Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
That’s a lie, but the concierge is clueless. “Certainly.”
As his promise leaves his mouth, a commotion outside the hotel silences the lobby. A woman is shouting, and although her voice is cultured and smooth, the language she uses to express herself isn’t.
She swears like a sailor on shore leave.
“I’ll just… Ah…” The concierge is flustered again, but this time, it is directed outside instead of at me. “Lesley is a whizz at room key consignments.” He waves his hand at the check-in counter. “If you wouldn’t mind…” He issues his gratitude with a smile when I move toward the short queue before all his plea can leave his mouth.
“Good evening. How can I help you?” asks the stunning brunette operating the counter a short time later.
I wait for Lesley’s eyes to reach my face before announcing, “I locked myself out of my room.” When I realize I didn’t catch the concierge’s name, I murmur, “James said you could assist me.”
I don’t know if her blush is because I busted her staring at my crotch or from me bringing James into the conversation again.
His name alone brings out an array of emotions from his colleagues.
Lesley’s embarrassment switches her attitude from friendly to professional in less than two seconds. “Certainly. What is your room number?”
“Umm.” Her suspicion increases the longer I delay answering. “I’m not sure, but it’s on the thirty-seventh floor.”
She smiles. It isn’t as genuine as the needy gawk she hit me with when I approached the desk. “What name is the booking under?”
“Laken Howell,” I reply, confident that’s the name Knox used since James mentioned me by name when he called to advise I had packages to collect.
A keyboard being clicked is the only noise between us before Lesley says in a professional tone, “Thank you for choosing to stay with us, Mr. Howell. I can organize a replacement keycard once I’m supplied with some identification.”
Naturally, I dig my wallet out of my pocket before my fingers veer for the slot that houses my driver’s license.
I stand frozen for a few seconds when I notice the empty compartment, and the truth smacks into me.
“My license expired a few weeks back, and I haven’t gotten a new one yet.”
Lesley doesn’t sound a smidge apologetic while asking, “Do you have any other form of ID?”
When I shake my head, she purses her red-painted lips and peers down her nose at me, her temperament suddenly icy.
“You can call the room. My brother is in there. He’ll vouch for me.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that. Your room has a do not disturb request on it.”
“It’s my room, so how could you disturb me by calling it?”
She shushes me, and I deserve it. I’m being a nuisance. I am just not accustomed to being shot down so quickly. It stings my ego and has me wondering if paying for services is in fact the only way I’ll be able to loosen the tension that’s been binding up my shoulders for the past ten years.
“Sorry.” You’d swear my short temper got the best of me again when she glares at me for endeavoring to find another way to access my room. “What about Knox Samson’s room? Does it have a do not disturb order?”
She only clicks her keyboard a handful of times before saying, “We do not have a guest of that name staying at our hotel.”
“He’s here. He dropped me off earlier. He’s staying in the presidential suite.”
Barely two keystrokes sound in my ears before another abrupt headshake. “That is not the guest’s name on that booking.”
As I scrub my hand down my face, too tired for more theatrics, Lesley signals for the next guest to step forward.
Pissed at being disregarded so rudely, I hold up my hand, stopping the gent’s approach before shifting my focus back to Lesley. “What do I need to get back into my room?”
“Identification,” she answers matter-of-factly, her tone as snappy as mine.
As she impatiently taps her fingers on the glossy counter, I place my bank cards on the ledge separating us. They’re all expired but in my name.
“Photo identification,” she clarifies after taking in the cards for barely a second, her tone unapologetic.
“I don’t have any photo ID on me right now, but James—”
“Then I’m sorry, sir.” She spits out the last word in a snarl. “I cannot grant you access to your room.” She slides a complimentary drink voucher my way, her tone not as aggressive as earlier. “The bar is open until two. Perhaps you can wait there until your brother can grant you access to your room.”
Mindful arguments rarely end in my favor, I stuff the complimentary drink voucher into my pocket, thank her for her help, then trudge to the bar.
Partway there, I’m mesmerized by a vision even a man surrounded by topless beauty queens would stop to admire. I can only describe the redhead entering the revolving glass doors of the hotel one way. Perfection. Her piercing green eyes and voluptuous red locks starkly contrast her almost translucent skin. And her body… fuck. My skintight jeans were already uncomfortable, but now they’re downright painful.