by Mariah Dietz
The envelope of money stares at me from the couch, reminding me how little she appreciated me not listening to her yesterday after she’d refused the winnings the first time.
Instead of waking her, I open my bedroom door and check the room she shares with Vanessa, which is currently empty, and quietly carry her back to the other bed. I lay her down, and she rolls to her side, snuggling into the pillow. I lift the blankets to cover her and silently pull the door shut behind me.
Down in the hotel’s reception, I stop at the concierge desk where Cammie, one of the best in the business, is seated, preparing for her day.
“Mr. Banks,” she greets me with a smile. “How can I help you? Would you like me to make any reservations for you?”
“Good morning, Cammie. I’m looking for some tickets to one of the Cirque du Soleil shows. If they have any private balconies, that would be brilliant. I’d like two. Also, could you please make arrangements for Vanessa and Chloe Robinson to receive full spa treatments this afternoon?”
Cammie scribbles a note with the details. “Anything else?”
“We’ll need a dinner reservation. Can you make sure we have a table available here at Fork? Something near the back that’s more private.”
She nods with understanding. “Absolutely. I’ll be sure the chef knows you’re coming. How many will join you for the reservation?”
“Four total.”
She nods again, adding to her note before flashing a smile. “Perfect. I’ll have the confirmation for the show sent to your email. If you need anything else, please let me know.”
I weave through the hotel reception, comparing it to the others we’ve seen over the past couple of days, making my way to the conference room the general manager and accountant are meeting me this morning.
“Mr. Banks,” Marshall, the GM says, rising from his chair. “It’s so nice to see you again, sir. How have the accommodations been?” He’s quick to move forward and shake my hand, smiling like we’re friends, though I’ve only met him a handful of times, all of them involving me staying here for bender weekends that I’d tally in the regret sector of my past.
“Good, thanks.” I shake the accountant’s hand as well, wishing one of them would remind me of her name because I always feel like such a twat when I can’t remember someone’s name in intimate settings like this.
Neither does.
“We’ve prepared the documents you requested,” the accountant says, sliding a file to me as I sit at the round table.
“Wonderful. The hotel is in pristine condition, and I know with the weather and guests we receive, that’s not always easy to maintain, so please, know my compliment is sincere. Also, our room has been wonderful. Clean, updated, classy,” I tick off the things we pride our hotels on. “I would like to hear from you both in regards to any concerns you might have. Obstacles with which you’re struggling? Staffing concerns?” I leave it vague because each hotel has similar obstacles, as well as unique ones, and because I’ve apparently been too obvious in my questions about the management company.
Marshall flashes a smile. His mostly silver hair is short, a flawless fitting black suit decorating him like a figurehead. I did my research on him last night and discovered he’s been with the company for fifteen years, transferring from another hotel into a management position. I don’t think I would have made the same hiring decision off paper, but in person, Marshall’s quick to impress, his confidence as flashy and bright as the city.
“Well, we met with Mr. Avery a couple of months ago to cover pretty much everything, and we mutually agreed we’re doing quite well. We’d like to eventually expand the pool and do something a bit more impressive with a wave pool and some slides, but for now, it does the job. And the new carpeting that was delayed should be done next year, which will really add a lot to the basic suites. Hopefully, we can consider doing something with the bathrooms in about five years, incorporating some of the design elements that were suggested.”
I glance over the expenditures, searching for the carpet. “You mentioned the carpets were delayed. Was that due to the contractor? Materials?”
Marshall sits up, annoyance flashing across his features as he shakes his head. “Everything that could go wrong has. But isn’t that the case with all construction projects?” He laughs.
“So it’s been fully funded?”
Marshall looks at the accountant for confirmation, and she nods. “Yes, sir. You can find that on line item G-five-forty-three.
I skim to the referenced line and nod. “And it wasn’t refunded?”
Marshall shakes his head. “No, sir. Avery said it would help with taxes and we’d schedule it to be done next year.”
I nod, noting the similarity. “How about staffing?”
Another wide grin. “We could always use more staff, but who couldn’t?”
“Your check-in and check-out times always exceed goals. Where are your pain points?”
We go over how housekeeping needs additional space and discuss the contracts we have in place with the laundry and food services, and then go over forecasts and future projections and what Marshall thinks would drive traffic and make the Banks Hotel stand out amongst competitors—a question I’ve asked each general manager and am always surprised with the responses because rarely are they of value. Most times, it’s the concierges and front desk staff who provide the most insight on what could be improved. And the housekeeping manager and maintenance manager always have drastically different challenges than what the GM shares. It has me realizing there are many areas of disconnect, or possibly our GMs have been trained to downplay or possibly conceal potential issues.
We break before the concierge team comes to meet with me, and I check my phone, discovering a text from Chloe.
Chloe: You should have woken me up. I slept in and am now at the spa. Pretty sure you drew the short stick this morning.
I grin.
Me: You were exhausted. Are you enjoying the spa?
Chloe: Immensely. Thank you for arranging this.
Me: You’re welcome. I’m going to meet Cooper for lunch, and then we all have dinner plans at 6 and a show at 8.
Chloe: You need to lower the bar. This is day one.
Me: Pretty sure this is day 2.
Chloe: Depends on how we’re measuring time.
Me: I’ve known you three weeks shy of two years because you’re wrong. The first time we met was on campus, outside at a coffee cart by the science wing. You and Vanessa were ahead of me in line. You smiled at me and randomly bought my coffee in one of those American pay it forward things.
Chloe: Are you sure? I would have remembered you.
Me: I was wearing a hat and sunglasses, nursing a hangover, and you guys were in your own world, talking about some party you didn’t want to go to.
Chloe: …that’s crazy.
Me: I’ll see you at 6. Also, bring a jacket.
I think about the memory I shared that was seemingly innocent and unimportant, and how a month later, I was introduced to her when Cooper invited me to hang out with him and a friend in an environment that didn’t involve shots or the gym. I can remember the surprise when I recognized her. Then, two weeks later, she was in front of me again, only that time it was at a party, sans Cooper. Over the past two years, she’s continued to appear in my life, sometimes at the most inopportune moments and others when it seems like fate is trying to give us another chance.
Cammie and the other two concierges enter the conference room, and I tuck my phone and memories away as I ask them to tell me about their perceptions and other realities.
I step into the restaurant ten minutes late. My final meeting stretched on so long, I finally had to stand up to indicate I had to leave when my casual attempts to look at my watch and push my chair back didn’t seem to work.
The manager of the restaurant walks me toward the back, trying to make polite conversation as we pass through the darkened space. The sun is already beginning to set in the dis
tance, making me regret not having gone outside for one of my breaks today. That disappointment slips away as we turn the corner, and I see her: light pink dress, nude lips, bright eyes, and a smile that stretches across her entire face as she laughs at something. It seemed impossible to cross that line with her, and now it seems impossible that it took so fucking long for it to happen.
She notices me, her laughter dimming to a radiant smile as we cross the rest of the way to the table. I stop at her chair and kiss her cheek before taking the seat next to her, across from Cooper. I set my hand on hers, watching as she turns her hand over and weaves our fingers together. “You look stunning,” I tell her.
She smiles, her cheeks staining a light shade of pink.
“Hey, man,” Cooper says. “We didn’t choose your drink, so if it’s wrong, blame it on poor management.” He winks.
I grab the glass, smelling the clear liquor. “Gin and tonic,” I tell them. “It’s my father’s drink of choice.” I slide it back with my fingertips.
“Ready for this, Tyler?” Vanessa asks. “Look what Chloe bought me.” She pulls a shirt from a gift bag on her lap. Across the front is a green sea monster with “Nessie” written across the bottom.
Chloe laughs again, revealing it was the source of her laughter from moments ago. “I found it in the gift shop next door. This is what happens when you guys leave me unattended.”
Vanessa shakes her head, dropping it back into the bag.
“How was your day?” Chloe asks, turning her attention to me.
“Good. Long. I’m glad we have tomorrow off, even if it’s to drive again. The next time we do this, we’re flying.”
“I don’t know,” Vanessa says. “I’m warming up to the car.”
“That’s because you sleep most of the time,” I point out.
She flashes an immediate smile that looks guiltier than it does joyful. “Touché. But really, with how long it takes to get through security and things anymore, I don’t know that we’re losing that much time.”
“Flying,” I insist.
“I won’t argue,” Vanessa says with a dismissive shrug. “Just tell me where to sign up.”
The chef comes to our table before we can consider a continuation of our travels, telling us about the specials he’s prepared and wines that will pair well with each dish.
Chloe slips her hand from mine to reach for her glass, and I place my hand on her thigh. I mindlessly run my fingers over her skin, brushing random patterns across the surface.
One of my favorite parts of our trip has been our dinners—like those in England, they’re longer, extended with conversation and laughter as we talk about the food and our day. This one is no different, except Chloe’s gaze frequents mine, and I’ve spent most of the time with my hand on her thigh, reliant on the feel of her skin. It’s as though the simple action allows me to breathe and relax, only interrupted when we have to leave to catch the car to take us to the show.
At the theater, an attendant escorts us to our private seats. Everything is covered in deep shades of plum, blood red, and ocean blue. There’s a small table with a bottle of wine and two glasses, the bouquet of red roses, and two large upholstered chairs.
“These seats are unreal,” Chloe says, looking at the stage in front of us while I take in the full image of her. The dress ends a modest distance above her knees and has a sexy yet demure cut in the back that reveals a slender patch of her spine. Her heels are thin and high, and when she turns around with her lower lip tucked between her teeth, all I can think about is hiking her dress up and slamming into her again.
The attendant offers to open the champagne, reminding me of his presence.
“Yeah. That would be lovely, thank you.” I step aside to give him easier access to pass and slide Chloe’s chair back. Folded over her arm is the jacket I told her to bring. I hadn’t considered it would be so small.
She smiles at me as she takes a seat while our champagne glasses are filled.
The attendant pulls our curtain closed behind him, leaving Chloe and me alone in the small space. I release the buttons of my suit jacket and take a seat in the chair beside her. There’s a twinge of awkwardness as we’re both reminded how often we avoided spending time together like this for so long. She smiles shyly, setting her jacket down beside her. “How did things go today? Did anything seem amiss?”
I lean close to her, catching her lips in a kiss that is soft and gentle, an I’ve-missed-you kiss that quickly progresses into an I-want-you kiss as my tongue dances with hers, her nails raking over the short sides of my hair, drawing me closer as my fingers curl around the back of her neck, and my other hand goes to her waist, wanting little more than to pull her into my lap, lower my zipper, and have her ride me.
The lights flash with a warning that the show will be starting soon, and Chloe’s kisses grow gentler before she pulls back, her green eyes shining with a desire that has me struggling to remain in my seat.
She rubs her lips together, reaching for her champagne. “I’m glad to see you as well.” Her lips curl around the glass, creating an entirely new provocative thought. “What are your plans while we’re in California? Will you have to work most of the time?”
I blink through my lust, attempting to focus on the question and my upcoming calendar. “I have a meeting on Wednesday morning and then again Friday morning.”
“All day again, like today?”
I gently lift my shoulder, uncertain. “I’m hoping not. This was painfully long because there was a lot to discuss, and one of the managers couldn’t understand me—claimed my accent was too thick.”
She belts out a laugh that makes her nose crinkle in one of my favorite expressions of hers because it’s pure and unedited. “How did you guys manage?” She runs her tongue along her top lip, not even realizing the effect it has on me.
“We had to wait for someone to come and be my translator.”
Her shoulders shake with a gentle laugh. “But it all went okay? No issues?”
I reach for my glass of champagne, drinking half of it with one swig. “The hotel paid to be fully re-carpeted. It was a few hundred thousand dollars, and the work hasn’t been done, and it’s been over eighteen months.”
Chloe’s eyes round before she blinks. “Is that normal?”
“It’s not uncommon for charges to be made in a separate calendar year for tax purposes, but eighteen months is on the cusp of being suspicious.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could help you with this.”
I don’t mention that the figures are minuscule enough that it doesn’t raise any alarms and wouldn’t make much of a difference; it’s a matter of principle and trust that has me following up on this—respect because there are few things as important to me as the hotel’s running successfully and fluidly. “I just want you to enjoy your time.”
“You go to work, and I play all day. Pretty sure you don’t need to be worrying about me enjoying myself. But, I have done a ton of research on California, and if you’re able to get off at a reasonable time on Wednesday, I’m planning a date. A Robinson style date, which—warning—will likely consist of a food truck and something outdoors.”
“You aren’t going to get us lost in some desert, are you?”
Her mouth falls agape. “They didn’t mark the trail!” she cries out.
I bend at the waist, laughing away the rest of the stress I’ve felt all day in my shoulders. “It’s a date,” I tell her.
“And…” she continues. “I told Coop to invite you a few weeks ago, but just in case Mr. Forgetful forgot to mention it, I have tickets for all of us to go to a cocktail event in San Francisco before the meteor shower. It’s going to be a total geekfest with lots of astronomy students and professors and some renowned scientists, and the food is likely going to be awful compared to what we’ve been having, but—”
I interrupt her with a kiss as the lights begin to dim. “I wouldn’t miss it,” I tell her.
She flashes a smile t
hat steals my breath—it’s adoration with a shot of appreciation that reminds me how it’s always been time that she appreciates most, which is why in each city she’s made an effort to get us to do things all together.
The lights fall even lower, and the orchestra begins to play. Chloe slides over in her chair, sitting as close as she can, considering the expansive chairs. I set my right hand on her thigh, and she reaches for my left hand, placing it on my right thigh and weaving our fingers together. I press a kiss to her temple before sitting back to watch the beginning of the show.
The moves on stage are artistically beautiful and sexual and have my body thrumming with energy each time Chloe’s gaze shifts to mine. I run my thumb across her thigh, moving my hand fractionally higher with each pass. She moves her attention to my hand and then the surrounding area before she glances at me. “We’re really exposed here,” she whispers. “I think we’d get kicked out.”
I grin as I lean forward and shake off my jacket and drape it across her lap. “If anyone looks, they’ll think I’m just holding your hand,” I tell her as I reach beneath the black cover and gather the layers of her dress. Her eyes are wide with surprise, but her thighs relax as she parts them for me. I run my middle finger along her seam, her soft gasp instantly making me hard. I trace over her again, then lightly rub her clit through her panties, feeling the muscles of her thighs constrict. She rocks her hips forward against my hand. I change the motion, using two fingers to follow across her opening. “I’ve been thinking about doing this all fucking day,” I tell her quietly. Her eyes slide to me as I slip my finger beneath her underwear, drawing circles over her exposed clit. Her heels angle her hips upward, giving me the perfect access to slide across her entrance. Her fingers constrict around mine as I lazily move closer to her core, her teeth catching her lip as she stares at the stage. “You’re so wet for me.”
