Chapter 6
SIX
Aurora
I haven’t done shifts for a while. I was basically part of the furniture at The Rookery. I knew every nook and cranny. I knew the birthday of every single member of staff. There wasn’t a bit of worn carpet I wasn’t aware of. There wasn’t a bit of chipped paint I didn’t find out about.
It couldn’t be more opposite at Hotel on Ninth Street.
Even though I’ve been here a week, I’m still a fish out of water.
So even though doing an evening shift isn’t my favorite thing, it’s not like I’d be popping round to see Darcy, Logan, and their children if I wasn’t at work.
I’d only be trying to figure out my TV and catching up on my audiobook.
And it means it’s quieter, so I can understand more about how this place works.
I’ve just watched the head receptionist, Magda, check someone in from start to finish. It’s very similar to The Rookery. Even the software they use is basically the same.
“Are we expecting many other check-ins?” I ask.
“Only a couple,” she replies. “Sunday night is often quiet for us.”
I wonder if Mr. Black is checked in. I think Avril said he would arrive on a Sunday morning even though he paid for Saturday night.
The other receptionist on duty, Adesh, clears his throat, and when Magda and I look at him, he nods toward a guest who’s just entered the building.
The guest looks like she’s in her twenties.
She’s wearing a short skirt and matching jacket, which is giving Chanel vibes.
Her cream heels are clip-clopping on the marble and she looks up and around like she just entered the Sistine Chapel.
She turns and sees the three of us behind the reception desk and she smiles. She totters over to where I’m standing. “I’m here to see Deacon Black. He’s staying here.”
I smile, and Magda shuffles toward me in case I don’t know what to do. But of course I do. This isn’t my first rodeo. Not even my second.
“Can I take your name, please?” I ask.
“Sienna,” she replies. “Sienna Gordon.”
“Just give me a moment, Ms. Gordon. I’ll check to see if I can find Mr. Black for you.”
My fingers hover over the computer as my brain cranks into gear. But before I can press a button, Magda murmurs “325” to me, so low Ms. Gordon couldn’t possibly hear.
I dial the appropriate number. When Mr. Black-slash-Rude British Guy answers, I say, “Mr. Black, I have Ms. Gordon in reception for you.”
“Please send her up,” he replies, all businesslike but not rude.
“Certainly, sir, enjoy your evening.”
“Thank you.” He hangs up.
Adesh interrupts us. “I’ll take you up, Ms. Gordon.”
“Oh, you don’t need to,” she says. “Is it the same room as usual?”
“Please, let me show you.” Adesh comes out from behind reception and very politely escorts Ms. Gordon toward the lifts.
“Well, we haven’t seen her in a while,” Magda says. “Avril will be intrigued.”
“Intrigued?” I ask.
“Mr. Black sometimes entertains women,” Magda says. “I mean, of course he does, have you seen him? Anyway, Avril likes to…speculate.”
“I imagine he doesn’t have much of a problem with women. Although…”
“Although?” Magda asks. “There’s a caveat to Mr. Black being hot as fuck?”
I laugh. “He’s rude though, right?”
“Has he been rude to you?”
I don’t know whether I should mention he threw hot coffee on me. His reaction was so off-the-charts awful, I just assumed it wasn’t personal. I thought that behavior would show itself more generally. I thought he’d come off as rude all the time.
“I just get that vibe from him,” I say, not wanting to give too much away.
“Maybe because he’s British, you’re expecting something different,” she says. “I’m not saying he’s Chatty Cathy, but I wouldn’t say he’s rude. Just to the point and businesslike.”
“Yeah, that’s probably it,” I say. “So what’s his deal? Avril said he stays at the hotel four nights a week or something?”
“I’m not sure, and it’s not because I haven’t thought about it. I’ve even done some low-key investigations—if you count taking note of what address he puts down as his residential address as investigations.”
“And?” I ask.
“He put his residential address as a place a couple of blocks away on Forty-Fifth Street West.”
“Why would he have a place so close?” I ask. “Maybe he pisses his wife off on a regular basis.”
Magda laughs. “If I was his wife, I’d just strip him naked and tape his mouth shut. I wouldn’t care much about verbally interacting with him.”
“He can’t be married if he has female visitors to his hotel room,” I say.
“I guess. Although he wouldn’t be the first guy to cheat.”
We’re interrupted by a call. It’s someone locked out of their room.
“I’ll take them the new key,” I say, as Magda puts down the phone. “I have a truly horrific sense of direction, so the more often I can find an excuse to wander the corridors and figure out the layout, the better.”
Magda makes the key, using the exact same system as the one we have at The Rookery, and after showing someone where the bar was and introducing them to our head barman, I head off.
I decide to take the stairs to the third floor, which is actually the second floor, but Americans call the ground floor the first floor, which does nothing to help my inability to get the layout of this place.
My glutes need the attention of the stairs and it all adds to my understanding of the building.
When I come out on the second-slash-third floor, the unmistakable noises of people having sex catches my attention, and my entire body flushes with heat.
Even though people are clearly behind closed doors, there’s something about hearing another woman groan that makes me feel like I shouldn’t be here.
But I have a key to deliver. I glance both ways, and given I can’t decide which way I should go, I decide to head away from the noises of the woman approaching orgasm.
She needs her privacy—although I’m not sure privacy and discretion are top of her priority list right now.
As I follow the numbers of the doors, it’s clear I’m going in the wrong direction, so I double back.
With each step I come closer and closer to the room where the couple are having sex.
I’m not sure why, but I try not to make a sound.
It’s not like I’m doing anything wrong, but I would hate them to think I was out here listening.
I mean, I can’t help but hear them, but it’s not on purpose.
The sounds get louder and louder. It’s just her I can hear. She’s moaning incoherently, then begging for more. Furniture knocks against walls, bare flesh slaps against flesh.
Eventually, I find myself in front of the door that stands between me and the couple inside having sex. I look up at the number plate. Room 325.
I knew it before I looked.
It’s Deacon Black’s room.
The hot but rude Brit who would have left me with first-degree burns had he been a centimeter closer.
It’s him making Ms. Gordon sound like she’s half crazed and having the best sex ever.
It’s him, the man who glared at me, who knows how to make a woman forget everything but what he’s doing to her.
It’s him.
Images of Deacon Black naked, walking toward me, fill my brain and I try to steady my breathing. I need to move. I’m supposed to be delivering a key, not listening to a woman having the night of her life.
It’s just that the woman inside sounds so…
lost in Deacon. I don’t think I’ve ever felt lost in a man.
Even though for years and years, I thought I was in love with Ryder, Darcy’s brother, I never felt lost in him.
We never had sex, but I can’t imagine myself ever feeling about any man the way Ms. Gordon is feeling right now.
I bet she wouldn’t care if this building went up in flames.
The slam of a door farther up the corridor snaps me back to the moment, and I manage to peel myself away from my fantasies of Deacon Black and focus on the fact that a guest is locked out of their room.
When the guest in room 364 is safely in their room, I stop to chat to the head of housekeeping, who is checking turndowns and then head back to reception.
I’m right by the lift bank. It would be easy to avoid room 325 completely.
But I don’t.
Somehow, I can’t. I don’t want to.
As I near the room, I can’t hear anything. I hold my breath for a few seconds, to see if I can hear anything, but there’s nothing.
I slow as I approach the room—and then suddenly the door opens and my stomach flips over.
Oh my god.
Did they hear me approaching?
I don’t know what to do. Should I acknowledge whoever’s at the door? Or walk by and ignore them?
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ms. Gordon at the threshold of the door, her jacket over her arm.
I don’t know why I do it. I should just keep on walking, keep looking straight ahead, keep my stride purposeful.
Instead, I turn my head. For some reason, I have to see if he’s there too. I don’t know why, it’s like I’ve lost control of my decision-making and something biological, something innate, is seeking out this man.
Deacon Black is standing there too. His shirt off, his muscular torso on display. I glance up and catch his eye.
He’s glaring at me like he wants to kill me.
I panic and quicken my pace. Avril has told me that Mr. Black is one of their most important guests.
If he reports me for suspected eavesdropping, I’m sure to get fired.
I’ll be on the first plane back to Heathrow with my tail between my legs.
That’s the last thing I want. Now that I’m here, I have to see out my three months.
Giving up everything in Chilternshire has to be worth it.
My fate is in the hands of a man who doesn’t know me, other than to think I caused him to spill his coffee.