Pushing around carts with luggage was good, though. It made me focus on the physical aspect of my work and forget all the things I was worrying about.
"Kaden, man? Is that you?"
I froze on the spot. I knew that voice all too well. Tristan Buckley... Probably the last person I wanted to see right now.
I turned around slowly, my shoulders nervously pulled up as I offered my old friend a big smile.
"Hey, dude," I said with a nervous grin. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This had the potential to be disastrous for me. I needed to get away from Tristan and do it as fast as possible, too. "What are you doing here?"
I rounded the corner, and as soon as I did, I fucking regretted it.
Tristan wasn't alone. He was at the Mirabella with about a dozen guys I knew very well, and once they all saw me—in my uniform, no less—I knew I was in deep shit.
"Guys!" Tristan called out, nearly choking on his own laughter. "Look who's here."
"Shut up." I tried to shush him, but it was already too late. Most of the party he'd arrived with had noticed me standing here.
"Kaden-fucking-Pier—" Tristan began, but I cut in as fast as I possibly could.
"Good to see you," I said. "It's been fucking ages, hasn't it?"
Tristan gave me a confused look just as the rest of my old friends gathered around us. In seconds I was surrounded by loud, raucous laughter, being slapped on the back, my hair ruffled, my name being shouted across the damn lobby. Fuck, this was bad.
I looked around to make sure Peyton wasn’t around before returning my friends' good-natured greetings.
"Haven't seen you in ages," Tristan said, looking over my bellboy outfit with a raised brow. "What the fuck is going on here, anyway? Costume party?"
"Something like that," I replied with a nervous smile. "Nothing for you to worry about. What are you doing here?"
"George's bachelor party," Tristan replied, and my eyes found my former friend standing a few feet away. George looked away guiltily, unable to meet my eyes.
We'd been friends once upon a time. Really close friends, too. We went out at least a few times a week, if not every night. We partied, we laughed, and we were fast friends for at least three years. And now he was getting fucking married, and he hadn't even invited me to the bachelor party. I was well and truly out of their gang now, or so it seemed.
"Thanks for inviting me," I said, not even trying to hide the bitterness in my voice. It fucking pissed me off to be excluded in this way.
"Come on, man," George said. "It's not like you really give a shit, anyway."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You've been blowing us all off for months," Tristan said, and from his frosty tone, I could tell this was personal, and had been discussed in the group before. "You never want to hang out anymore. Like you're too fucking good to be seen with us anymore, man. It doesn't exactly feel great."
"It's not like that," I replied. "You know it's not."
"Actions speak louder than words." Tristan shrugged.
"Who are you marrying?" I turned my attention to George, feeling too guilty to keep talking to Tristan. My former best friend just smirked in response. "Is it Tricia?"
"Yeah," he mumbled. I laughed bitterly.
I wasn't trying to be a jerk, but Tricia and George had been dating for six years. I'd known them both for ages, since they were in the same social circles as me. I also knew George had been cheating on Tricia, a vapid blonde socialite who’d made passes at me for the past five years, almost on a weekly basis. It was one of the many things that made me stop hanging out with them. The fact that our group thought nothing of our friend cheating on a girl, and now proposing to her and getting married as if those vows meant nothing, was exactly why I’d stopped calling them as much as I used to.
"Just so you know, I'm done sleeping around," George said. Was I imagining it or was his tone a little sheepish?
"You don't have to explain anything to me," I told him. "Maybe your fiancée is the one you should be doing that with, man."
If I didn't know any better, I could swear George blushed at that. But before he could respond, Tristan pulled me aside from the rest of the guys and glared at me.
"Hey, man, just because you're apparently so fucking high and mighty now doesn't mean you have to bring everyone else down," he said heatedly.
I sighed, rubbing my temples. I was already feeling tired from our unnecessary fight. I was also worried Peyton or someone else I worked with would walk in on the scene and see me fighting with a paying customer. That would not go down well with the head of staffing. Nadia would bite my head off—she was sweet on the outside, but I'd seen her lose her temper with some of my coworkers, and more than once, too.
"I'm sorry," I finally replied. "I'm stressed as shit. My parents have me working this job..."
"A job?" Tristan laughed, taking in my outfit again. "Is that why you've been playing hooky on us?"
I hesitated. For a second, I almost wanted to blame my parents for letting our friendship slide, but in the end, I had to be honest. Tristan deserved that much, at least.
"No. I just can't keep up,” I muttered. "The drinking, partying. It's not what I want anymore. You know what I mean, right?"
For a second, I thought I saw a flash of understanding in Tristan's eyes. But then he just chuckled dismissively and shook his head at me. "We have it all, man," he said. "You could have anything in the world. But you choose to run fucking errands for your parents? Don't tell me someone else couldn't have done this whole...thing. Whatever it is."
I furrowed my brows, unable to think of a decent response. He was right—my parents could've found someone else to fish for the information they needed. In the end, it was my decision to come to the Mirabella, and I was only now beginning to understand why I'd done it.
I felt lost, so fucking lost in the life I'd been living before this new job. I was bored. I had no idea what to do with myself, what my ambitions were, what my future held. Even though I had plenty of advice to dole out to others on this subject, like Peyton, I didn’t seem to be capable of applying any of it to my own life. All I knew for sure was that I didn't want to go back to the life I'd lived with Tristan, George and the rest of their crew.
"Listen, don't blow my cover," I told Tristan. "This is important."
"Important?" Tristan raised his eyebrows. "Why the fuck is it—"
My eyes lost their focus as I saw Peyton walk into the lobby. She looked as stunning as ever, and try as I might, I couldn't tear my gaze away from her. It seemed as if every time she was in the same space as me, sparks flew between us. She looked so fucking beautiful that I wanted to stare at her just to rest my damn eyes.
"Ohhh," Tristan said meaningfully. I shot him a warning look while he grinned at me. "I don't think you've changed at all. You might think you have, but at the end of the day, this is all about a girl, isn't it? Peyton Cadwell, no less. Bet your parents would love that."
I didn't answer, but my whole body stiffened when Peyton and a female coworker of mine, Bianca, approached us.
"Hey, Cade," Bianca said. I smiled in response. We were on friendly terms, though I didn't know much about her besides what she'd told us at orientation. My focus was on Peyton, anyway. She was looking at me with slightly-raised brows, unspoken questions in her eyes.
"Hi. I was just helping Mr. Buckley with his luggage," I said.
Tristan laughed and clapped me on the back. "Yeah, he's my bitch for the day," he said.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I could feel Peyton still staring at me but I didn't mention it, or the way Tristan was acting. Instead, I just loaded up the trolley with his suitcases and gave them all a bright smile. Peyton didn't say a thing, and neither did the other two.
"Here you go," Tristan said, pressing a wad of cash to my palm. "You look like you need it. Now I’m going to go watch my favorite movie. Sleeping With The Enemy,” he added pointedly, just to get under my skin one last time.
He strolled away, leaving me fuming with a trolley full of his suitcases. If I had it my way, I'd cut them all open and shred his expensive shit for humiliating me like that. But of course, I had a role to play, and I couldn't risk exposing myself. So instead I just pocketed the money, winked at Peyton and laughed at Bianca's shocked expression.
"What a douche," she said, shaking her head. Then as if she'd just remembered we had company, she looked guiltily at Peyton. "Sorry, but he really was."
"No argument there," Peyton said, giving Bianca a meaningful look. The girl cleared her throat and left in a hurry. So then it was just me, Peyton, and the trolley full of Louis Vuitton luggage.
We looked at each other awkwardly, neither of us saying a thing. Finally, I had enough of the uncomfortable silence, and I laughed. Peyton's sweet giggle followed, and I looked into her pretty eyes as some strange emotion bloomed in my chest.
She was fucking adorable, but at the same time, so sexy I could barely keep my hands to myself. I wanted to touch her. Properly this time, not just a few lingering hand-squeezes and light strokes over her arm, like I did the other day in that vacant room when I was comforting her. No, I wanted to feel her under me, feel the sensation of her velvety lips crashing against mine.
"What are you thinking about?" Peyton asked me in a low, sexy voice. I had to force myself to snap out of the mood I was in and smile at her.
"That I should be doing my job," I replied.
She laughed again. "Talk to me for a second?" she asked. I couldn't resist that sweet voice. God, I wanted to hear her beg some more, in other ways. Far dirtier ways.
"Sure," I replied. "What's up?"
Her smile faded along with the laughter, and she sighed. "Oh, you know… I'm just feeling a bit shitty again," she said. "And we keep running into each other. Maybe you’re destined to be my therapist?"
"Yeah. Must be fate," I teased her.
"Either that or you're a creepy stalker.” She laughed.
"Speak for yourself." I winked at her and her smile lingered. It transformed her face, made it look even more beautiful. She worried too much.
"Hey, so," I said, knowing I was about to break every single rule there was. "I was wondering if you'd like to—"
"Peyton!"
An authoritative voice called out for her, and we both turned in the direction of it. A broad-shouldered, short-haired man in an expensive suit stood a little way off in the lobby, glaring in our direction. Vincent Cadwell. And just like that, the mood between us was broken. Peyton looked at the floor, blushing as she mumbled something at me.
"Sorry?" I asked.
"I have to go," she repeated a little louder, and without giving me another look, she rushed off in the direction of her father.
I stared after her, and even though they were standing a little way off, I could still hear her conversation with him.
"Who is that you’re chatting to? And why?" he asked her.
"Nobody," she muttered in response. "Just some bellboy who started talking to me."
Vincent glared at me. I busied myself by rearranging the luggage on the cart, but I kept looking at them with my peripheral vision. "I can fire him if he’s harassing you," he said coolly. "So if he's bothering you, just say the word. In fact, I should just—"
"No, please, Dad." Peyton grabbed his shirt sleeve. "He didn't mean anything. He was just saying hi.”
"Right. Well, one more strike and he's out," her father muttered before motioning for Peyton to follow him.
She fell into step behind him, throwing one last glance in my direction. I watched her leave, the guilty expression on her face coloring her cheeks bright red.
So she was ashamed of me; the way she knew me. Peyton Cadwell didn't want to be seen with someone as common as a bellboy.
I didn't like that one bit.
I didn't take people who acted all high-and-mighty lightly, and it completely changed my opinion of Peyton in a matter of seconds. Despite the softer side of her that I’d come to know over the last few days when we had our little chats, that obviously didn’t change who she was deep down. She really was just the spoiled little rich girl the media painted her as.
On the spot, I decided I was going to get back at her for that snobbiness. Not in a mean way. Just something that would embarrass her a little. Maybe make her feel a little humility and make her laugh when we...
When we what? I asked myself. There was no future there. No Kaden and Peyton, happily ever after. I needed to get her out of my head.
But first, I had a trick to play on the sexy little heiress...
7 Peyton
The results were in.
Mom had just called me in my suite and told me to come down to Dad’s office, where Detective Ramirez would be delivering the DNA test paperwork to us. In just half an hour or so, I would know for sure whether DeeDee Brown was really my sister.
I twisted my hands nervously in front of me as I rode the elevator down to the lobby. My mind was going haywire from all the possibilities, and my insides were churning with apprehension and fear. What if DeeDee was just a liar? The lab results would confirm that, and my family would be left broken-hearted.
Again.
I sighed at the awful thought and tried to push it from my mind, focusing all my attention on an elevator floor button which looked slightly less shiny than the others.
When I finally reached the lobby, I stepped out and spotted Cade wheeling a suitcase trolley around on the other side of the expansive room. I waved, but he looked right past me. My shoulders slumped, and I sighed. I knew he saw me. He was just avoiding me.
I knew why, too.
He must’ve overheard my conversation with Dad yesterday, and he’d interpreted it the only way he could—I was a snobby bitch who was too good to be seen flirting with a bellboy.
But that wasn’t true.
See, if Dad had any inkling that I had feelings for one of our employees, he’d have that employee fired immediately. He’d done it before, when I was eighteen and thought one of the room service guys was cute. I accepted a date with the guy, only to find out later that my father fired him because of it.
He claimed it was to keep me safe from employees who knew who I was and what I was worth (in other words, gold-diggers) but I knew the truth. He simply didn’t trust me not to end up in some scandal fraught with workplace sexual harassment claims.
I couldn’t stand to see Cade lose his brand new job over something so stupid. Acting like I felt nothing for him and saw him as just another employee was the lesser of two evils, as horrible as it made me feel, because he would be able to keep his job. I hadn’t meant for him to overhear, obviously, but that was the way the cookie crumbled.
I thought about chasing him down and explaining myself, but I simply didn’t have time. I needed to get to Dad’s office to hear about the test results.
Cade would have to wait.
I rushed down the hall that led to Dad’s office door, then slipped inside. “Am I late?” I asked breathlessly.
Mom shook her head. “No, sweetie. He won’t be here for another five minutes or so.”
I sat down, my hands still twisting nervously as I rested them in my lap. Mom didn’t seem any better—she was examining her hair for non-existent split ends, and her usually perfectly-manicured nails looked thoroughly chewed and picked at. She was obviously fretting terribly about these results.
She saw Dad and me looking over at her with concern, and her eyebrows lifted slightly. “It’s her, isn’t it?” she said anxiously. “It has to be, right?”
“We won’t know until we see the results, darling,” Dad said, his jaw set.
“I’m not sure they’ll be positive,” I said quietly, finally voicing my darkest fear over this situation.
Dad frowned. “Why not?”
“I’m just not sure I see Allegra in her,” I admitted. “And don’t you think it’s a little bit convenient that she ended up at this hotel, out of all the hotels in the world?
What are the odds of that happening? It almost seems… planned.”
“I think it’s more of a miracle rather than so-called convenience,” Mom said, her tone filled with disgust at my attitude. “What’s wrong with you today, Peyton? She could really be your sister!”
I sighed. “Mom, I know. I’m just saying, I’m not sure she will be. I don’t want us to get our hopes up for nothing, in case she turns out to just be a crazy faker. That’s all.”
Dad nodded. “I understand, Peyton,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
My eyebrows lifted. “You do?”
Honestly, I thought my Mom would understand me, not Dad. But the tables seemed to have turned; Mom was just so obsessed with the thought of having her baby returned that she couldn’t see clearly.
Dad nodded and rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “Ever since the police came here, I’ve worried that DeeDee is just another crackpot. There’s so many out there. I’m terrified of it, to be honest. All we ever wanted was Allegra back home. So to think that it might not be her…”
His voice trailed off, but I nodded anyway. I knew exactly what he meant. I felt the same way. I was petrified that we would’ve all gotten our hopes up only to discover that there was no DNA match, and that DeeDee was just a thoughtless con artist who hoped she could fake her way into our lives for a big cash bonus.
A knock at the door interrupted us, and we looked up to see Detective Ramirez opening it. “Morning,” he said with a brief smile. He held up a manila folder. “Are you ready?”
We all nodded, and he handed the folder to Dad. He didn’t open it immediately. He simply rested the folder on his desk and looked up at Ramirez. “Do you know what the results are?” he asked.
The detective nodded. “Yes. The labs sent the information to our precinct first.”
Dad nodded. “Okay. But before I open this, I want to know for sure. Whatever the results are, is there any possible way they could be incorrect? Contamination of the samples, for example. Or lab tampering.”
Ramirez shook his head. “No. The pathology collection center at the hospital sent your samples off to three separate independent labs, just to be sure. They all came in with the same conclusive results. Their contact details are all in the paperwork, if you wish to speak to any of them. And of course, you can always get in touch with me or any other detectives too, if there’s anything you want or need to ask.”
Suite Hearts (Hot Hotel Nights Book 1) Page 6