Chapter 4
Iwiped at the mirror for way too long.
I might have been staring at my reflection, but all I could think about, all I could see and feel, was him. I shook the thought away. Dropping my arm to my side, I frowned at myself.
I should have been done ten minutes ago.
I knew better than to let a man distract me from work.
I learned that lesson in my early twenties.
Men did two things in life: they complicated everything and left a mess in their wake.
At twenty-eight, I was over chasing men or believing in some kind of knight in shining armor who would show up and save me.
That wasn’t for me. The only people a girl could count on completely were the women in her family and herself. She had to learn to be her own hero.
What would Griffin look like in knight’s armor? My stupid, touch-depraved mind and body seemed to have been discombobulated by the hot bad boy. They’d always been my weakness when I’d dated. Tattoos and broody, mysterious energy that made you lust-drunk were great, but so was peace of mind.
He’s different, a little voice in my head whispered, and my gut silently agreed.
I scanned the room to take note of what still needed to get done. Once the bedding was perfectly tugged and pulled into place, everything was spic and span.
Once the room was ready for the next person to stay, I moved to my cart that held all the supplies I needed that I’d left by the door.
Different? Could he be? I shut my eyes and unlocked the wheels of my cart before reaching to open the door with my back to it.
I kicked my foot to keep the heavy door in place, but the cart seemed to be stuck.
I let the door go and sighed thinking about what I had to do next.
The next set of rooms on my assignment were upstairs, where guests stayed longer than a night or two.
I had been taken off the hotel rooms since what happened, happened. I was about to return to the scene of the crime. I hated how sick to my stomach it made me feel, even though I knew he wasn’t there. If Pope had told Mary they took care of Mr. Monopoly, I knew the Steel Sinners had done just that.
I hated not knowing if anyone staying long term was up there or not.
Part of me hoped it would be empty.
That wasn’t uncommon. It happened a lot.
Only very special circumstances led to someone staying on that floor.
For the most part, they were usually occupied at the end of the week and into the weekend.
But sometimes, Pope had special guests who he’d allowed to stay up there for over a month in the past. Though those people were usually really cool.
I reached for the door and glanced over my shoulder only to almost let the door close once again, shocked and staring up at the last person I would have thought to see there. The same one who had been messing with my head for the last two hours.
Griffin’s large body loomed in the doorframe.
It should have been intimidating. He was staring at me with a serious expression on his face, and I had to blink once, twice, to make sure I hadn’t somehow conjured him up.
But I couldn’t deny it was him. I had to admit I was shocked to see him standing there.
Mary had called him Griffin, but with the leather cut he wore and the patch on his chest, I knew that wasn’t his given name but his road one.
Griffin. It suited him. He looked like something dark and mystical.
Tall and muscular with tanned skin that came either from some kind of Mediterranean or Latin heritage or the sun.
Or all three. That beautiful golden-tanned skin was covered in tattoos I wanted to explore and study up close and personal, memorizing each one and finding out the story behind them.
Ink ran up and down his sinewy arms, including his fingers and all the way into the sleeves of his white tee shirt.
“Marty, right?” he said, breaking the weirdly comfortable silence that sat between us.
I nodded because I didn’t trust myself to say a word.
It was bad enough that I’d acted like a bitch to him, called him out on his stupid words in front of everyone in housekeeping, only to see firsthand how horrified he’d been when he found out what had happened.
If I was honest, it’d renewed some of the faith I had in the Steel Sinners as a whole.
“Trouble with the cart?” he asked, and I blinked.
He stepped around me and moved toward the cart, looking it over as if he was trying to figure out some kind of math problem. He stepped back, pulled his foot back, and kicked the wheel. A loud thump sounded, and a muscle under my eyes twitched.
“That’s not going to work—“ The words slipped past my lips with clear annoyance, something he seemed to like as he looked at me with a shit-eating grin.
“Try it,” he said, and for some reason, because I literally couldn’t seem to help myself, I rolled my eyes. I stepped forward, going to push it, fully prepared to have the cart give me issues, when it simply rolled easily as if it was brand new.
“What?” I asked under my breath while glaring at the traitorous cart in front of me. “Well…” I sighed before forcing myself to look up at him. “Thank you.” The words came out begrudgingly, only making me sound and look like a bigger brat or bitch than he already probably thought I was.
“Anytime, spitfire.”
“Marty,” I corrected, ignoring the slight heat that started to bloom over my face. “My name is Marty.”
“Martina,” he corrected. “Martina Gomez,” he said as if I didn’t know my own full name. Question was, who the hell had told him? Another eye roll slipped past me, but he seemed unfazed by it. “Listen, I was wondering—“
“No, thank you,” I cut him off immediately even if everything inside of me wanted to know what he’d come over to ask. Would he want to hang out? Go on a date? Date? The man didn’t exactly give off lover by vibes with those tattoos.
“Excuse me?” he snapped me out of my crazy thoughts.
“No, thank you,” I repeated as politely I could manage.
I didn’t need this hunky, tatted-up biker who lit my body up like the Fourth of July giving me nicknames or making offers I had no doubt he could deliver on only to give me the inevitable see ya later.
I knew just by looking at him and the way he held himself together, the confidence in how he simply stood up, that the man would definitely know how to make a woman scream out his name and leave her ruined for anyone else.
No. If I needed an itch scratched, it would not be by him.
“No, thank you,” I said again, and was it just me, or did I not sound as convincing the second time? Nope. I didn’t, if the little mischievous grin that spread over his beautiful mouth hinted at anything.
“No, thank you?” he repeated, shoving his beautiful big hands into the pockets of his black denim pants, highlighting the bulge of his biceps and veiny forearms. “I haven’t asked anything.”
“Yet. And when you do, I have a feeling that answer is just what it’s going to be,” I quickly said. “Now I have work and—“ I started to round the cart, but he blocked it, forcing me to make eye contact with him.
“That’s what it was about,” he said easily, but something about the way his gaze held mine made me wonder if that was really what this was about or his way of changing the direction of this conversation.
“What?”
“About work. I was wondering if you could come with me.” Shit! I’ve finally done it. My mouth finally got the better of me, and I am getting fired!
“Listen,” I started to say, but he simply took the cart and started to push it out of the room, and for some reason, I followed him. “I know I can get a little… mouthy.”
“Mouthy,” he repeated, sparing me a glance over his shoulder as he pushed the cart down the empty hallway.
“Yeah, and sometimes that gets the better of me, but look—” I stopped and was surprised to see he noticed immediately and did the same. “I need this job.”
“I’m not firing you,” he said in an irritatingly calm tone.
“You’re not?” I gaped at him.
“No. Did you want me to?” Curiosity filled his green stare.
“No!” I scoffed. “Do you have any idea what the job market’s like in Vegas right now?” I sputtered out without thinking, no idea why I’d say something like that to a man who more than likely had the power to kick my ass to the curb.
“Not really, but I’m guessing it’s bad?”
“Bad enough I’d have to dance again,” I blurted, again without thinking. He slowly turned to look at me. Our eyes connected, and there was something working behind those mossy green irises of his.
“You danced?” His voice sounded like gravel, low and deep with a scratchy quality.
“Yup, and not ballet, in case that was your next question,” I smarted off with a shrug.
It wasn’t a big deal, nor was it ever a secret.
Not even with my mom or sister. They’d both known and supported me.
Shit, my mom had even handsewn me a couple outfits because no matter what her girls chose to do, they were the best at it, and she was never worried about showing her pride over her girls and helping them in any way she could.
I felt his eyes leave mine as they moved up and down my body, not bothering to hide his appreciation. I didn’t wither away like some wilting flower. Hell no. I knew what I looked like and what men liked about my body. I’d made a good living knowing exactly that.
What he didn’t do was say something stupid like I wholeheartedly expected him to. Why wouldn’t I? Every man I had ever shared that with had. Instead, he started to move again in the direction of the elevator, pushing my cart in front of him.
And I followed him.
Again.
Like some lost puppy. It wasn’t until we stopped and he pressed the call button for the elevator that I figured I should say something.