Chapter 12
TWELVE
Efa
I smooth down my new black pencil skirt—that I only just fit into—and widen the fake smile I’ve been wearing all afternoon. I’ve learned I prefer housekeeping to reception. For more reasons than one.
“Enjoy your stay,” I say, handing the woman in front of me a room key. At least rooms are still locking. It’s pretty much the only thing that’s working in this place.
Being moved to reception is so annoying. First, it means I finally got on top of my jet lag and now they’ve moved my shifts to the evening, which means I’m starting work when London is having cocktails. On top of that, every guest I deal with is pissed off because we can’t find anyone’s booking. We basically have to do a search on email confirmations to work out where everyone belongs, and it takes forever. Apparently there’s a team hard at work piecing it all together on paper, which should be ready tomorrow, but shouldn’t they really be focused on getting the booking system up and running? I don’t know much about Gretel, but she needs to do something.
I hate people. I hate late nights. I especially hate that I haven’t seen Bennett for two days. And I hate that I hate I haven’t seen him.
I go round and round in my head about why I’m so disappointed that I’ve not laid eyes on him for just a few days. Is it the sex? That’s got to be part of it. It’s like the man invented my body, so he knows his way around it with his eyes closed. It’s probably something to do with the fact that I haven’t had the opportunity to give him my résumé. It’s both those things, but it’s something else too. Something I haven’t quite figured out.
“Good evening, sir, are you checking in?” I ask the elderly man who comes up to the desk.
“No,” he snaps. “Just tell me how to get to the bar.”
“The hotel bar?” I clarify.
“Of course the hotel bar, you silly girl.”
I pull in a breath, trying to calm myself, when I hear a familiar growl. I look up and my heart inches higher in my chest as I lock eyes with Bennett.
Bennett.
Bennett.
My entire body softens slightly in his presence. I no longer care about the rude man in front of me or the fact that I’m having to keep my eyes open by digging my nails into my palm.
“The sign for the bar is just there, sir,” Bennett says. “Why don’t I take you?”
Bennett doesn’t strike me as someone who helps old men down to bars, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s not swooping in like a knight in shining armor, saving me from a rude guest. But it sure feels like that.
I can’t help hoping I’m right.
Still, I’m disappointed that I only caught a glimpse of him. And as I’m on reception, that’s probably all I’ll catch of him from now on. Until he checks out.
A woman in her thirties who I’ve seen before comes over to the desk. “I’ve lost my room key. Can I get a new one?”
“Certainly. Let me just ask you some security questions.” When I’m able to bring up her email confirmation, I go through the questions about her stay, trying to surreptitiously glance toward the lobby to see if Bennett has come back up from the bar. Maybe he headed out.
To dinner perhaps? With his wife? Or girlfriend?
I really don’t know anything about him. Apart from the fact he’s a billionaire and owns one of the greatest minds ever known. Oh, and that he’s Ben Fort. No big deal.
I hand the woman in front of me a new room key and she heads off.
I struggle to pull my glance from the corridor, checking for Bennett, as the next person approaches my desk.
Finally, I smile and look up—and realize I’m looking right at Bennett. By his expression, he totally knows what I was doing.
“Hi,” I say, trying not to laugh at being completely caught out.
“Looking for someone?” he asks.
I smile up at him, and for the first time today, the expression is completely genuine. “Absolutely not,” I say. “Not now. How may I help you this evening, sir?”
He pulls in a breath and his chest seems to grow bigger. “I want to book a table at a restaurant.”
My stomach dips slightly and I’m not sure why. “My colleagues on the concierge desk can help you with that.”
“But is there anywhere specific you recommend?” he asks, ignoring my implied suggestion that I can’t help him.
My smile falters a little. I don’t know how to read him. What is he asking me? “Sir, I’m new to New York. I’ve not had much experience dining in the city. But my colleagues would be happy to help you.”
He nods. “I’m sure. And when you’re in London, what’s your favorite restaurant?”
I’m still flummoxed. Is he such an awkward billionaire that he doesn’t know how normal conversation works? “I’m not fussy. Rules is…” Rules was where our parents used to take us for our birthdays. It’s comical really, because it’s such a weird restaurant to take a kid to. All the waiters wear morning coats like they’re in church for a wedding, and it’s so old-fashioned. But I have happy memories from there—some of my only memories of my parents, actually, from when I was really young.
“Rules,” he repeats.
“Yeah, it’s a?—”
“I know it,” he says.
I cock my head. “You do? Do you spend a lot of time in London?” Somehow the idea of Bennett in London makes my stomach flip. He’s so… American. I can’t imagine him there.
“Of course,” he says. “But that choice has thrown me a little. You like it there, huh?”
“Honestly, I’m not the best person to ask about restaurants on either side of the pond,” I say. “Geoff on concierge seems to know every restaurant in New York.”
Is Bennett… not familiar with the city? Even though Fort Inc.’s offices are right in Manhattan? Does he never eat out? Surely he must know where’s good.
He holds my gaze, and I know I should look away but I can’t. I miss the moments of private time we had when I was cleaning his suite.
Oh, and the sex, and his come in my underwear.
“You’re here now,” he says.
At reception? In New York? I can’t keep up with this man.
“I am,” I say, and he winces, like that wasn’t the right response. I’m frustrated. I want us to be able to speak openly. Freely. I want to be alone with him when I’m not in a uniform and he’s not a guest.
“I hear Tribeca Grill is nice,” I say, worried that if I don’t say something, he’ll have to leave and then what? I’ll probably never see him again.
“Okay, good.”
“Anything else I can help you with?” Happy to come to your suite later and get naked and dirty , I singsong in my head.
“Maybe later,” he says cryptically.
Then he catches what my co-worker Jason is saying to a guest about the booking system.
“What’s going on?” he asks, voice lowered.
“Systems are down. Booking system, room system. You name it.”
“Hmm.” His eyebrows pinch together. “The room system and the booking system. You’d think they’d be separate but talk to each other. Why would both go down at once?” He’s half talking to himself, but it’s exactly the question I asked myself.
“But more surprising is the fact that the hotel website is offline,” I say. “That can’t be a coincidence. And it’s been off for a couple of days now.” I shrug. “Maybe I’m paranoid, but it feels like… sabotage. Or something.”
His eyes flare with anger. I’ve never seen his expression so fierce. “You’ve been very helpful,” he says, and he turns and leaves.
I can’t believe that Bennett Fordham, a.k.a. Ben Fort, would get so angry about a website failure. What is the matter with him? At the end of my shift, maybe I can dress up as room service and go and knock on his suite door to find out what’s really going on.
Or maybe I just have to resign myself to the fact that Bennett and I had sex a couple of times, and that was that.