Suite Hearts

by Caitlin Daire

  Maybe it was time.

  Just as I was worrying about the problem at hand, my phone rang shrilly in my hand. It was my mom. I ducked into a hallway of the hotel, still in my bellboy uniform, and answered the call.

  "Mom, I'm working," I said. "You're really not supposed to be calling me when I'm on my shift."

  "Well, you have to find more, and faster too," she replied. "We have to prove what's going on at the Mirabella, and you’re just taking too long. You need to get more information! I want—"

  "Fine, Mom." I cut her off. I didn't give a shit if I was being rude. This fixation they had on taking down the Cadwells was getting seriously out of hand, and I didn't want to contribute any more to their obsession. "Listen, I'll find out more tonight, okay? I'll see what I can do. Just stop calling me at work."

  "Fine," she retorted, and ended the conversation.

  I leaned against the wall and rubbed my eyes. It was too much pressure, all of it. The job, my parents demanding I find more information, and then Peyton on top of it all...

  The worst part was knowing I would have to tell her the truth eventually, and she was going to hate me for it. But what else was I supposed to do? With my parents breathing down my neck, I couldn't be honest with Peyton. But the longer the charade went on, the more she would hate me when the truth finally came out. That much I knew for sure.

  I looked down the length of the hallway. There was no one in sight.

  I hadn't gotten close with anyone who could help me with the issue at hand, and I knew finding the bad guy here was something I had to do by myself. And there was nothing else to do but get to the bottom of the missing money.

  I walked down the hallway like I didn't have a care in the world. I was only a few doors away from the office of Vincent Cadwell. I'd been delivering some packages to one of his coworker's rooms, and I figured it was as good an excuse as any if I got caught snooping.

  The gold plaque on the door told me I’d arrived at Vincent's office. I looked down the hallway nervously again, but it was as empty as a few seconds before. I tried the door.

  It was locked. Of course.

  I cursed inwardly, but decided to swipe my employee keycard just in case.

  When the door actually unlocked on the first swipe, my eyes widened. It must’ve been a temporary bug in the security system, allowing it to recognize any card. I knew from my parents’ hotel that it was something that happened from time to time when the systems got rebooted.

  Unlucky for Vincent.

  But lucky for me.

  This was crazy, though. Was I really going to snoop in Peyton's father's office for clues to a problem I shouldn't have even known about?

  I heard a noise in the hallway, and before I could change my mind, I opened the door and stepped inside, quietly closing it behind me. My heart was pounding as I stood in the forbidden room. I shouldn't have been doing this, but there was no way out now. I had to wait until the person in the hallway left, or risk running into them when I went back outside. I didn't want to raise any questions about what I'd been doing, so I knew I had to wait it out.

  And if I was in the office already... I might as well look around. Maybe I'd finally find something to stave off my parents.

  I stepped toward Vincent's desk. His computer was off, and I wasn't about to try snooping on something that was surely password-protected. Instead, I decided to go through his filing cabinet. Surely he documented every expense and kept copies of hotel finance records along with his own, including tax returns. He seemed like a diligent guy who paid attention to details, and a little old-fashioned at the same time, so I was certain all the information he wanted to keep was printed out and filed away—including the original copies of anything which might back up the dodgy file I found, if it was actually dodgy.

  I found a drawer labeled ‘Tax’ and pried it open. Several thick folders filled the drawer, and I randomly pulled out one that seemed to have the most papers inside it. I didn't want to file through it there in the office, so I walked back toward the door.

  I pressed my ear against it and tried to figure out whether there was still someone out in the hallway. No noises so far, which was a good sign.

  I opened the door and walked outside, the folder under my arm. There was no one in the hallway, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I kept walking.

  I was almost at the elevators when I heard someone call my name. I tried not to freeze up, and I turned around with a bright smile. "Hey," I said with relief at the sight of Andreas. "What are you doing here, man?"

  That's right. Divert the attention toward him. We never saw each other on this floor—we weren't even supposed to be here unless there was a package to deliver.

  "Think I got a bit lost." Andreas laughed.

  "Well, come with me," I said. "I was just delivering a package to one of the offices here."

  "What’ve you got there?" he asked me, pointing to the folder under my shoulder.

  "Just something I'm supposed to take upstairs," I replied. "Something about new employee benefits."

  "Oh man." Andreas sighed. "I hope they give us dental insurance."

  "You and me both." I smiled, and elevator arrived on our floor. The doors dinged and opened, and we stepped inside.

  "Hey, by the way," Andreas said. "I'm having a party tonight. Nothing big, just a little staff get-together for our new coworkers. Think you could make it?"

  "I'll do my best," I replied. "Where is it?"

  “Just at one of the hotel clubs.”

  “Cool.”

  "Oh, we might also have some pre-drinks at my place," he said.

  I nodded just as the elevator doors opened again. "I'll try to be there," I said, stepping out of the elevator. "Where do you live?

  “In Oakwood, at the Tozier Towers. I’ll text you my address."

  "No worries. I’ll see you later.”

  I waved him off and disappeared around the corner, where I leaned against the wall and took a deep shaky breath.

  Fuck, that was close.

  "I still don't understand how this has anything to do with me."

  Tristan put down his beer glass and peered at me suspiciously.

  "Well, you went to business school," I explained. "I really have no one else I can talk to about this, apart from my parents, obviously. But I don’t want to talk to them about it, because they’re so biased."

  "So that's the only reason you called me?" Tristan raised his eyebrows. "You need my help?"

  I could tell where this was going, and I knew I'd have to swallow my pride and explain myself a little. So I gave him a guilty look and ran a hand through my disheveled hair. "Look, man," I began. "I know we've had a rough couple of months. A whole year, really."

  "Yeah," he said in a clipped tone. "We have. Because you've blown me and the rest of the guys off completely. It fucking sucks, Kaden, and we both know it was a shitty move."

  "You're right." I raised my hands in front of myself, trying to own up to my mistakes. "It was shitty. The way I acted, how I pushed you away. It wasn't the right thing to do, and I should’ve known better. You're absolutely right."

  "So why did you do it?" Tristan took another sip and glared at me over the rim of the glass. "You know, I'd love to believe things are going to be different from now on, but after you blew me off like that, I'm having trouble believing you're not just trying to use me for your own benefit."

  "I'm not," I said in a strained tone. "I've been meaning to call, Tristan. I've been a total dick, I know. But..."

  "But what?" he asked.

  I sighed again. Why the hell was this so hard to get off my chest?

  "I haven't felt like myself," I finally managed to get out. "For a long time now. I've just been struggling with what I really want, you know? And all this partying, the girls, the booze..."

  I looked up at Tristan to see if what I was saying struck a chord with him as well. There was an unreadable expression on his face, and he cleared his throat and looked away as I
went on.

  "It’s just not what I wanted to be doing at this age," I said. "When we were eighteen, sure, that was fine. But now? I don’t know. I wanted a career, a girlfriend… something more stable. Something… I don't know… something to live for, I guess. A purpose in life. A reason to be doing the shit I was supposed to, you know? I know that sounds lame as shit, but that’s the truth.”

  He nodded, only once, but I could tell he understood.

  "I never meant to cut anyone off," I said. "It just happened, because I didn't know how to explain these doubts I was having. I honestly doubt George feels this way, you know? He would never understand."

  "But I would," Tristan said, giving me a hard look. "I would've known exactly what you were talking about. And you shouldn't have grouped me with the rest of them. I thought we were different. I thought this was a real friendship, man."

  An awkward silence fell between us, and then Tristan sighed, leaned forward and clapped me on the shoulder. He smiled at me, and just like that, I knew we were good. That was the best part about my friendship with him. Every time we hit a snag along the way, we'd talk it through and things would go back to being just the way they were. The sign of a true friendship, I always thought.

  "So," he said with a grin. "This is about a girl, too."

  "Well..." I hesitated, and he laughed out loud. "Fine, a little bit, yes."

  I filled him in on everything—my parents making me get a job at the Mirabella, my feelings for Peyton, the incredible kiss we'd shared. I also gave him the seemingly shady file I'd found weeks ago along with a copy of the hotel’s official financial report for this quarter and the tax files I got from Vincent’s office today. Then I finished by telling him about my parents’ gleeful suspicion that the Cadwells were evading taxes.

  "So what do you think?" I finally asked him when we was finished looking over all of the papers.

  He cocked his head to the side. "About your inappropriate crush or the money sitch?" he asked.

  I grinned. "I guess the money for now," I replied. “You can see how that one file doesn’t add up with the rest of the reports or Vincent’s tax files, right?”

  "Yes. But I think your parents are looking at the problem too closely, because they’re so desperate to find anything to cause the Cadwells’ downfall," he said. "The Cadwells could be doing it, sure, but honestly, tax evasion would be a huge risk for them. Not just the penalties and the possible jail-time, but the bad publicity for the hotel and the small benefits it would reap. It just doesn't make sense to me—why would they gamble like this for a very small positive outcome? This file only shows a few million missing overall, compared with the official financial reports. A few million is probably pocket change to them."

  "Maybe. But in the end, it’s still millions of dollars," I said.

  “True.”

  "Well, who or what do you think it is, if not the Cadwells?"

  Tristan shrugged. "As I said, I think you're looking at it too closely. It’s not just Peyton’s parents who run the hotel. There's a shit-ton of other people, and that includes accountants. So if there's a discrepancy in the files, I'd look at them first. It's not exactly easy for one of them to hide some of the money coming in and pocket it for themselves, but it’s still doable if they’re smart enough. How many accountants work there?"

  "No idea," I said. "There’s over thirty offices in the accounting department, but a lot are empty. Fifteen, maybe twenty?”

  "Well, my guess is it's one of them," Tristan said.

  “Okay. But I can’t go to Vincent or Francine Cadwell with those suspicions, just in case it’s actually them doing it after all. Because they’d just get better at covering it up.”

  “True. You’ll have to look into it yourself, I guess. For now, anyway. So start investigating the accountants. Try and find the bad egg, if that’s where it is. That's all you can do, man. And for Christ’s sake, you need to come clean to Peyton."

  I sighed. "She's going to hate me."

  "Probably," Tristan said, and I punched his arm. "Ow. But you know you've gotten yourself into a mess here."

  "I do," I said. "I shouldn't have lied, but I didn't know I'd like her this much.... Otherwise I would've never taken this job."

  "But then you wouldn't have met her," he said.

  I gave him a long look. "No," I said. "I suppose you're right."

  It was his turn to punch my shoulder, and I grinned at him as he downed his beer. "I missed this," he said, setting his glass down.

  "So did I," I replied. "So what do you think I should do about Peyton now?"

  "You just can't stay away, can you?" Tristan asked with his eyebrows raised. "Well, you told me about those pranks you've been playing on each other. She just had her turn. So wouldn't you say it's your turn now? Maybe if you do something funny and cute, it’ll butter her up enough for her to be in a good mood when you tell her the truth."

  “That’s a good idea.” I nodded slowly, then grinned wickedly. "And yes, it is my turn….and I may just have the perfect idea.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Do you happen to have a number for an open-minded florist?"

  "Open-minded?" Tristan raised his eyebrows and laughed. "Oh man, this is going to be good..."

  14 Peyton

  “Ugh!”

  I wrinkled my nose and spat out my first bite of the soggy pizza I’d ordered up to my suite. Balling up the napkin I spat it into, I threw it onto the plate and pushed it all aside with a sigh. This awful culinary disaster was meant to be my dinner.

  Hurrah.

  Everyone I knew seemed to be busy tonight except me. My friends all had various work commitments, Mom and Dad were at some business gala, and Allegra was out with some new friends she’d managed to make recently. I’d warned her (nicely, of course) that a girl in her position needed to be careful about who she made friends with, seeing as so many people in this city were out for fame and liked to cling on to socialites and celebrities, but she seemed to think they were fine. Thus, she was attending her first ever dinner party up in the hills.

  As for myself, I had nothing on the agenda, which was rare for me. No parties to attend, no events to pose at, no new products to launch.

  Zilch.

  Even the media seemed to have better things to do. In recent days, they’d finally calmed down and started to leave me (and the Mirabella) alone, and so there hadn’t been any paparazzi or journalists camped outside for a while now. It was weird how much quieter things were despite the fact we were fully booked. I guess I’d gotten used to the massive, almost stifling buzz surrounding the hotel when my sister first returned. It was a relief that it was seemingly over, though.

  Seeing as I had nothing going on for the time being, I’d decided to have a quiet night in my suite and order in some pizza to enjoy while I watched a movie. I needed to be careful about my weight, though, so I ordered this ridiculous healthy version of a pizza from a nearby place that delivered, and god…it was horrendous. The base was made from boiled cauliflower which had been mashed and then flattened and baked into a so-called crust, and the veggie toppings were sparse and quite dismal.

  To be frank, it tasted like ass.

  Why couldn’t food that was good for you actually taste good? I’d found a few decent-tasting healthy options in my time, but they were few and far between. It really sucked that the world pressured girls like me to be skinny, but then gave us so-called ‘healthy food’ which tasted worse than what I’d want my worst enemy to be given in a Siberian gulag.

  A sudden knock on the door startled me out of my annoyed musings. I jumped up and rushed over to it, hoping the restaurant had realized their mistake and sent me something palatable.

  Instead, I saw a delivery man standing there with a bouquet of red roses in his arms and a smile on his face. It wasn’t a friendly smile—it seemed like he was trying not to laugh at me.

  “Ms. Cadwell?” he said, barely disguising a smirk.

  “Yes, that’s me
.”

  “These… err… flowers are for you.”

  He pressed the bouquet into my arms, and it was only then that I noticed the actual contents of it. It wasn’t just red roses with a card.

  Hidden amongst the fragrant blooms were several blue silicone dildos. There were all different sorts—some were small, others were bigger, some had glittery interiors, and others had little ticklers attached.

  “Who… who is this from?” I asked, my eyes widening.

  “I don’t know. The cards might say,” the delivery guy said before walking away, leaving me standing at the doorway in shock.

  “Cards? As in more than one?” I called after him, but he didn’t reply.

  I frowned as I closed my door and headed back into my suite. Placing the heavy bouquet down on a table, I yanked out a white envelope from the bottom of the arrangement. Then I turned it around and saw a smaller card stuck on the back. This one wasn’t in an envelope.

  I opened it to see a poem.

  Roses are red,

  Your new dildos are blue.

  Enjoy the ride, sweetheart,

  Hope the toys please you….

  ‘Sweetheart’ was underlined, and I narrowed my eyes. Cade. Of course! Who else would find it amusing to send me something like this? I should’ve known immediately, given the pranks he’d pulled on me in the past.

  I opened the bigger card next.

  Peyton,

  Hope you enjoyed your flowers. I have another surprise for you, too. Meet me in the lobby at 8:30 tonight to get it….

  C

  I looked at the clock on my wall. It was already a quarter past eight. Cade must’ve somehow found out that I had nothing on tonight, and he’d timed this ‘surprise’ accordingly.

  So what was the next surprise going to be?

  Going by what he’d sent me tonight and in the past, I could only assume it was bright pink anal beads. Or a bedazzled paddle complete with a spanking horse for me to bend over.

  I had to admit, as much as these childish pranks annoyed me, I was still curious to meet Cade and see this ‘surprise’. And not just that. I also wanted to confront him once and for all, find out why he’d stuck a target on my back for all these pranks. Was it all for fun and games because he wanted to be friends, and the kiss the other day was simply a one-time thing? A mere accident?