by Shey Stahl
Take the advice. Trust the advice. For once I know what the fuck I’m talking about.
And if his name is Judah Prince, run as fast as you can.
Look past the fact that he has a vibrating tongue ring and a pierced dick. You’ll thank me for that too. After you fuck him, you’ll thank me. Before fucking happens, you might be intimidated by his dark controlling eyes, as you should be. But seriously, take advantage of the vibrating tongue ring a few times though.
And if you decide not to heed my warnings and you somehow find yourself shacking up with a drummer, don’t get too comfy there because sooner or later, you’re going to find him fucking your neighbor and about to pass out in the hallway with his pants around his ankles because guess what, he didn’t even have enough decency to mount the single mom next door in a bed. They did it against her apartment door. Probably because her kids were sleeping in the apartment. Classy.
And the best part, the part that really puts the icing on the, “Are you fucking kidding me?” cake, just as you finally get him sober enough to break it off with him and his pierced dick, he breaks up with you and asks you to move out.
Truth is, I don’t know why I thought things would have worked out with Judah and me. We’re complete opposites. Where he would stay out until three or four in the morning, I liked to be in bed by ten, and up by five to start the day. Where I liked black coffee, Judah liked Black Label and downed that shit like it was water. But whatever, it’s over now and I’m not going to be bitter.
Oh fuck that. I am bitter. How the hell do you get dumped by someone you catch in the act of fucking someone else? Bastard wasn’t even man enough to let me have the satisfaction of breaking up with him!
Drummers. That’s all I can say.
Unfortunately, my relationship with Judah was my third strike, and in my book, that means I’m out. Out of the game. No dating for me. Obviously, I wasn’t meant to have a successful relationship.
Need more evidence?
Before Judah, I had two serious relationships that ended in breakups. One was a tearful first-love devastation, and one was something similar to me begging my parents to tell said breakup boy I was dead so he’d leave me alone. And now you know about Judah.
So love life status?
Awful.
“SO . . .” A VOICE beside me draws my attention to her. It’s Scarlet, my best friend who is now my roommate. Shh. She doesn’t know I snuck into her apartment last night while she was out.
Actually, now that I think about it, that slut didn’t come home last night.
“Why are you here? I thought you had today off?” She slides a muffin across the counter to me.
You’re probably thinking, aww, that’s sweet. She brought you breakfast. Don’t let Scarlet Rose fool you.
I know where she got it from. She hijacked it from the breakfast bar we’ve set up on the third floor for the Department of Labor and Industries. They’re occupying most of the floor’s conference rooms during their annual electrical training. They’re also part of the reason I’m using to explain my being here this morning. Without me here today, it leaves Heather in charge, and I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her bony ass. She’s one of many who questions my position here, and I wouldn’t put it past her to do something to make me look bad. I know I can’t be here every minute but I can be here today, broken hearted or not.
I don’t make eye contact with Scarlet and continue to look over Shaw Investments requests for their meeting next week. “I did have today off but there’s just too much to do here.”
“I know you don’t trust her, but it’s Heather’s job as the front desk manager.” Scarlet leans into the counter, scrunching her light brows together just before she adjusts her tight, somewhat overly curly hair in her ponytail. “I’m calling bullshit. What’s going on? Did something happen with Judah last night?”
I turn to her and give her the look. The one that says, I needed you last night and your slutty ass wasn’t home!
Isn’t that what best friends are supposed to do? Comfort you in the time of need? I mean yeah, she didn’t know I was in need, but that’s not the point.
“You know,” I begin, glaring at my friend. “It’s funny you mention last night because I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t come home after your night out.”
Her eyes widen, and she tilts her head to the left, just a smidge. “And how do you know that?”
“I know because I was on your couch, waiting for you so we could cry while eating ice cream, and Doritos nachos.”
There’s a quick moment when I can see she feels bad about not being there for me. But she says, “Yeah, well I was out and anyway, how was I supposed to know you were stalking my couch?” She stands up straighter, smoothing out her uniform. “Wait a minute . . . how exactly did you get into my locked apartment?”
“You left your window open in your nonsmoking apartment you can’t seem to stop smoking in.” Grabbing my folders, the muffin, and cell phone, I walk toward the elevators. “I’ve gotta go. I have a meeting.”
I hear her sigh. “We’re talking about this later.”
“Uh-huh.”
She’s right. We will, but right now I don’t have time.
AS THE GENERAL manager at Wellington Suites, I have a meeting every single morning I’m here, which is usually a minimum of six days a week.
While I’m an early riser, I wouldn’t exactly describe myself as a morning person. I’m even less inclined to describe myself as someone who enjoys meeting with my staff who may or may not be plotting my demise first thing in the morning. Unfortunately, in the hotel industry and especially with a property this large, it’s necessary because of everything we have going on any given day.
Wellington Suites is one of the most successful luxury hotels in downtown Seattle. We’re a popular destination for anything from over-the-top weddings to multiday conferences. Sometimes multiple functions at once so for me to be managing a property of this size at the age of twenty-six definitely has many people waiting for me to fail.
Some of that animosity comes from the fact that the owner of the hotel, Weston Wellington, is my father. It’s nepotism at its finest, but don’t let the fact that my dad gave me the job fool you. This hotel has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. I’ve spent my entire life walking these halls.
My father made sure I worked every job held here so that I would understand the ins and outs of what makes a hotel of this magnitude truly successful—its staff.
Truth be told, the hardest part of my job has been proving myself. Every other senior manager in the hotel thinks the position should be theirs, so it’s a constant battle of having to show them daily that I’m not only competent but also capable.
Our morning meetings are held on the second floor in the Evergreen Room. It’s one of our larger conference rooms, making it big enough to house all our department heads and their egos in one place.
As I walk into the meeting room, I notice Heather, the front desk manager, is sitting in the room alone, twirling locks of her curly blonde-roots-showing hair around a pen. When she notices my presence, she shoots me a look of disapproval, “Where is everyone?”
Bitch acts like she’s been sitting here for hours. “They still have a few minutes.” I smile, despite wanting to take this folder in my hand and slap her right across her pretty pale face. “I’m sure everyone will be here soon.”
And then she has the nerve to say, “I have so much to do this morning.”
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. It’s the same complaint I hear from her every morning. She’s one of those people who is constantly chattering about how busy they are yet I never actually see her doing much of anything but bossing the front desk assistants around.
“I’ll try to make it quick so you can get back to it.” I take a seat at the head of the table trying to force a smile on my broken-hearted face.
There’re a few people at this hotel I can’t stand. Heather is one
of them.
We have a total of five senior department heads and with their titles comes some impressive egos. Needless to say, I have my hands full in these meetings.
Just as I thought, people start to slowly file in within minutes. The first to walk in and take a seat right next to Heather is Larry, the Food and Beverage Manager.
When he notices me, Larry cocks his head to the side and clicks his pen, notebook laid out before him the instant he sits down. “Mila, you’re here today?”
Everyone’s so perceptive.
Larry applied for my position too. He almost got it but my graduation with a Master’s Degree in Hospitality Management at the same time the position became available derailed his chance for the job.
Don’t get me wrong. I get why that would chafe some people’s asses, I really do. But the facts are between my degree and my lifelong exposure to this world, I’m completely qualified for the job. Some people just need to get over themselves.
Taking a large bite from my muffin, I chew slowly and then smile. “Well, Larry, here I sit, so yes, I’m here today.”
Soon enough, the rest of the senior department heads come in and before any of them can ask why I’m here this morning, we get started on what’s happening over the next few days. We have a couple of VIP’s coming in this week including an FMX motorcycle racer, Shade Sawyer, who always throws the hotel off balance. Mostly because he brings with him not only a full entourage of friends, family, agents and business managers but also a string of woman who he expects should have access to his room at all times. And don’t even get me started on the nightly parties in the penthouse suite which usually require us to remodel afterward. Ever seen chairs glued to the ceiling?
Have Shade Sawyer stay at our hotel and you’ll find them there and a monkey in the bathroom taking a bubble bath. Shit you not. The monkey was adorable. I wanted to keep him, well, until he shit all over the room.
Why do we put up with it? Because money talks and he’s got it in spades.
The meeting goes smoothly, which is surprising because it usually never does.
I check in with guest services to make sure everything’s set for Shade’s arrival, and then with the facilities manager. So far today, everything seems to be running smoothly.
I’m settling into my office when Scarlet comes barreling through the door, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “Holy shit,” she gasps, attempting to catch her breath and holds up one hand as if to say I have to stop everything and listen to her, “am I hearing right? Because word in the breakroom is that Shade Sawyer will be here this week?”
I laugh. Scarlet is obsessed with Shade. He once said hello to her in the hall after she changed the sheets in his room and stocked his bathroom with condoms. Ever since then she thinks they made a connection, and it’s only a matter of time before he eventually falls madly in love with her in passing, should they meet again.
“He checks in on the twenty-seventh.”
She taps her chin, contemplatively. “Perfect! I’m working that day. Do a girl a solid and make sure I’m assigned to his floor that day, would ya?” And then she fist-pumps the air and plops down on the couch in my office. Shifting, she turns so she can take in the view from the office window. “Shit, you really do have the best view.”
She’s right. My office is on the fifth floor overlooking Elliott Bay. The view is fabulous, and I spend more time in here than I do in anyone’s bed. Notice how I don’t say home? I clearly don’t have one.
While I’ve considered moving into my office because it’s certainly big enough, there’s just something about sleeping at this hotel on a permanent basis I don’t like. I feel like I would still be living under my parents’ roof and while I may have been given an opportunity because of my last name, I work my ass off to be financially independent, and I refuse to feel like I’m being supported by them any longer.
Scarlet looks around. “Okay, you know I love you and all, but why don’t you just stay here until you figure out your next step?” Instantly, I frown at her question, and she’s quick to add, “Don’t get me wrong, I totally don’t mind you crashing at my place, but it’s a shit hole. This hotel’s like the mack daddy of hotels. I’d kill to live here.”
I sigh, staring out at the bay. “Aside from the fact that I don’t want to deal with the whispers and snickering that I’m living off my parents, there’s no way I’m gonna risk my parents knowing I picked another fuckup to move in with? No, thanks.”
I moved out of my parents’ house on Lake Washington when I was eighteen to live in the dorms on campus at the University of Washington where I went to college. They didn’t live far from the school, but I wanted the complete college experience, and that meant not living at home any longer.
On top of that, I was having sex with one of my dad’s business acquaintances and needed some space to sneak around. It was purely for sex, so I don’t count it as a relationship fail, in case you were keeping track.
And here’s another piece of advice to go along with not dating band members. Don’t date bankers. They’re like politicians. Shady motherfuckers who will pretend you mean the world to them just to spread your legs. Lies. All fucking lies.
I face Scarlet. “Scar, I can’t live at the hotel. Can I just crash at your place for a few weeks?”
“If you introduce me to Shade.”
“You’ve met him.”
She holds up a finger. “Technically, no, I haven’t met him. We spoke briefly in passing.”
“Why do you want to meet that guy so bad?”
“Because I want to have his love child.”
“Fine. Deal. I’ll introduce you when he arrives.”
“Perfect.” Scarlet tosses a pillow from my couch at the back of my head. “And since it’s obvious that you and drummer boy are through, we’re going out.”
Going out is Scarlet’s answer for everything life hands you. Started your period? Go out and drink.
Sprain your ankle falling from a two-story fire escape after sneaking out of married man’s apartment? Go out and drink.
Letting out a dramatic sigh, I spin around in my chair, knowing any argument would be fruitless. I turn to face her. “Fine, but only one drink and then we’re going back to your place.”
I say this knowing damn well I’m completely full of shit. I don’t know one person who has ever—once they declare out loud a “one drink maximum” night—actually accomplished that goal. Ever.
At this point, it’s like a sin to say that because you know damn well you’re never going to keep with it.
Before you know it, you’re doing shots and licking salt off a guy named Vin’s arm, and he’s motorboating your tits on the seat of his Ducati hours later.
True story.
Firefighter
People who respond to fire alarms and other emergencies for EMS, fire suppression, rescue, and related duties.
I hate going to Callahan’s on holiday.
Actually, I don’t like going any day, but on a holiday, or the days leading up to it when everyone thinks drinking is the answer to deal with their fucked-up lives, it’s crowded, and I despise crowds of people. They get in your face, say stupid shit, and cause problems.
I also don’t know what it is about me and my brothers, but anytime we’re in a bar, people like to start shit with us. And by shit, I mean fights. Every goddamn time.
Do you know how many bar fights I’ve been in?
Too many.
Do you know how many bar fights I’ve started myself?
Not as many as you might think, but I’ve been known to throw the first punch more times than not because my bullshit tolerance is nonexistent.
Us Ryan boys, we don’t take shit from anyone, and we’ll fight our way through a bloody brawl to prove it.
Jay and Owen, they might as well be Ryan boys too because they’ve gotten in their fair of shit too. Only Owen’s usually the one befriending the guy he just rearranged the face of because he doesn’t like to have
enemies. Finn, he’s still learning, but we’re training him well.
Firefighters work in shifts. We work one twenty-four-hour shift, have two days off, then work another twenty-four shift and then have four days off. Some think that’s a lot of time off. Well, sure it is, but we pick up overtime here and there too.
For the most part, we work the same shifts. I’m on A (Red) shift. Jay, Owen, Finn, Evan and me . . . we’re all on the A shift and have been for the last three years. You know what that adds up to?
A lot of fucking time together.
All this leads me to where the three of us are sitting, tucked away in the back of Callahan’s in a booth near the dance floor. It’s definitely not a table you want to approach unless you have a tough shell and willing to be the brunt of the joke a time or two and not get offended.
“All right, boys.” Jay downs the rest of his beer, slaps his palms down on the table and smiles. “It’s time for me to get home to the wife.”
I smile at him while amusement flashes in Owen’s eyes. He’s always the one pitching him shit. He raises his beer to his lips in an attempt to keep his smile at bay. “Hey, it’s Christmas Eve. Maybe she’ll blow you.”
Six months ago, Jay’s wife gave birth to his daughter. Since then there’s been a lack of sex we’ve heard all about.
I’ve heard guys around the house complaining too that once their wife has a baby, sex goes out the window. Actually, Owen says that but Jay’s confirmed the theory.
Jay stands beside the table and reaches for his jacket draped over the back of a chair. “Maybe if I’m home when she gets back from her mom’s, I’ll get some.”
“Doubt it.” I chuckle, shifting in my seat to stare at Jay. “They probably spent the night talking shit about you. Her mom hates you. Why do you think you weren’t invited?”
