Chapter 12
TWELVE
Aurora
I’ve never worked on room service before, so I’m excited it’s my new department.
Hotel on Ninth Street gets a lot of business guests and a lot of room service orders.
It’s going to be a busy evening. After a couple of days off this week, I’m feeling really enthusiastic about being here.
On my day off last Tuesday, I spent the day walking the streets of Manhattan.
Yesterday, I headed uptown and straight to the park.
I started to feel less terrified of this huge decision I’d made by coming to New York and more excited.
Maybe my excitement had something to do with the kiss last week and knowing that Deacon Black has almost certainly checked in again this morning.
My mind still wanders to the way he kissed me every other minute of the day even though it was six days ago.
It was just so…powerful. So all-consuming.
I swear to god, I would have done any damn thing he’d asked me to do after that kiss.
It had magical powers. His confidence, his control, and the way he looks at me?
Like he’s never seen any woman he wants more. It was completely intoxicating.
I check the time on my phone. It’s six thirty. I wonder if Mr. Black will order room service tonight. He said he eats at the French Kitchen, so maybe I won’t see him.
I can’t keep calling him Mr. Black. Although maybe I can. It’s kinda sexy.
“Aurora, can you get the cloths off the rack and cover these carts?” Joey, head of room service, asks.
“Of course.”
The uncovered trolleys are lined up like they’re part of a production line.
“Between six thirty and nine is our busiest time. And people expect their food to arrive quickly. We want to make sure we’re as prepared as possible.”
I work quickly, covering the trolleys with tablecloths as pans clatter behind me and chefs bark at each other. There’s always a weird smell of lemons in hotel kitchens. I don’t know what it is, maybe they all use the same detergent or something, but it’s the same at The Rookery.
After I’ve finished putting cloths on the trolleys, I see a bunch of condiments on a counter next to the unused, folded cloths.
“Joey, shall I put these on plates, ready to go?”
“Sure. Two ketchup, a mayo, and a mustard on each. Then get the butter out of the walk-in refrigerator. You’ll see it.”
I get to work. It reminds me of when I first started at The Rookery.
It was fun and easy. I had no big responsibilities.
I liked working behind the scenes of the hotel, seeing what went on that the guests and diners didn’t see.
Half of them wouldn’t set foot in a hotel again if they knew.
Rodents were always an issue at The Rookery, but in a big city?
It’s so much worse. Hotel on Ninth Street seems to deal with problems quite well, and there’s a strict protocol if there are any sightings. But rodents aren’t the only issue.
I finish plating all the condiments and go get the butter.
When I emerge from the ginormous fridge with the tub of porcelain containers of butter, Bev is sticking the plates of condiments on the trolleys.
“I bet you fifty bucks we’re going to start with Room 325,” Bev says.
My stomach lifts at the mention of Deacon Black’s room. “That’s always the first room to order?” I ask.
“Unless he’s eating out. Sunday to Tuesday. He orders twice. The first order is a beer and something light, like a salad or edamame or something.” She laughs. “Then he works up an appetite and will order a steak or something around nine.”
My insides twist. Working up an appetite isn’t much of a euphemism. “He’s working up an appetite every night?” I ask.
“Pretty much,” she replies. “From what I heard, it’s either the gym, or a woman.”
“But honestly, have you seen the guy in room 325? I swear to god, the fact that he’s not with a different woman every night is a shocker. He’s underperforming, given the way he looks. I bet he has to beat them off with a stick.”
When he kissed me last week, I’d never felt anything like it.
No man had ever kissed me with such passion or intensity.
It was like he couldn’t not kiss me. Like I was some kind of life force for him or something.
It was the kind of kiss that changes you forever, and now?
I don’t think I ever want to get kissed again if it’s not the way Deacon kissed me. What would be the point?
But maybe Deacon Black didn’t feel the same way. Maybe a kiss like we shared the other night is normal for him. Maybe he has those same kisses Sunday through Tuesday every week.
The phone attached to the wall behind us starts to ring.
“Here we go,” she says as she lifts the receiver.
“Good evening, Mr. Black. What can I get you?” She looks at me and raises her eyebrows.
“And would you like your steak medium rare?” she asks.
Next to the phone on the wall is an iPad, and Bev punches the order through as she speaks.
“And to drink? The Argentinian Malbec? Certainly. Is there anything else I can get you? Your order will be with you in approximately thirty minutes. Please let us know if there’s anything else we can do for you.
” She puts down the receiver and looks at me.
“His dick must have fallen off and he’s twisted an ankle. He’s gone straight to the steak.”
My heart lifts in my chest a little and I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”
“Joey, did you hear that?” Bev asks. “Black just ordered his steak.”
“At this time?” He glances at the clock. “What happened?”
“Is he down with the pox or something?”
I hope that’s not a thing.
Bev laughs and indicates I should pass her the napkins from the shelf behind me. “I’m going to show you how to fold these and put the cutlery in. Obviously, if they order a steak, we include a steak knife on the tray, but we don’t take out the normal knife. The steak knife is extra.”
The way they set up the napkin and the cutlery is exactly the same as they do at The Rookery.
I fold the napkins and Bev adds the cutlery and the side plate. “I hear you’re the new director of rooms and deputy manager,” she says.
“That’s right. I’ve done the role before, but not in New York.
” She doesn’t need to know I haven’t had the deputy manager role before.
I’ve been duty manager, and although deputy manager is a step up, I don’t want anyone to think I’m a newbie.
Even if it wasn’t planned, I’ve had decades of hotel experience.
“Back in the UK?”
I nod. “Worked there nearly twenty years.”
“I like it,” Bev says. “Working in hotels.” She pauses. “If you’re in the right one. In this place, I always feel like we’re part of the same team. I’ve worked in other places where the kitchen and the waitstaff are always fighting. It’s exhausting. The chefs here are okay.”
“They make a good steak?” I ask on a smile.
“Looks like it,” she says.
At that moment, one of the chefs comes over with the first room service order of the night. We have a separate pass to the rest of the restaurant, although both are quiet at the moment.
“You’ll need a saucer for the jug,” he says.
Bev rolls her eyes at the chef trying to tell Bev what to do. “Should we give them a knife and fork too?”
“Keep your panties on. Just trying to be helpful.”
“That’s the problem with men,” Bev says. “They think mansplaining is helpful. I swear to god, if my ex-husband had been sober enough to actually make it to my daughter’s delivery, he would have told me how to push her out.”
I laugh.
And the chef who delivered the steak calls over his shoulder, “Can we have less talking about your vagina tonight?”
“My vagina has done things that your hands aren’t capable of. Ever birthed a human, Issac? Ever pushed a living being out of your body?”
My stomach lurches at the feeling of loss that sweeps over me. Am I going to be lumped in a pile with the chef? With all people who haven’t given birth and are somehow considered less because of that?
“Bev,” Joey says, pulling me out of my head. His tone is a warning. “Let’s keep the vagina talk to a minimum.” He nods in my direction.
I shrug. “I have a vagina too.”
“Right,” Bev says. “You got kids?”
I shake my head.
“Whether or not you’ve birthed a human, still means you’re as strong as fuck.”
I smile.
“Get that steak up to Room 325, Bev, and don’t start waving your vagina about in Mr. Black’s face, no matter how much you want to,” Joey says.
Everyone collapses into giggles, and Bev pushes the trolley out the door and in the direction of the lifts. I follow, as we’d previously agreed. I’m here to see how every department works—and every department seems to have some interaction with Mr. Black.
“You are going to die when you see this guy,” she says.
“I think I know the one you mean,” I reply.
“Oh yeah, you’ve been on reception. You’ve seen him, then?”
I nod. “I had to deliver towels to his room once.”
“Hot as fuck, right?”
“He’s very handsome,” I reply.
She laughs. “You’re so goddamn British. It’s cute.”
“It would be weird if I wasn’t British.”
“I guess.” The lift doors ping open, and when we get to Room 325, we line up the trolley and Bev knocks on the door.
Deacon opens and does a double take when he sees me.
“Room Service,” Bev says, in a much softer tone than she uses normally. “Where would you like it?”
Deacon’s eyes are all on me as Bev pushes the trolley past him and he holds the door open.
I try not to look at him, but I can feel the weight of his stare.
Bev is going to notice something if he doesn’t snap out of it.
As I pass him in the corridor, he lets go of his bedroom door and his hand sweeps over my waist. It’s like he’s pure molten lava with the trail of heat he leaves.
Our eyes meet, and immediately heat pools between my thighs and my nipples tighten.
I want this guy.
I want him to be kissing me up against a wall.
I want his hands over my arse, his erection pressing into my stomach.
I’ve seen plenty of good-looking men in my time, but no one who’s ever made me feel this pull toward them. What is it? Something in the New York air? Or is it because I know how he can make women scream?
Bev pulls out the leaves of the trolley, turning it into a table, then takes the plate from the warmer underneath, placing it on the tablecloth. She then removes the cloche from the salad and places it back inside the warmer.
All I’ve managed to do is receive an eye fucking from Deacon Black.
I need to focus.
“Is there anything else we can get for you?” Bev asks.
Deacon manages to tear his stare away from me and look at Bev. “No, thank you.” He discreetly hands her a tip, and Bev nods and we head out.
Thank god he didn’t try to tip me. I might have punched him in the face.
And that would be a shame because his face is really pretty.
Bev leads the way and I start to follow. As I go, Deacon grabs my wrist. I snap my head back to him. Our eyes meet again.
His gaze is full of desire. Longing. Fire.
My eyelids flutter at his touch and I tug myself free and follow Bev.
I need to get some distance between us or I’m going to sink to my knees and beg for his cock.
Not tonight.
I glance around and he’s in the doorway, still watching me. I offer him a half smile before the door shuts.