Hot Shot (American Royalty Book 3)

by Robin Bielman

  “How long have you been staying here?” she asks.

  “Couple of months.” I open the door, motioning for her to enter the large open space first. I’ve been in and around hotels my entire life. My family owns four hundred and seventy-six hotels in eighty countries and territories across five continents. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be part of the family business. Before I could even write, I’d follow my dad around our different properties with a clipboard in my hands and pretend to take notes. I’d greet guests in the lobby. Sit atop the concierge desk and tell anyone walking by about the best things to do (eat chocolate chip ice cream topped the list). Auprince Holdings is in my blood and in my heart and I’m grateful I get to do something I love.

  So, it’s always a rush when I watch someone else step into my world with fresh eyes.

  “Wow,” Alejandra says, “this is beautiful.”

  “Thanks. We designed it to feel like home at the beach. All the rooms on the property are this way, actually.”

  She takes in the polished dark wood floor, white shutters, overstuffed beige couches with navy striped pillows, cream-colored walls, and large potted trees in the corners with appreciative, almost dreamlike scrutiny. I smile to myself. She wanted to hate my current place of residence, but she doesn’t.

  “Mission accomplished,” she says.

  “So, you’re staying?”

  “Yes,” she says without looking at me. Instead she walks toward the floor-to-ceiling window that takes up one whole wall with views of the beach. The sun hasn’t broken through the clouds yet, but the picturesque coastline is still killer.

  I try hard not to stare at her ass in her cut-off shorts and fail miserably. Shit. How am I going to keep my eyes off her? My hands? Shacking up together was not my smartest idea. I mean, what if she walks around in a towel? Or sleeps in next to nothing? Drew, you are a glutton for punishment, man.

  She looks over her shoulder at me. I quickly lift my gaze to hers. “Thank you,” she says. The soft, sincere acknowledgment lands directly in the center of my chest, and I vow to keep my dirty thoughts to myself and take this at her pace.

  “You’re welcome.” I move in her direction. “So, quick tour before I head to my meeting. This is the kitchen, obviously.” I gesture to my right and the full kitchen with top-of-the-line appliances that I’ve yet to use. “Dining room.” I gesture to my left and the rectangular driftwood table that seats eight. “Sitting room.” I put my hand on the back of the couch.

  “This hallway leads to the master bedroom and bath.” She follows me to my room. The penthouse is a corner unit and the master’s full-length windows take up two walls. The toilet and shower have their own enclosure. A giant sunken tub sits off to the side of the room. Before I let my mind wander to naked bath time with Alejandra, I steer her back into the hallway and the common area. “This way leads to your room.” We round the dining table and walk down the second hallway, circling the suite rather than going across it.

  “You have a full bathroom here.” I flick on the light so she can take a peek. “And your bedroom is here.” I step through a separate doorway to show her a large room with a king bed, comfortable sitting area, workspace, and one floor-to-ceiling window. Our rooms share a wall.

  “This is beyond generous. Thank you, again.”

  “No problem.” We walk back toward the main living area. “There’s also a small laundry room off the kitchen. And speaking of the kitchen, feel free to use it as much as you want.”

  “I will.”

  “You like to cook?” I lean against the side of the tiled counter. Cooking is not my thing. At all. My brother Ethan gives me shit when I show up at his house on Saturday mornings for a home-cooked breakfast, but what neither of my brothers know is I had a kitchen disaster that scarred me for life. Don’t laugh. I was seven and decided to make myself a milkshake. I put vanilla ice cream, caramel syrup, Oreo cookies and chocolate chips into a blender and pushed the button. Before I remembered to put the lid on. It was an explosion of epic proportions. Worse than the mess to the kitchen, though, was getting sprayed in the face. Ice cream went up my nose. Chocolate got into my eyes. I couldn’t see, panicked, fell off the chair I was standing on, and hit my head on the counter behind me. Had a bump the size of a golf ball.

  Since that day, I don’t think I’ve touched an electric appliance.

  The fiasco is a legit reason to never cook again.

  “I don’t hate it,” Alejandra says. “But I do it more out of necessity than anything else.”

  “I get it.” I glance at my watch. “I do need to get going. Would you like some help getting your bags out of the car? I can send someone up.”

  “No. I’m good.”

  “Okay. See you later, then.”

  “See you later.”

  I take the lobby elevator downstairs to the conference room. My hotel manager, Chin, marketing and publicity manager, Luna, a couple of reps from the PR agency Luna hired, and our event-slash-social planner, Jax, are already waiting for me when I take a seat at the table.

  “Hello, everyone. Thanks for meeting this morning.”

  After exchanging pleasantries, we get right down to business. Our goal is straightforward, but not easy: develop a strategy to win next year’s Best on The Beach award in Condé Nast’s Best of the Best Hotel Awards. I want The Surfeit to be the destination for influencers, vloggers, and those seeking an upscale, yet relaxed vibe. To that end, we talk at length about working themed social hours into our Friday pool parties starting next week.

  Customer service goes without saying, but it can never be emphasized enough so we identify our core strengths and weaknesses next. “Our digital presence is strong,” I say, “but face-to-face communication with every single guest is what’s going to help set us apart.”

  “An enhanced personal connection,” Luna says.

  I nod. “Exactly. Warm welcomes, attention to details, addressing requests quickly, and making guests feel like they’re staying in their dream home. That kind of hospitality will remain with them long after they’ve left.”

  Further discussion takes place well past one o’clock so I have lunch delivered. We take a twenty-minute break to eat and shoot the shit. I wonder what Alejandra is doing. If she’s eaten lunch. I swivel my chair so my back is to the table and text her. How’s it going?

  Good. I’m at work so can’t really talk. Is everything okay?

  Fine. Just wanted to be sure you got settled okay.

  I did. The three little dots wave across my phone screen. Stop. Wave. Stop. Wave. For someone busy at work she sure is taking her time texting me. Maybe I confuse her as much as she confuses me.

  I’m not sure what protocol is, but with my sister I always told her when I’d be home, so I’ll be home around nine tonight.

  Could there be a more polite, courteous, respectful woman who sets my blood on fire? I don’t think so. I reach for my water glass and down it, cooling my jets so I don’t text back something like, Protocol is you naked in my bed with my face buried between your legs. Instead I text, Thanks for letting me know.

  Before I can put my phone down to resume the meeting, another text arrives, this one from my brother Ethan. It’s a picture of Rylee standing in front of a monkey exhibit at a zoo. The accompanying message goes like this… Rylee says, and I quote: “Will you take my picture and send it to Drew and tell him he’s a monkey butt?”

  The kid is damn cute and wicked smart for her age.

  Tell her thank you and the tickle monster will be waiting for her when she gets home. My brother, his girlfriend—Pascale—and her daughter Rylee are driving across the country on a month-long road trip. Rylee’s favorite wild animal is a monkey and I may have called her a ‘monkey butt’ a time or two. She loves the different nicknames I throw at her.

  I slip my phone into my pants pocket and ask if everyone is ready to restart the meeting. They are.

  Luna offers up information on the
trends in the marketplace and statistics on our guests. She cites the hotel’s revenues and what’s working and what isn’t. As she speaks, I stand and pace around the table, trying to focus on her report, not thoughts of Alejandra or how much I want with her what my brother has with his girlfriend. Jax chimes in next with the schedule for upcoming weddings and other events, keeping in mind our brand and upmarket reputation.

  My team is kickass and I tell them so before sitting back down and saying, “Before our next meeting, let’s each brainstorm ways to take our customer’s experience to the next level. Is there an unexpected touch or amenity not being offered by our competitors? Something no one else has done?”

  “Summer is about sustenance of the body, heart, and mind in glorious SoCal and there’s no better place than The Surfeit for fun in the sun,” Luna says.

  “You’ve been mentally working on that the whole meeting haven’t you?” I tease.

  “Maybe,” she answers.

  With that, I adjourn the meeting. Chin stays behind to go over some operational matters with me. “By the way,” he says when we’re finished. “Thanks again for the tickets to the Landsharks game. We had a great time and my son can’t stop talking about Finn.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad you guys enjoyed it.” My brother Finn is the best player in Major League Baseball this season (not for the first time). He’s on fire, his stats confirming that even coming back from an injury, he’s one of the most talented athletes to ever play the game.

  Chin leaves me alone in the room, my thoughts going to my place in my chosen field. I lace my fingers behind my head as I lean back in my chair. Positive mind. Positive vibes. The poolside DJ and social hours are new, and maybe a little risky, but I’ve never played it safe in business. With white-sand beaches steps away and the glitz and glamour of Los Angeles a short car drive in the other direction, we’re primed for prominence even though I feel like there’s still something missing from creating an overall “wow” factor.

  “Hey, Chin said I could find you here.”

  “Hey,” I say turning to my best friend, West. “Did I forget we had something on the calendar today?”

  He takes a seat at the table. “No, I was just in the area so I thought I’d stop by.” West is dressed in his usual business best. Dark suit, white shirt, paisley silk tie.

  “Scouting another piece of property?”

  “Always. This one looks to be a done deal, I hope. I need it. Am excited about it.” He smooths his tie down. His success with buying and selling buildings is exceptional. “How goes the hotel biz today?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  “Did you get the invite to Justin’s party?” Justin is a friend from college and he just bought a boat. He’s christening it with a get-together next weekend.

  “Yeah. You going?”

  “I’m going. And you’re going. I’ll find us a couple of dates to bring along.”

  “I don’t need a date,” I say. The only person I want to take anywhere is Alejandra. Will she agree to be my plus-one? I don’t know. I rub a hand over my jaw. Two dates sandwiched around breakfast with my grandmother isn’t exactly slow.

  “Because…” West draws out the word, confusion creasing his forehead.

  “Funny story.” I haven’t talked to him since getting reacquainted with Alejandra. “Remember the woman who left me at the bar at Swig?” I grumbled about it for weeks so I’m sure he does.

  “Your Zoe Saldana look-alike? Of course I do. You cried like a baby for weeks afterward.”

  “I didn’t fucking cry.”

  “Whined then,” he says with levity.

  “I ran into her again.”

  “No shit.”

  I tell him about finding her in the lobby and introducing her to my grandmother. I tell him I saw her later that night and that I like her.

  “So what? You two are dating now?”

  “Actually, we’re doing more than that. She’s staying with me for a while.” I fill him in on the flood at her house.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he says with a mix of compassion and disapproval.

  “No,” I respond a little on the defensive.

  He raises his eyebrows. “You are shit at reading people, Drew. How do you know this girl isn’t using you? It was one thing to take her home for a night. It’s something entirely different to have her stay with you.”

  My ex, Miranda, makes an appearance in my mind. West is right. Even after what Miranda did to me, I do often give people the benefit of the doubt. I don’t get any negative vibes from Alejandra, though.

  “I don’t care what you’re thinking right now,” West says. “You need to be careful.”

  “She’s different,” I say. “I had to practically beg her to stay with me.”

  “So she’s beautiful and smart.” His skeptical tone negates the compliment. “Look, just do me a favor and keep your wits about you.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” He studies me. Ten years of friendship has taught him a lot about my demeanor. “You really think she’s genuine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I hope you’re right,” he says, letting it go as we move on to the topic of work.

  We talk sports and politics, too, and through the entire conversation there’s a part of my brain that clings to thoughts of Alejandra. She’s unknowingly become my favorite subject.

  I bury the doubt West planted in the back of my mind. I’m not wrong about her. I can’t be.

  Chapter Seven

  Getting to Know You

  Alejandra

  I wrap my yellow scarf around my neck. It isn’t scarf weather, and my first attempt at knitting isn’t anything to brag about, but that’s okay, I’m wearing it anyway. I coat my lips with pink gloss next. Smile at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “You’ve got this,” I say to myself.

  I grab my purse off the counter and before I talk myself out of it, stride toward the hotel room door. I’m about to open it when it swings wide, almost catching me in the forehead.

  “Sorry!” Drew rushes to say as he steps into the suite. “I didn’t mean to barge in. I thought you were working late tonight?”

  “I was supposed to meet with our executive director to work on a grant application, but her son came down with a fever and she wanted to get home to him.”

  “I didn’t realize the senior center relied on grants to maintain operation.”

  “It’s one resource, yes. Most centers have to rely on two to six different funding sources. We’ve typically done well with state and local government funds, bequests, in-kind donations, and participant contributions, but this year is different.”

  “How come?”

  “We have a balloon payment due.”

  He nods in understanding. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “Thanks.” I have no intention of asking him for help. Not yet, anyway. He’s been more than generous already, giving me a place to stay, and we still don’t know each other that well. It would be rude of me to hit him up for a donation right now. I’m worried about the senior center, but it’s my problem, not his.

  “You off somewhere?” he asks.

  “Dinner and a movie.”

  “Meeting your sister?”

  “No. I’m going by myself.”

  “Great. I’ll join you.”

  “That’s okay, I’m good.”

  He looks at me quizzically, like he’s not used to being told no. “No one ever turns you down, do they?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Well, I’ve got a list of things to do and try by myself.” I take a seat at the dining room table, almost sitting on the book I forgot I left on the chair. Drew watches me place the paperback beside my current read on top of the table. After my breakup with Matthew, I decided it was past time I did more things on my own. I’ve prided myself on being independent, but I realized he was always there to lend a hand or accompany me somewhere. For the past
several months I’ve been getting to know me better, discovering what I’m capable of, and it feels good.

  Drew sits down, loosens his tie and the collar of his dress shirt. “Why alone?” he asks without judgment.

  My eyes are drawn to his hand at his neck, working the material of his clothing with dexterity that makes me wonder what else his hands are good at. I lift my gaze to find him staring at me with unmistakable interest.

  “Why not?” I question back, curious how he’ll answer.

  “It just seems out of character for you. From what I’ve seen, you have a connection to people. You certainly drew me in.”

  I swallow hard at his unexpected compliment and rearrange my scarf to give myself something to do. He’s certainly captured my interest as well. “I guess this is out of character, but that’s the point. Pushing myself out of my comfort zone.”

  “Is it a long list?”

  “Kind of? It’s all up here.” I point to the side of my head. “And I add and remove things all the time depending on my mood. I’ve taken a dance class. Refurbished an old piece of furniture. Traveled solo to visit a friend in San Francisco. Hopped on a scooter with no destination in mind. Made this.” I touch the end of my scarf. “Stuff like that.”

  “Well, then, I hope you enjoy your dinner and movie.”

  “Have you ever done either by yourself?”

  “Dinner alone, yes. Movie, no. But then I don’t get to the movies very often.”

  “Was it weird sitting at a table by yourself?” Eating alone feels harder than the other things I’ve accomplished.

  He gets a faraway look in his eyes. “Actually, I wasn’t alone for long.” Of course he wasn’t. “But I didn’t set out to have company. Does it still count?”

  “I think any amount of time alone counts.” I stand. “I should get going. I’ll see you later.”

  “Have fun.”

  “Thanks. I will.” As the hotel room door clicks shut behind me, I decide tonight will be a fun night despite my hesitation. Attitude is everything, right?

  A good thing, because dinner is a disaster and the movie is lighthearted and enjoyable until the hero dies at the end! Whoever in Hollywood thought that was a good idea was way off the mark. I’m still not over it as I park my car next to Drew’s in the underground parking structure.