Crazy for Cuddles (Accidentally Yours #2)

The Doorman

. . .

Ellie Darling

A doorman was trying to sabotage me doing my job.

Again.

When I first dipped my toes into the professional cuddling industry, no one warned me my biggest hurdle would be the gatekeepers of posh downtown high-rises refusing to let me in.

I thought I’d be more concerned about my grandma’s disapproving stares over Thanksgiving dinner. Or getting murdered by a client.

But Hughes was one tough cookie.

The polished doorman stood between me and my client’s building like an impenetrable wall, but his tailored red jacket and fancy leather gloves didn’t fool me.

He’d snap to attention whenever someone more worthy needed to get through the tall glass doors—while conveniently blocking me from darting around him with a graceful arm or well-timed step into my path.

He’d done this dance before.

The building was a massive luxury high-rise in the heart of downtown Westport. Easily the nicest place I’d ever had an appointment. Unfortunately, I wasn’t allowed inside.

Usually, clients gave me a room number for a hotel or added me as an approved guest for their apartment. For the clients with nosy front desks, they added me to an approved vendors list under a profession like personal stylist or wellness consultant.

Hughes had already insisted multiple times that I was on no such list for this building. He also eyed my blue hair with the same tight-lipped disapproval old ladies at the cat café often did. The wind hadn’t done it any favors either—pulling more than a few strands loose from my French braid.

But even when clients forgot to approve my arrival and weren’t answering their phone, I’d never met a doorman I couldn’t sweet-talk into letting me up to a client’s room.

Until this one.

Which was really unfortunate, because I didn’t get paid if I couldn’t make it to the appointment. The vet had already told me twice that they couldn’t authorize another surgery for my cat until I had the money up front.

That did nothing to help my growing desperation.

“You seem like a good guy, Hughes,” I said after my seventh direct message to the client got no response.

With a soft huff, I closed the Sunshine Cuddle Services app and stuffed my phone into my duffle bag.

“I even respect your dedication to keeping out unsavory individuals, but it’s not necessary in this case. I’m allowed to be here.”

His bushy dark mustache twitched, and I got the impression he was laughing at me. “I’ve heard that before, yet you aren’t on the list of residents or approved visitors. Have a nice day, miss.”

“How am I supposed to have a nice day when you’re stopping me from doing my job?

” I grumbled before clearing my throat and pasting on a hopeful smile.

“I’m probably not on the list because this was a very last-minute booking.

Any chance you could add me now? My name is Ellie Darling, and I’m here to see a client. ”

“If you’re here for business, then you should be using the vendor entrance.” He gestured to the pristine glass beside him. “This door is for residents and their guests.”

I glanced along the front of the huge building but didn’t spot any other doors. “Where’s the vendor entrance?”

“Around the back.” Hughes stared down his hooked nose at me. “But it has security guards who will tell you the same thing I did—you’re not on the list.”

I winced. I’d rather take my chances here with Hughes than security.

“Well, surely we can fix that tiny list issue, right?” Desperation made me a little reckless, and I blurted out the first thing I could think of. “Do you accept bribes?”

Not that I had any money, but it was worth a shot.

Hughes didn’t seem to agree, and he scowled like I’d gravely insulted him. “I do not.”

“Okay, well, how about…” I racked my brain for a good trade, but each idea was worse than the one before it. “Um, I could provide entertainment for you after my appointment finishes?”

He cocked a doubtful eyebrow. “… Entertainment?”

“Yeah, I can— I can crochet!” I offered, happy to have thought of something. Then I winced. “But crocheting a gift for you probably circles back to bribery, doesn’t it?”

Hughes only stared blankly back at me, and my confidence faltered.

“There’s gotta be something that’ll make you look the other way while I slip inside,” I tried again. “Anything. Name it.”

His gaze moved over my head. “I don’t make deals, so unless you can provide the resident’s name for me to verify your appointment, you’re out of luck. I suggest you leave before I involve security.”

Security was the exact opposite of what I needed right now.

But I pressed my lips together, fighting down the temptation to blab my client’s name. “I can’t tell you who they are. It’s private information.”

There were certain rules in the professional cuddling industry, like never telling someone why you were visiting a client.

My boss made every cuddler sign a bazillion forms and NDAs before we were even hired.

I couldn’t exactly tell Hughesy-boy here that a resident was paying me to come snuggle for a few hours.

But I’d never had a client who lived in such a secure building before.

“I’ll be straight with you, Hughes. I don’t get paid if I don’t show up to the booking.

” Growing restless, I glanced at the cute blue kitty-cat face on my watch and frowned.

Cuddlers were trained to arrive for sessions fifteen minutes early, which was five minutes ago.

If I didn’t make it upstairs before our appointed time, then I could kiss my paycheck goodbye.

“And I can’t afford to miss one right now.

My cat, Whiskey, just had another ungodly expensive surgery for his tumor, and I’m already majorly behind on credit card payments because of his vet bills.

I’m also drowning in student loans for a degree I’m not even using—”

“Miss.” Pity flashed in his eyes, making my neck itch. “I sympathize with your situation. I truly do. But you’re not getting past me unless your client confirms you’re allowed to be here. It’s building policy.”

Well, then.

While I stewed, a woman in a gorgeous cream dress chose that moment to leave the building. Hughes spotted her with the eyes in the back of his head and swung the door open just as she reached it.

“Ms. DuPont.” He nodded as she passed, and I saw my opening.

I shifted onto the balls of my feet, ready to pounce.

“Hughes,” the lady murmured with a pat to her perfectly coiffed French twist.

While her glossy cream red-bottoms clicked against the pavement, I darted around her other side and sprinted through the door—

Only for Hughes to snatch the collar of my sundress and yank me back outside.

His quick footwork had thwarted me once again.

“Nice try,” he muttered.

The weight of paternal disappointment in his gaze actually stung a bit.

But our dance was far from over, and I refused to leave empty-handed after I’d taken three connecting buses just to get here.

I couldn’t afford to lose this booking.

My cat was counting on me.