front of him. The last of the guests, one of whom had been Yelena in a rather horrifying lavender tutu, had been shepherded out a half hour ago, and he and Olivia, Josie, and Gus were sitting at one of the tables in the ballroom. A bit stunned, more than a bit exhausted, but well pleased, he thought.

  “It’s over,” Olivia said with a weary sigh. “It is over, right? I can sleep now?”

  “I’m sleeping right here.” Josie tugged off her wig and shook out her hair before putting her head down on her arms. “That’s not a problem, right?”

  “Not for me,” Olivia said with a laugh. “I think you might be a little stiff in the morning, though.”

  She was tired, Rhys could tell, but more than that she looked exhilarated. Her cheeks were still flushed with the heat and excitement of the party, the dancing, the extra Prosecco she’d drunk somewhere near midnight. Despite the disaster, she’d come through with her head high, and then proceeded to enjoy herself. With him.

  He smiled, watching as she rolled her shoulders back, easing out kinks, the fitted bodice of her gown stretching across her chest. She truly looked like a princess, didn’t she? She’d left her hair down but threaded it with ribbons, and the thick length of it waved down her back in soft ripples. The purple gown set off her eyes and her pink cheeks, and the softness of the dress suited her. She looked a bit dreamy again, otherworldly…although that might have been the exhaustion, he told himself.

  Poor thing needed to be taken up to bed. And he was the man to take her.

  “I believe it’s time to call it a night, yeah?” he said. Even if he hadn’t been about to pass out, he needed out of the damn gorilla costume. He’d started itching four hours ago, and he was sweating like a pig besides.

  “Looks like it.” Gus poked Josie’s arm gently. “Uh-oh. I think she actually dozed off.”

  “I’m awake,” Josie said blearily. “But I can’t remember which room Roseanne put me in for the night.”

  “I’ve got your key.” Gus stood up and took her arm to help her to her feet. He was blushing fiercely, and Rhys wondered if he was going to make a move or bolt once he got Josie upstairs. “‘Night, Olivia, Rhys. Great party.”

  “‘Night, F. Scott.” Olivia waved with a dreamy smile. “Don’t forget, breakfast for everyone in the conference room tomorrow at ten.”

  “We’ll be there,” Josie called as she picked up her shoes and followed Gus out of the ballroom, clinging to his arm. “I hope.”

  Gus shot Rhys an expression of pure terror over his shoulder. There was no proper response to that but for a quick thumbs-up, and a laugh after Gus had turned the corner.

  “I’m not sure I can feel my feet,” Olivia said absently. “I haven’t danced like that in…well, ever.”

  “You were a lovely partner.” Rhys heaved himself out of the chair and walked around the table to pull her to her feet. “In fact, dancing with you was my favorite part of the evening.”

  “Better than making out in the basement?” she said, turning her face up to him with a tired smile.

  “Even better than that,” he murmured and leaned in to kiss her….

  Just as she pulled back and said, “You know, my body is exhausted, but I can’t seem to shut off my brain. All these new ideas for the hotel occurred to me tonight, and I’
m tempted to go upstairs and write everything down before I forget.”

  “You are barking mad, you know that?” he whispered and tugged her close again. “Upstairs, woman. I want to see what a princess wears under her gown.”

  But even after they’d made it up to her apartment, and he’d skinned off the sodding gorilla suit and started on the buttons of her dress, she couldn’t stop musing out loud.

  “I think I want to redecorate the bar next,” she said, letting him slide the gown off her shoulders. “I mean, it’s a bar. There are never enough bars in New York. We should be doing better business.”

  He ignored her, stepping back to admire the lacy lavender bra and panties she’d worn underneath her costume. The sheer material clung to the gentle swells of her breasts, and the panties teasingly outlined the dark triangle between her legs. He grunted as his cock leapt to attention.

  “Then there are all those meeting rooms on the second floor,” she said, absently leaning into his hands as he ran them over her shoulders and down the silky expanse of her back. “I don’t know what we can do with them, but they shouldn’t be sitting empty all the time.”

  He steered her backward toward the bed and popped the clasp on her bra. Her breasts sprang free, the nipples rosy and coming erect in the cool breath of air. Or was it his gaze that aroused her? He didn’t care particularly—he simply wanted them in his mouth, luscious and firm, salty-sweet.

  She shivered with anticipation when he laid her back, raising her hips obediently as he tugged down the scrap of lace between her legs. Her thighs were so creamy, soft and slender and sensitive, especially on the inside. An incoherent noise of pleasure escaped her throat when he bent down and trailed his tongue up the gentle curve of one thigh and pressed a kiss to the curls above it.

  She groaned when he spread her lush lips and slid his tongue between them, teasing wetness from her core, and his cock twitched in answer. He didn’t want to talk about the hotel, he didn’t want to listen to her talk about the hotel. He wanted all of her attention on him, on them. He wanted all of her, right now. He was leaving too soon to hear another word about Callender House.