Just a Fling: A Heartthrob Hotel Novella

by Kiss, Tabatha

  Ira. One of many tough guy soldiers I’ve encountered throughout my life but the only one who turned out to be a little more than just a tough guy.

  “Am I doing this right?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, breathless. “You’re doing fine.”

  “Haven’t done this since Burma.” He exhales slowly. “You remember that full moon?”

  I smile, thinking back. “Three babies in two nights. Hard to forget.”

  Ira focuses on Michelle’s face again as he gently lowers to sit down on the edge of the bed, her tiny form easily nestled along his thick arm. “Two nights of patrols around the hospital and all we could hear was screaming.” He shakes his head, amused. “I remember thinking that I’d never make a woman go through that.”

  I laugh. “Whoops.”

  “You weren’t alone, were you?” he asks me.

  “No,” I answer. “I had friends. Helped walk me through it.”

  I pause, suddenly wondering what it would have been like had he been there holding my hand instead. If I had told him from the start, would he have come across the country to do just that?

  Should I have given him that choice?

  “Ira, are you okay?” I ask him, my voice cracking.

  Ira nods.

  “Just letting it sink in?”

  He nods again. “She’s mine?”

  “Yes,” I say. “She’s yours.”

  His chest rises with his deep breath as Michelle suddenly fidgets in his hands. Ira smiles while I brace myself for the incoming cry and Michelle lets out a high-pitched scream. He laughs softly, seemingly unaffected by the sharp noise filling the silent room.

  I go still, torn between motherly instincts to protect and womanly urges to watch this play out just a little bit longer.

  A father and his baby girl. Fearless and strong.

  While I stand by, trembling with weak knees.

  “She’s beautiful,” he says, his voice blending with hers.

  I nod, unwilling to speak over the moment.

  After a few more seconds of screaming, Ira looks up at me. “I think I’ve exhausted my skills here...” he says.

  I step toward them as he raises her up. “She’s probably just hungry,” I say as I take her back. “Or tired and confused. I should really get her back downstairs.”

  Ira stands off the bed as I fasten Michelle into the car seat again. She falls quiet in the familiar comfort, letting out a series of softer coos rather than squeals.

  “If you need to feed her, you can... do it here,” Ira says behind me.

  “Oh, no. I, uh...” I drop my head. “I can’t. She’s bottle-fed.”

  “Okay.”

  I hesitate. “We tried. She never latched and—”

  “Veronica, you don’t need an excuse for that.”

  I look up, making eye contact with him. “Thank you,” I say.

  Ira walks toward the writing desk and pulls open the top drawer. “You’re here through the weekend?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  He comes back with a small, white card in his hand. “My cell number is on the back,” he says as he extends it toward me. “Text me your new address in town and I’ll check it out.”

  “You’ll what?”

  “I want to make sure it’s a good neighborhood,” he says.

  I chuckle. “Ira, I’ve already—”

  “Vegas real estate agents lie through their teeth every day. I’ll check the place myself.”

  “Ira—”

  “Veronica.”

  I exhale and snatch the card from his fingers. “Fine. I’ll text you the address.”

  “Thank you.”

  I pick up the car seat again, carefully hooking it under my arm as I watch Michelle’s tired, little face squirming inside.

  “Room 1209?” he asks behind me.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon. We’ll talk then.”

  I turn to face him as my heart flutters in my chest. “I guess this means you want to work something out?” I ask.

  Ira glances down, his gaze locking on my baby. His baby.

  “Yes,” he says, his tone as firm as ever.

  Oh, boy.

  * * *

  I step off onto the 12th floor, briefly pausing to remember which direction to go. I follow the numbers toward room 1209 and pause in front of the door to find my room key in my back pocket. Michelle lets out a cry as I swipe the card through the reader and I whisper a few soothing words as I push the door open.

  The television blares from the corner of the room. The sound quickly mutes as I walk inside and Derrick sits up from the armchair in the corner.

  “Hey,” he greets as he rubs his tired eyes.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “That was fast. How’d it go?”

  I sigh. Hard. “It went well. I think.”

  He stands up, instantly wide-awake and drawn to the finicky cry from the car seat at my side. “Does she need a change?” he asks.

  “Maybe,” I say as I set her down on the bed. “I’ll take care of it, though. Will you make up a bottle for me? Then, you can go.”

  “Sure.” Derrick stays in front of me. “And how are you?” he asks, his head tilted.

  I breathe a laugh. “Mommy will check the mini-fridge for her bottle once the baby is down.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “You’re her nanny, Derrick,” I say. “Not mine.”

  He nods. “Yeah, her nanny. Your friend. Comes with some overlap.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, giving in.

  His eyes narrow, unconvinced. “What’d he do?” he asks.

  “He didn’t do anything. A little shocked, rightfully so, but he took it well. He wants to get together tomorrow to talk some more.”

  “That’s good,” Derrick says, pausing. “That’s good, right?”

  “That’s good,” I confirm.

  He reaches out and pats my shoulder. “Well, chin up, toots. The hard part’s over.”

  I nod, slowly replaying the night over again in my head. Not quite sure I agree with that. The hard part is definitely going to include keeping calm the next time Ira holds his little girl.

  “Right,” I say.

  “I’ll get the bottle.” He moves to pass me but stops. “Did you tell him about...?”

  “No,” I say. “No, that didn’t quite come up.”

  “You think you will?”

  I glower at him.

  Derrick throws up his hands in surrender. “Gotcha. Friend hat off,” he says. “Nanny hat on.”

  He continues on toward the overnight bags while I desperately try to fit into my mommy hat. The woman hat still feels pretty snug along my brow after seeing Ira again.

  After seeing Ira with her. The way he smiled as he held her. The way he looked at me in a way he never has before...

  Mommy just might need a cold shower tonight.

  Three

  Ira

  Yes.

  Of course, I want to work something out.

  Of course, I want to be in my daughter’s life.

  Of course, I want to be a... good father?

  Yes, I said.

  Why did I say yes?

  I stare into my glaring laptop screen. Black fonts on a white background just kind of blend together into shapes I cannot even begin to understand.

  Around three months, your baby may begin to discover their hands.

  They learn cause and effect — when they touch something, it moves!

  Never in my life have I considered the basics I take for granted. At some point, I obviously learned that I had hands. I learned what they did and what different surfaces felt like, either by chance or through my mother’s guidance.

  Christ, is this the kind of stuff my mother thought about all day? Tummy time and feeding schedules? And she had four kids. Four.

  But she had my father’s help, along with the nanny. How is Veronica doing this all on her own?
<
br />   Of course, I said yes.

  But should I have?

  I don’t know a thing about parenthood.

  Why did I say yes?

  “Excuse me?”

  I look up as someone gently taps against the doorframe. Half of a youthful face peeks inside and I give the girl in a navy blue blazer a quick nod.

  “Hey, Marla,” I say. “Come on in.”

  She pushes the door open. “Hey, Mr. Botsford.”

  “What can I do for you?” I ask.

  “Oh, I don’t need anything. I just, um...” She timidly scans my office. “Are you okay?” she asks me.

  “Yeah,” I answer, glancing up from my laptop screen. “Why?”

  “Because you’re in your office.”

  “And?”

  Her chubby cheeks twitch. “At three AM? With all the lights turned off?” She chuckles. “Stop me if I’m overstepping here. I’ve just been here a year and this isn’t exactly normal you-like behavior, so I just thought I’d pop in from the front desk and make sure you’re not having a late-night freak-out of some kind. I’m really sorry for bothering you, if I am. I just felt… concerned…”

  I sit back in my chair and breathe a laugh. “No, you’re right, Marla. I’m sorry.” I stretch my stiff neck. “I’m not freaking out. It’s just been a strange night. In general.”

  “Things not go well with Towel Girl?” she asks.

  I furrow my brow at her.

  She leans back. “I work the night desk. I hear things.”

  I exhale hard. “Okay, yeah. My night with Towel Girl took an unexpected turn.”

  “Unexpected like... a pretty woman with a baby unexpected, or...?”

  I tilt my head in response and her hands rise.

  “I work the night desk,” she says. “I see things.”

  I lean forward. “Marla...”

  She gulps. “Yes, sir?”

  “What did you see?”

  “A woman came in at eight forty-five,” she says quickly. “She checked-in and went upstairs.”

  “She came in with a baby?” I ask.

  She nods. “And a man.”

  “A man?” I repeat.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “She came in with a man?”

  “And a baby,” she says. “They checked-in.”

  My chest lurches. “Together?”

  “Yeah — but they got separate rooms! Right across the hall from each other but… separate.”

  “On the 12th floor?”

  She squints in thought. “Yes,” she answers. “Yes. I think so.”

  I hold my breath. “You see anything else?”

  “I complimented her shoes,” she says. “They were really nice.”

  I nod slowly. A man? Veronica came in with a man?

  “Thanks, Marla,” I say as I turn back to my laptop.

  What man?

  I close my browser and quickly open the Guest Information database with my authorization code.

  “You’re welcome, sir.” Marla takes a step back but lingers in the doorway. “So, have you heard from your brother lately?”

  I abandon my search. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “Oh.” She chuckles. “I just mean, uh...”

  “Jonah?” I ask the obvious choice.

  “Yeah, I love him.” She quickly shakes her head. “His band, I mean! I’ve seen them play like ten times.”

  I smile at her nervous, dimpled cheeks. “Last I heard, they were up in Seattle,” I say.

  “Cool.”

  “But... he’ll be in town this Friday.”

  She perks up. “He will?”

  “Yeah. It’s our mother’s birthday.”

  “Oh, happy birthday!” she says. “To her, I mean. Not you. Obviously. She’s real sweet to me when she comes in. Nice lady.”

  “I’ll be sure to pass on the message,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “Her shoes are always real nice, too.” She pauses, her lips pressed together. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your... not late-night freak-out...”

  I nod. “Thanks.”

  “About a woman with a baby.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And another man.”

  “Goodnight, Marla.” I bite my lip as she slinks out into the hall. “Hey, Marla.”

  She turns back around. “Yes, sir?”

  “If you could...” I lay a finger over my mouth, “not mention this conversation to anyone, that’d be great.”

  She lays a phantom key along her lips and turns it. “You got it.”

  “Or even what you saw in the lobby tonight. Just...” I briefly cover my eyes, “didn’t happen. Mmkay?”

  Marla smiles. “My eyes and lips are sealed, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No one really talks to me much anyway,” she adds, stepping back. “Goodnight, Mr. Botsford.”

  I watch her go, feeling a twinge of sympathy for the girl as she disappears into the shadowed corridor.

  As head of security, it’s my job to keep tabs on the staff as much as the guests. Marla Gorchinsky’s background check came back clean as a newborn; a perfect applicant for my father’s work-study partnership with the local university. Most applicants stay on long after graduation in our welcoming, social environment... but I often wonder about quiet, distant Marla. Is she merely anti-social or are the socials anti-Marla?

  Either way, I’ll have to give Jonah a nudge the next time he passes through. A quick hello from him will obviously put a smile on her face.

  I sit up and shift my focus back to my laptop. Veronica arrived here with a man.

  I want to know who.

  Robb, Veronica.

  I open her file and scan the information on the front page. Checked-in at eight forty-five, just like Marla said. Room 1209. She put a Do Not Disturb on the room. No phone calls or wake up alarms. For Michelle, I imagine.

  For my daughter.

  My guts twinge as that word sinks in a little deeper. Daughter. I never once pictured myself with a daughter. A son, maybe, but I don’t know the first thing about little girls. I never had sisters, either.

  Still, I can’t stop thinking about that baby in my arms. So tiny and vulnerable and...

  Who the fuck is that man and why is he around my daughter?

  I sort Guest Information by timestamp, quickly finding the next check-in after Veronica’s.

  Clark, Derrick.

  Room 1210. Right across the hall from 1209.

  I lean forward, eager to scan his file. Paid in full with a credit card. A card belonging to... Veronica Robb?

  She paid for his room?

  I squint in thought. Who the hell is this freeloader and why is he around my daughter?

  There’s not enough information here for me to know much of anything about this guy. A standard background check would take too long. I’ll have to take this to someone with more connections than I have.

  Stella.

  Four

  Ira

  Whitney looks up from the hostess podium and sees me. “Hey, Ira.” She smirks. “Table for two this morning?”

  I ignore the obvious hint at my private business. “No,” I answer. “Just need to talk to Stella. Is she here?”

  Whitney points over her shoulder. “At her usual,” she says. “Go on back.”

  “Thanks.”

  I pass by her and navigate around the tables toward the small table in the back corner. Stella Walsh sits there alone with a small French press next to her mug and a stack of paperwork laid out in front of her. Thick-rimmed reading glasses balance on the tip of her nose between a line of blonde bangs and devilishly red lips.

  I approach the table and pause. “Hey, Stella.”

  She glances up and nods. “Good morning, Ira,” she greets, her thick, husky voice not fully-caffeinated yet.

  I gesture to the empty chair across from her. “Do you mind if I sit?” I ask. “I could use your help with something.”

  “Go ahead,
” she says as I slide out the chair. “Though, I must warn you, nothing I say before I reach the bottom of this mug should be considered sound legal advice.”

  I chuckle. “It’s not really you I need.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Can you get in touch with your brother for me?”

  She blinks. “Nigel?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you need a dick for?” she asks.

  “We have a guest staying here, presumably for the next few days,” I say, my hands speaking with me. “He checked in last night.”

  “Excuse my apathy, kid, but that’s kind of our thing around here,” she quips.

  I chuckle. “Right. But. I want to make sure he’s... on the up and up, so to speak. It’s personal — and time-sensitive or else I wouldn’t involve Nigel.”

  “How time-sensitive?”

  “Spare no expense time-sensitive.”

  She shrugs and slides a yellow legal pad off her stack of paperwork. “Give me a name and a room number and I’ll give little brother a nudge.”

  I slide a pen from my breast pocket and jot it down. “Thank you, Stella.”

  “Should have something by tomorrow.”

  “Not sooner?”

  “He’s a busy dick.”

  I push the legal pad toward her stack and sit back in my chair. “Fair enough,” I say.

  Stella eyes me over the rim of her mug as she takes a long sip. After a few moments of me just sitting here, she lowers the mug and squints. “Is there something else I can help you with, Ira?” she asks.

  I hesitate as my eyes dart around for open ears. “Actually, I could use some legal advice,” I say, lowering my voice. “Hypothetical legal advice.”

  She chortles. “What’s Hayden gone and done now?”

  I wave a hand. “Nothing. It’s for me.”

  “Go ahead. Just remember what I said about the mug.”

  “Okay, let’s say that...” I lean forward, clearing my throat. “Say a client came to you... having recently found out that they may have... unknowingly... fathered a child.”

  Her brow rises. “You sure this isn’t about Hayden?”

  I chuckle. “I’m sure.”