Chapter 8
EIGHT
Aurora
I may or may not have the beginnings of a crush on Deacon Black, despite knowing that it’s pointless and semi-toxic.
It burst into life on Sunday night, a week ago, when I heard what he can do through a closed bedroom door.
It doesn’t help that despite being rude, he’s hot AF.
He’s been gone for three nights, but he’ll be back at some point today since it’s Sunday.
I’m trying hard to focus on my job, but I feel like I’m a teenager trying to spot her crush across the playing fields.
My body is set on high alert for Deacon Black.
Today, I switched from reception to housekeeping.
It feels like I’ve come back to an old friend.
I started at The Rookery in housekeeping, and although it’s hard work, it’s so satisfying finishing a room and leaving it looking incredible.
The rooms at Hotel on Ninth Street are much more interesting than at The Rookery.
Each one is slightly different, but they all have a moody color palette, cool art, and the odd piece of antique furniture mixed in with the more normal pieces of furniture you’d expect to see in a hotel.
I’m doing turndowns. Last night I was trained by the head of housekeeping, and tonight I’ve got five rooms to do myself.
One of those rooms is 325. I’m going to do that one first because, despite my minor crush, the last thing I want is to have Deacon Black in the room while I’m there too.
I’m still so embarrassed about seeing him last week as he was showing out Ms. Gordon.
I don’t want to have any awkward interactions with him again.
The next time I see him, I’ll dart behind a curtain or something.
As far as I know, he didn’t file a complaint against me and I don’t want to jog his memory and have him do so now.
As I enter his room, I see his open suitcase on the luggage rack, his clothes still in it.
So he arrived already.
Given he stays three nights a week, every week, you’d think he’d be really good at unpacking. But when I was in housekeeping in The Rookery, the men staying on their own rarely unpacked.
I go straight to the bathroom to switch out the towels.
His washbag is set out on the counter, but I don’t move it. Apart from that, it looks like a bathroom ready for a brand-new guest. Nothing has been touched. I should be able to get out of here quickly.
I set out his bath mat and then move to his bedroom. I close the curtains, check the bins and leave a chocolate on his pillow.
As I work, I can’t help but wonder who, if anyone, he’ll bring back here tonight.
Magda told me that he gets a lot of visitors and they don’t stick around for long.
I almost asked if they were prostitutes.
But of course he’s not using prostitutes.
I just wish I knew what his deal was. Why is he here three nights a week when he lives a couple of blocks away?
I finish off his room as quickly as I can and then slip out, on to the next one.
I’m enjoying myself. It reminds me of being nineteen and home from university for the summer.
I had so much hope and expectation about how my life was going to turn out.
Between me and Darcy, I always assumed I’d get married first. I was definitely the romantic out of the two of us.
Maybe if I hadn’t wasted those years pining after her brother…
I still cringe at my childhood crush on Ryder.
I thought I was in love with him. It was just a silly infatuation, because we’d grown up in each other’s lives.
I just assumed somehow we were meant to be together.
It was silly, but despite that, there hasn’t been anyone else since who I can see a life with.
I finish the rooms I’ve been allocated quickly and I make my way back down to where housekeeping is based, to see what else I can help with.
As I arrive, the head of housekeeping is putting down the phone. “Aurora, you said you wanted to walk the hotel as much as possible, didn’t you? I’ve just had an extra towels request, do you mind taking them up?”
It’s a bit of a weird dynamic because when I take the reins as director of rooms, I’ll be her boss, and she knows that. But for now, I’m a member of her team.
“No problem,” I reply. I really feel like I’m learning the layout of things and this will only help.
“Great. Four hand towels to Room 325.”
My stomach lurches. “Room 325?” I repeat, checking with her. Maybe I’m imagining it. I have too much of my brain occupied by Deacon Black.
“Yup. He’s an important repeat guest, so as quick as you can. Or I can send Isha if you pre—”
“No, I’ve got it.” I don’t want the housekeeper to think I’m avoiding work. Housekeeping have the hardest, least-rewarded jobs in the hotel. They deserve respect, and I want the housekeeper to understand that I know how important she and her team are.
I grab the towels and head back upstairs. Despite my crush, having to see Deacon Black is the last thing I wanted to do today.
It only takes a few minutes to get to his door. I pull back my shoulders. I just need to get this over with. I’m in the housekeeping uniform. He might not even recognize me. Here’s hoping.
I knock on the door.
He answers almost immediately, with such force that I feel my heels leave the floor in a half jump.
“It’s you,” he snaps.
“Your towels, Mr. Black.” I thrust the stack at him.
“I’m sorry I spilled coffee on you,” he says.
It’s such a shock that I gasp. It was the exact last thing I was expecting him to say.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. I was an arsehole. I’m truly sorry. I want to pay for the dry cleaning.”
My heart starts to thump in my chest when he says the word sorry again. I don’t know why but it feels…familiar somehow. It’s the kind of apology that would come from a parent or a lover. The kind that’s heartfelt and meaningful.
I shake my head. “That’s very kind of you, but I got the stain out.”
“You’ve moved to housekeeping?”
What’s happening? Are we small-talking now? “I’m training in all departments before I start my new role next week.”
He nods slowly. His gaze darts from my eyes to my mouth, then trails lazily down my body and back up to my eyes. His stare is intense. Hot. My nipples pebble and my skin tightens. I lift my chin slightly, almost as if I can feel his eyes on me physically…and I’m wanting to display more of myself.
The seconds are ticking by. There’s no reason to still be standing here. I need to hand him the towels so I can go. But it’s like I’m rooted to the spot.
“Anything else I can get you, sir?” I ask eventually.
He continues to stare at me, and for some reason I can’t explain, I can’t look away.
He tilts his head slightly, and again, the gesture feels familiar. Like we’re two friends talking in a hotel corridor rather than perfect strangers.
“Maybe,” he says, his voice rough and deep.
The corners of my mouth lift. “Maybe? Do you need some time to think about it?”
He clears his throat and looks away. Whatever connection we had has broken. Gone.
“No, I’m fine.” He takes the towels from me. Our fingers graze, and he fixes me with a stare as they do. “Thank you for these.”
I smile, then turn to walk away, trying to ignore the heat between my legs.