by C. M. Steele
Room Service
It’s Raining Men
C.M. Steele
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
Copyrighted © 2021
All Rights Reserved
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.
Cover design: C.M. Steele
Cover Image: Deposit Photos
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Cassandra
A day of mishaps.
A convoluted plan.
A hot man in just a towel.
Yep, I’m in trouble.
Jamison
I watch her on camera, trying to determine her motivations, all the while knowing mine. Little miss trespasser is going to learn that I’ve worked hard to get where I am, and I always get what I want. As soon as she’s standing in front of me, my little criminal understands she’s been caught.
But she doesn’t know I’m never letting her go.
Chapter One
Cassandra
“Mom, just relax. It’s just a short vacation.” I tiptoe closer to the front door because I’ll miss my flight battling with her.
“You don’t need a vacation.” I roll my eyes at her which makes her angry as always, but she’s pushing my buttons. I don’t know why I bother even seeing her because we end up getting into an argument.
“I can’t stay here and find any peace and quiet. I want to sit on a beach, let the sun hit my face, and read my books.” I have so many on my TBR that I’m dying to scratch off. I keep promising myself I will, but work and new books to add just keep my to-be-read pile growing instead of shrinking.
She scoffs, tipping her nose up in the air so high I can see her damn brain. “You mean that trashy garbage they pawn off as literature?”
“When is the last time you picked up a book, Mother?” I snipe. She might not pick up a book with sex in it, but she sure as hell can’t get enough of those shows on Netflix that are all the rage and full of lusty plots. Hell, she’s watched a bare-chested Henry Cavill many times.
“Who has time to read? You’re wasting your life looking for the perfect man. They don’t exist. Marry a man like your stepbrother. Charles is good-looking enough, and I’m sure you can train him to spoil you,” she says, patting my cheek before giving it a pinch. “You could use some color.”
“I don’t want someone like Charles.” She looks as if I said something evil. I shake my head and pat her hand. “Anyway, I’m going on vacation, not running away, so relax. You stress me out more than work does.” And work most certainly tests my patience, especially because I’m working for my handsy stepbrother. We met four years ago just before I turned eighteen and we hardly spoke until he hired me, so it’s not that taboo feeling that bothers me. It’s the fact that I don’t find him the least bit attractive, interesting, or even a decent human being. He’s the definition of arrogant and sleazy.
“You’re overreacting, as usual. I’m telling you it’s stupid to go all the way to Nowheresville for a vacation all alone. Anything could happen to you.”
“I have three days to enjoy my time alone.” I check my new waterproof watch. “I have to go. I’ll see you next week.” Or maybe not at all. I’ve considered dropping everything here in Chicago to move somewhere quiet so I can read and take it easy.
Having worked for Charles for the past two years, I’ve saved as much as I could over those years as well as my inheritance from my father to enjoy working when I feel like it and find my own path. For the past decade, I’ve done everything by my mother’s decree, including working for my stepbrother. I’m just twenty-two with no fundamental skills other than hiding away from my mother’s demands.
“Come back here, Sandy,” she shouts as I march out to my Jeep Patriot. I ignore her because I’ve never liked being called Sandy, and she knows it. Hell, she didn’t like it until Charles, my shithead stepbrother, started calling me that. Then suddenly it’s such a cute nickname. I gag every time I hear it.
My flight leaves soon, so I need to get my ass moving. I pull out of her driveway, regretting that I came to say goodbye. I’ve packed cash and my cards, keeping some in my luggage and some in my purse. I have everything I need, including my tablet full of brand-new reads to fill my time on the sandy beach.
Turning up my music, I send the incoming call to voicemail. My mom needs a chill pill. Seriously, it’s not like she cares about me personally, but what my behavior can do to her reputation. I turned down three different Ivy League schools and enrolled in community college just out of high school, thinking smart. I still don’t know what the hell I want to be. Having graduated in December with a degree in Business Administration to have something to work with while I figured out my life. I’m seconds from quitting my job with Charles, but I’ve held onto it to protect my mom’s feelings. Although, I’m not sure why I bother; it’s obvious she doesn’t care about mine.
I rock out to some Imagine Dragons and let the tension roll off me. Once I arrive at my apartment, I call a cab because I don’t do any of those ride-share programs. There are way too many scary stories for my liking. It comes rather quickly, giving me two hours to get through check-in before my flight takes off.
After I’m all settled in, I take out my tablet and look at my book list. I can’t decide what to read, so I turn on one of my games on my phone while listening to music in my headphones. The time passes as I try to build up my gardens, so much so that I nearly miss my call for my flight. Settling in my seat, I put my phone into airplane mode and listen to music, peacefully falling asleep.
The flight attendant wakes me as we prepare to make our descent. I rub my eyes with the back of my hand and then get my things ready while enjoying the view of the ocean. We touch down outside Spring, Florida into a busy airport. I hope that most of these people are staying here and not heading toward Spring. I check the signs and follow them over to the luggage return to wait for all the suitcases to come down, which seems like forever. People come and go, taking their luggage, but my bag isn’t here. What the motherfuck? Tapping the shoulder of one of the attendants, I ask, “Is this everything?”
He looks at the luggage carousel and back to me, clearly seeing that it’s bare. “It should be, Miss. Did yours not come down?”
“Nope.”
He gives me a nervous smile. I school my expression because he probably can read the annoyance off my face. “You can head over to that desk and speak with Roger. He’ll get you squared away.”
“Thank you,” I grum
ble, trying to not take my bad mood out on him. I take a breath and then walk over to the guy at the desk. “Hello, Roger. That guy over there told me to see you about my missing suitcase.”
“I’m sorry to hear that ma’am. Please fill out this form and hopefully we’ll be able to get it in your hands by tonight.”
I nod and then I spend the next five minutes filling out a missing luggage report and hand it over to the man. He reviews it and works my nerves by asking me questions. This has been a day from hell.
“Yes. I’ll be at The Jamison Hotel,” I confirm with the man at the airport’s service desk. Roger seems nice, but I’m not in a pleasant or forgiving mood. I nod and walk away before I say or do something to show my true colors. Even though I’m sweet as pie most days, I can turn into the damn devil if provoked, and that’s not far away. I’m only in town for a few days to find some rest and relaxation, and I’ve already gotten off on the wrong foot.
What I can’t understand is how they can lose my luggage on a nonstop flight from Chicago to Florida? Something in my head screams my mother has her hand in this.
I get in a cab and take the short trip to Spring, Florida. “Can you take me to The Jamison Hotel in Spring?”
With a nod, he drives to the hotel. After paying my fare, I exit the vehicle with just my purse. I do myself a favor and tuck my bag close to me before someone robs me of that.
The hotel is gorgeous and large, but it’s not massive. I enter the lobby to find it mostly empty. The receptionist at the desk gives me a look as if she’s not ready to do her job. There’s a bitchy look to it.
As I step up to the counter, the desk phone rings and she puts her hand up to me, telling me to wait. Scanning the room to keep from snapping on her, my heart and body freeze. Walking across the lobby toward a hallway is a tall, sexy man in a charcoal grey suit that fits his body perfectly, and I can’t take my eyes away. His profile catches my attention, but then the clearing of a throat draws me back to the lady at the counter.
I smile apologetically at her. “Excuse me, I’m checking in. My name is Cassandra Tate.”
She clicks away then looks up at me with an arched brow. “Sorry, but we don’t have anyone registered by that name.”
“What? I made the reservation a month ago.”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have you in our database.”
“Please check again. Cassandra C-A-S-S-A-N-D-R-A Tate T-A-T-E.”
“I know how to spell,” she hisses as she types away. “I told you we don’t have you listed.”
“Well, do you have a room available?” I question, feeling a sense of dread.
“The only one we have is the villa, but I’m guessing that’s out of your price range.”
“How much is it?” I bite out, hating her snobby tone.
“Two thousand dollars a night.”
“What the hell? Is someone washing your ass for that? Nevermind. Is there another hotel in town?”
“Sorry. There isn’t. Now, please, before you draw any more attention to yourself. We like our town to remain peaceful. Perhaps you should go back to wherever you came from. There are other spring break resorts all over the state to look for men to sleep with.”
“Perhaps you should learn not to be a cunt,” I retort before spinning on my heel and leaving the hotel. I should call a cab back to the airport, but I refuse to let them win. Instead I want to go enjoy the beach.
First, I need something to eat. After you get past the large hotel, you step into this small town that looks straight out of a movie. “The Munch Box,” I read aloud, looking at the sign outside a restaurant. “Yep, a small-town feel,” I mutter before walking in. I wonder if Mr. Suit will show up. Is he in town for business? Vacation? Does he work for the hotel? From my one stolen glance it’s clear he commands attention.
I step inside and take a seat, but I suddenly find myself not hungry. Grabbing an order of fries, I take them to go with a pop. Walking down the quiet streets, catching the attention from the locals as I snack, makes me nervous. When you live in a major city, no one stares unless they’re going to say something. Here, I feel eyes all over me. Do they not get a ton of visitors? They must. Their hotel is large, and it’s fully occupied—well, except the villas. Those babies are pricey.
I walk down to a less crowded area and sit down on a bench. My phone rings in my purse, so I set down my bag of fries and dig for the damn thing. By the time I pull it out, the caller hung up. I swipe my code to unlock it, only to have it ring again. It’s my mother. Of course. I should have known.
“What, Mother?”
“Is that any way to talk to your mother?”
“Depends. Did you cancel my hotel reservations?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” her voice jumps an octave, proving she’s a liar.
“You totally did. Where the hell did you think I’d sleep?” I shout into the phone as I feel my blood boil.
“You could come home.”
“Oh my fucking God,” I scream, hanging up the phone and tossing it in my bag before pulling out my tablet. I have to try to control my temper. This is supposed to be a relaxing vacation. Stalking toward the beach, I find myself going through an alleyway. Of course, going down the wrong way in a place I’ve never been. I take out my phone and hold it close just in case someone is lurking.
Seconds later, I’m clipped by a bicyclist. I fall to the ground and then another man helps me to my feet. I start to thank him when he cuts my purse. “Hey,” I shout. Going to give chase, I find that my knee’s throbbing, and what’s worse is that no one could see it since it happened in an isolated part right before the beach. “I can’t believe this,” I hiss, slamming my hands down at my thighs. I’ve lived in Chicago my entire life and have never been robbed. This vacation has sucked ass.
At least I still have my phone. It’s one thing I’ve learned: never carry everything together. Maybe I can call the airport to see if my luggage has arrived. Checking the phone, I notice my battery’s almost dead. I don’t have time to call and cancel anything before my battery dies. Ugh. This is total bullshit.
I’m so over Spring. It’s now the worst season and town. I hold back the tears I feel coming. I have to get away from this. My phone buzzes again, and it’s Charles. I should answer and ask for his help, but he told me not to go. My stepbrother believed it wasn’t safe to go alone and promised to take me on a vacation next month, but I was being stubborn because he’s always reminding me how much better my life would be with him. It’s been that way for years and I hate it, so I’ll suffer and figure something out.
I’m sure there’s got to be some charging ports. I’ve seen them at hotels before. I dip into the pocket of my dress and remember I have some spare cash in there.
“Now, where can I get a spare charger?” I look and think about it. There’s a local grocery store. I rush down the street, but then feel the pain in my knee again. Damn it, I walk gingerly to Spring Grocery, hoping they have one for extremely cheap. As soon as I get inside and find the section, I see I’m a dollar short. Fucking hell. I grab something to snack on at least because my nerves upset my stomach and I couldn’t finish my fries earlier.
Maybe I can find someone to help. People around here appear kind, but then again, the bike assholes looked nice too. Shit, let me not forget the registration desk chick. So far this small town has been the most unfriendly place I’ve ever been.
I don’t know where I’m going, so the beach seems like the most relaxing place. I power down my phone to save whatever little juice I have left and walk aimlessly for what feels like forever. “The view is gorgeous.” My body is feeling the exercise even though I normally do an hour of cardio every day.
From the direction of the sun, I’d say I’ve been roaming for at least a couple of hours. I’m feeling the heat intensify with every step in the burning sand, so I search for some shelter. About ten feet from me is a massive villa. It’s beautiful, and I wonder if they have a phone charger
I can borrow.
The entire back area of the beach house faces the ocean with large glass patio doors. From my view, I don’t see anyone inside. There’s no vehicle around here either, so I’m betting no one’s home. I duck off to the side of the house and take shade under a large palm tree that makes it at least ten degrees cooler.
Hopefully they’ll be here soon. For now, my plan is to relax, but I can’t lie here forever, which means I’m going to have to call my mother. I seriously dread asking her for help especially because she’s the reason I’m in this spot in the first place. I don’t trust her, but frankly I’m out of options.
At twenty-two, I shouldn’t have to rely on my parents, and normally I wouldn’t. I feel tears fall from my eyes which pisses me off because I’m not sad, I’m angry. I swipe them away and try my best to chill.
I could call Charles too, but calling him means admitting defeat. He would love to remind me that he’d been right about my safety and I should have gone with him on vacation. As I consider powering up my phone and making the call to Charles, I decide I can’t handle his smugness. I’d rather die in the sand.
With my hands behind my head, I think about the only bright spot in my awful day: the man in the suit. His muscles could be made out through the material, and goodness—he was all man. I bite my lip, thinking about how good he’d look out of it. I’m losing all sense of decency apparently, but I still can’t shake the power that exuded from him as he spoke to the other man. With a sigh, I relax until I let my thirst and fatigue get the better of me and fall asleep.
A loud boom jolts me out of my sleep. “Oh no,” I cry out, standing and sliding in the sand as the rain comes down hard. Looking around, I see there’s a light on through the windows. A deafening, thunderous roar followed by a spectacular display of lightning has me dashing for the villa, hoping someone’s home now and it’s not just automatic lights. I don’t know whose residence it is, but I need to seek shelter and help. I knock, but no one answers. Another lightning strike hits on the water. I tug at the sliding door and surprisingly, it’s unlocked, and I walk in, calling out for assistance, but no one answers. Perhaps it’s one of those time-shares.
