Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Predictably, that realization only makes me notice her more. The way her blouse falls open at the top, just enough to—fuck.
Stop.
I have to turn away and stare at this gold abstract art piece mounted on the wall before I can look at her again.
“I’ll call someone to deal with the mess. Let’s get started, assuming you can find a way to keep your son entertained.”
“Oh, yes. He has a coloring book and I won’t let him out of my sight. I’ll make sure he’s set up before we begin Mr.—um, do you prefer Patton or Mr. Rory?” She tosses the sopping wet napkins in the trash and grabs Arlo’s hand.
“Patton’s fine,” I clip, wondering who the hell recommended her—and how I managed to get myself mixed up in this shit.
This is the kind of comical mess Dexter normally steps in, like when he blabbed to Haute that he was engaged to the bakery girl when he really wasn’t. His big fat mouth landed him a world of hurt.
Of course, since they’re married now, maybe it wasn’t all a colossal fuckup.
“You can call me Salem. Thank you so much for this opportunity. I couldn’t believe it when I got the call,” she says with a disarming smile. Again, I’m pissed at myself for hearing ‘MILF’ on repeat in my head.
She’s legitimately pretty, though, if you can look past the beady-eyed little munchkin who looks like he’s plotting to drown me in coffee next time.
“It’s what we do,” I say with a shrug. “Here at Higher Ends, we’ve decided we’re better off building our management team from the ground floor rather than poaching talent elsewhere.”
She nods enthusiastically.
The kid skips behind us until we reach the meeting room.
“I’ll be right with you,” she says with a polite smile.
I wait for her as they linger outside for a minute, whispering to each other.
I bite back a smile as the kid gets some ‘mom talk.’ How familiar.
The shit I pulled when I was knee-high almost put my poor mother into a coma.
I can’t make out much, just a few harsh pleas for him to ‘behave’ and something about losing weekend pizza rights for the next ten years.
When she finally walks in with the boy sulking behind her, I show her inside and shut the door.
At least in here, Arlo can’t cause too much destruction. Just in case, I hand him a Higher Ends notepad and a blue pen to go with the coloring book Salem pulls from her bag. While he scribbles away noisily, I gesture for her to sit next to me at the end of the long table.
“You came here with a glowing recommendation. Mr. Persephone himself, from the fashion brand. He knew my folks for years,” I tell her, praying I won’t have to make someone regret those words. “Your previous hotelier experience speaks for itself.”
“I have a thick skin. Working at Copper Roof will do that.” She gives me a strained smile.
Copper Roof? That’s her experience?
The place is a frigging dive, just off the main highway leading into town from the Kansas state line. The place was never anything close to luxurious even in its heyday, when Elvis music and new veterans back from Korea were common there.
“Don’t let it scare you. I knew this job wouldn’t be easy and I love a challenge. After years working there, I can handle anything,” she tells me proudly. “Trust me, I’ve dealt with roaches who had bigger egos than the nastiest guest.”
That wins her a smirk, and I’m annoyed to admit she has a point.
“That’s what I like to hear, Miss Hopper. I’ll remind you that while I’m giving you a shot, your performance is what really matters in the end. The hours and sweat you put in with us are far more important than a few lines on a résumé.”
I give her a quick rundown of her duties. How we’ve mapped out the daily operations, our system for dealing with complaints and improvements, the brand commitment to providing excellent service, and generally helping maintain the lofty standards set by our earlier successes.
To her credit, she takes quick notes in neat script that fits her vibe. With the blouse tucked into her navy pants, she fits the businesswoman profile perfectly.
Everything except the immaculate ass I shouldn’t be staring at.
Minus the small child on the other side of the table, that is, who’s looking at the pen like he’s contemplating how to turn it into an ink cluster bomb.
I’m half convinced he damn well could.
But if he starts scribbling on walls or the furniture, I don’t care who he is. I’ll tackle him like a football.
“Patton?” Salem asks. “Mr. Rory? Sorry, did you want to say more?”
“Right.” Focus, focus. There’s a crease between her eyebrows. She probably thinks I’m an idiot. “Where was I?”
“You were talking about the perks…”