Chapter 11
DASH
Istepped out of the car and stared up at the building Krista had booked for us. A four-star hotel that looked like every other generic Mediterranean resort I’d ever seen. White walls, blue shutters. The kind of place that tour groups stayed when they were trying to see Greece on a budget.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.
Krista was already out of the car, her jaw set in a way that meant she was about to lecture me. Again. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. Do you see this place?” I gestured at the building. “There are a thousand people milling around. I can hear them from here.”
“It has excellent reviews for its location.”
“Location to what? The nearest gift shop?” I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m a Blackwell. We have standards.”
Her eyes flashed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want me to book the Ritz? Maybe a private villa with an infinity pool and a personal chef?”
“That would have been nice, yes.”
“Then maybe you should have handled the accommodations yourself.” She crossed her arms. “Maybe if you hadn’t been at a nightclub until three in the morning with half the modeling agency, you would have seen the email about the original hotel.”
I paused. “What email?”
“The one that said there was a fire. A small one, but enough that they had to cancel our reservations. I got the notification at midnight while I was actually working. I spent two hours finding rooms for everyone on this production at the last minute. In high season. In Corfu.”
“A fire?”
“Yes, Dash. A fire. You know, flames, smoke, the thing that makes buildings uninhabitable.” She stepped closer, her eyes flashing with fury. “So forgive me if the accommodations aren’t up to your princely standards, but I did the best I could with zero notice and no help from you.”
“I didn’t know about the fire,” I said.
“Of course you didn’t. Because you don’t read your emails.” She picked up her bag. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to check in. You can sleep on the fucking street or stroll down to the five-star and do what you do. I’m sure some woman will let you into her bed.”
I could handle a basic hotel. But that wasn’t what pissed me off. I was Dash Blackwell, and I shouldn’t have to stay in a place where the lobby smelled like mildew.
But I wasn’t about to let Krista know that bothered me. So I followed her through the entrance, my jaw so tight I could feel my teeth grinding.
Tired furniture that had seen better decades was dotted throughout with no particular care. A front desk staffed by someone who looked like they’d rather be literally anywhere else. A vending machine in the corner and a coffee bar that was a basic pot with a jar of instant beside it.
Krista marched up to the desk with that military efficiency I was starting to recognize. Back straight. Purpose in every step. She pulled out her phone and started rattling off confirmation numbers while I stood there with my bag, feeling like an idiot.
I hated that she’d been the one to handle this. No elevators in this place. And I knew there was no way there’d be room service.
She handed me a key. An actual key. I stared at it. I wasn’t aware they even used keys anymore. Even Krista looked a little uncomfortable. “It’s a room,” she said. “We’re not here on vacation. It’s just for a couple of nights.”
The second I was in my room, I was going to start making calls. She might not be able to secure better accommodations but I was a Blackwell. I would absolutely throw my name around. My name opened doors and made rooms, villas, or entire hotels available.
I slid my key in the lock. I heard Krista’s door open but she said nothing. I opened my own door and took a step back instead of forward and bumped into a body. And then I just stood there, staring into my room. It wasn’t a hotel room. It was a hostel dormitory.
Six bunk beds lined the walls. Six. That meant twelve people were supposed to sleep in this room.
There were already backpacks on some of the beds.
The window was open. I supposed that was to allow fresh air, but it was just hot.
The bathroom—if you could call it that—was visible through an open door.
Just a toilet and a sink. No shower that I could see.
I turned around slowly to look at Krista, who was standing back to back with me.
“This is a hostel,” I said, my voice remarkably calm considering I was internally screaming.
“I can see that,” she replied.
“You booked us rooms in a hostel.”
“I booked us the only available accommodations in Corfu on twelve hours’ notice after the original hotel burned down.”
I walked over to her room and looked inside. Same setup. Bunk beds. Backpacks. The faint smell of someone’s leftover lunch.
“There has to be somewhere else,” I said.
“There isn’t. It’s high season. Everything is booked. This was the best I could do.”
“The best you could do is a hostel. And somehow, I’m the fuck-up?”
Her eyes flashed with real anger. “Yes, Dash. The best I could do while you were doing whatever it is you do was to find beds for an entire production crew. I’ve got people spread out all over the city. Do you have any idea how many people I had to call? This was all that was left.”
I thought about my suite at the Athens hotel. The marble bathroom. The king-sized bed. The view of the Acropolis. I thought about every five-star hotel I’d ever stayed in, every private villa and luxury resort.
She was acting mad, but I could tell she was not happy with our situation either.
She was practically recoiling at the thought of sleeping in that room.
That was unexpected. I didn’t know how long she served in the military or if she ever had to sleep in a tent in a desert, but she was not thrilled about sleeping in a bunk bed.
“Alright,” I said. “I’m sure they wash the bedding after a person leaves, right? And do hostels separate boys and girls or are the rooms co-ed?”
“I don’t know,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Hopefully, you’re not rooming with a couple. I imagine these beds squeak. You don’t want to be on a bottom bunk with a couple going at it all night over your head.”
“It’s fine,” she said again. “This is fine. We just have to sleep here.”
I walked into my room and poked my head in the bathroom. There was zero chance I was using that toilet.
“Do you think they leave cleaning products so we can sanitize the toilet?” I called out loud enough for her to hear. “I’m sure it’s fine, but maybe a little bleach would help.”
I already had my phone out.
“It’s fine,” Krista said. “I’m sure—”
Her words cut off. I couldn’t resist looking to see what had made her speechless. I walked across the hall into her room. She was staring at the toilet. I peered over her shoulder.
“Oh, I guess the rooms are co-ed. You’ll definitely want to make sure you check the seat before you plop that pretty little ass down.”
I heard the inhale. “I’ve shared bathrooms with men before. It’s fine.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “Yep. Fine.”
I watched her do her very best to pretend it was all okay. It clearly wasn’t. We both knew it but I was the only one willing to admit it out loud.
“Fine,” I said, already scrolling through my contacts. “Let me make some calls.”
“Dash—”
“Don’t.” I held up a hand. “I know you’re about to give me some speech about sucking it up or making do or whatever other military bullshit you’ve got lined up.
But I’m drawing a line. I will sleep in a lot of places.
I have slept in a lot of places. But I’m not sleeping in a hostel where I have to share a bathroom with eleven strangers that could have all kinds of issues. ”
She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. I saw the exact moment she gave in, her shoulders dropping just slightly.
“Look, it’s not just about standards,” I said, trying another tactic. “I’m Dash Blackwell.”
“I know exactly who you are.”
“I mean, I’m a billionaire. There’s a safety concern. I don’t travel with security, but there have been issues. We all prefer to take our own precautions but this might be asking for trouble. I’m not trying to get mugged or kidnapped for ransom.”
I saw her using that military mind. She knew it was true. I wasn’t actually worried, but it had been known to happen to others.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
“What was that?”
“Don’t push it.”
I grinned and started making calls. The first three hotels I tried were fully booked. I walked away from Krista. I didn’t know why it mattered, but I didn’t want her to hear me use my name to get what I wanted. I didn’t want to confirm her belief I was a spoiled, entitled rich boy.
I called another hotel, gave my little spiel using just enough authority in my tone to make it clear I wasn’t going anywhere.
I was put on hold. I heard heavy steps behind me and looked down the hall.
Krista was watching me with her arms crossed, trying very hard not to look curious. I winked at her. She rolled her eyes.
The manager came on the line. “Mr. Blackwell, it’s a pleasure. I remember when you stayed with us three years ago. Let me see what I can do.”
Five minutes later, I had a reservation. I hung up and looked at Krista with what I knew was an insufferably smug expression.
“We have rooms,” I said.
I saw the relief. “Fine. I guess when you’re willing to trade on your name and pay millions, you can get whatever you want.”
“Yep. If it’s an issue, you’re welcome to stay here on your own,” I said.
We grabbed our bags and headed back downstairs. I called a car. Not a taxi. I was done slumming it for the day. Krista didn’t say a word during the twenty-minute drive, just stared out the window at the Corfu coastline.
The hotel was exactly as I remembered it.
Pristine white buildings cascaded down toward the sea.
Lush gardens. A lobby that smelled like money.
The kind of place where they remembered your name and your drink order.
A large fountain in the center with plenty of greenery around to make it feel like you were walking into a spa.
This was what I was used to.
I saw Krista’s eyes widen slightly, but she quickly schooled her expression back to neutral.
“Mr. Blackwell,” the concierge said warmly as we entered. “Welcome back. We’re honored to have you with us again.”
“Good to be back.” I handed over my credit card. “I believe you have a reservation for me?”
“Of course. Our finest suite. Ocean views, private terrace, full amenities.”
“Perfect.”
I signed the paperwork, very aware of Krista standing beside me radiating tension. When the concierge handed me a single key card, I saw her jaw tighten.
“Just the one key?” she asked quietly.
“For the one suite, yes,” the concierge said with a smile. “Would you like an additional key?”
“One suite?” Krista repeated.
I looked at the concierge. “I asked for two rooms.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Blackwell. We only have one room. We are fully booked.”
I cringed and looked at Krista. Instead of anger, she looked smug. “All booked,” she said. “Imagine that.”
“It’s a private room. And I guarantee you we will be the only ones using our bathroom.”
“A second key would be great,” Krista said with a tight smile.
He produced another card and handed it to her.
We followed a bellhop to the elevator. He pressed the button for the top floor and we rode up in silence. I could practically hear Krista’s thoughts churning. When we reached the suite and the bellhop opened the door, I had to admit it was impressive even by my standards.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Ionian Sea. A massive living area with white couches and modern art. A full bar in the corner. Fresh flowers everywhere.
“One bed,” Krista said flatly. “This is a suite with one bed.”
I looked. She was right. One very large, very luxurious bed dominated the bedroom.
“Is there not a second bedroom?” she asked the bellhop.
“No, ma’am. This is a one-bedroom suite. But the sofa converts to a bed if needed.”
She turned to look at me with murder in her eyes.
“I didn’t know,” I said, hands up in surrender. “I just asked for whatever they had. They didn’t exactly give me options.”
The bellhop excused himself, probably sensing the tension. I quickly tipped him and the door clicked shut behind him, leaving us alone in the suite.
She exhaled and shook her head. “Good job, Blackwell. Guess your name doesn’t hold the power you thought it did.”