The Hotel

by Darling, Lola

  THE HOTEL

  By Lola Darling

  The Hotel

  Copyright © 2015 Lola Darling

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: British Empire Designs

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  To my sister, who’s always believed in me no matter what, I love you.

  Chapter One

  “I look like a slut.” I stare at my reflection in horror – and a little awe.

  “You’re the prettiest slut I’ve ever seen.” My cousin Callie gives a wink in the mirror, working a flat iron through my hair.

  “I don’t know…” My stomach is already in knots thinking about the night ahead of me.

  Callie squirts hair shine on her hands and rubs it between her palms. It smells like coconut and expensive salon. “Just trust me, Juliet,” she says, then coughs with enough force to produce a loud wheeze.

  “Go lie down,” I order her, then give her a gentle nudge towards her bed. Our other roommate, Emily, enters with a steaming mug of something.

  “Drink this,” she adds, handing Callie the mug.

  Callie sniffs and wrinkles her nose. “What is it?”

  “My grandmother’s recipe. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

  Callie collapses with a groan – which quickly turns into another round of hacking coughs. Emily pulls me back, worried.

  “Don’t get Juliet sick! She starts her internship tomorrow.”

  Just the mention of it makes me even more nervous. How I landed an internship placement at the most prestigious historic hotel in Chicago is still surreal. I start tomorrow…

  After I go play hooker tonight.

  Not hooker, I correct myself quickly. Bait.

  Nerves start a dance inside my stomach. My face must betray something because Emily claps her hands together. “You have nothing to worry about. You look amazing. Your hair… It’s so shiny!”

  I touch it again, smoothing my fingers down the long strands and my mouth hangs open a little bit. Because, damn. My hair is never straight, or smooth, or anything but a hot mess. I blame my Irish ancestors. The women in my lineage weren’t the sleek, dark and sexy Celts you always see in movies, but rather, the ‘carry water and build stone walls’ kind that gifted me with a head of coarse, thick and unruly auburn hair. Usually, I couldn’t care less: I just pull it back in a braid or ponytail and forget about it.

  But not tonight. Tonight, I’m full on shampoo-model, because-I’m-worth-it hot.

  And I need to be, thanks to Miss Sick Day currently hacking her lungs up in bed. Callie works as a decoy for a private investigator. She gets people to talk, incriminate themselves or otherwise display some kind of asshole behavior that can be caught on tape and used in court. She loves the excitement of it, and she’s cut out for it with a svelte body and the sleek beauty that promises seduction. Small talk and flirting come naturally to her. And while she’s working her magic, a hidden photographer takes pictures or video of the whole thing.

  I’m the woman who’s been so invested in earning her hospitality management degree, she forgets to put on deodorant some days. But with Callie laid up in bed, she needs someone to fill in on a job tonight. And since she’s been letting me stay here on a way reduced rent while I work my way through school, I couldn’t really turn her down.

  I check my reflection again, nervous. Callie has turned me into a pretty slut, just like she said. Smoky makeup sets off the green in my hazel eyes, the shimmer pink on my cheeks accentuating my heart shaped face. My lips are glossy red and look plumper than usual.

  “Now put on the dress,” Callie orders, still bossy even from bed.

  “I told you, blue isn’t my color…” I hesitate.

  “And I told you, it’s peacock, not blue.”

  “Big difference.”

  “Here.” Emily holds it up eagerly. “I picked out shoes and jewelry too.”

  I take them with a sigh. “I don’t know why you couldn’t do this instead of me.”

  Emily’s eyes widen in horror. “Go flirt with some strange guy in a bar? No way!” She shudders. “Besides, they would never hit on me in the first place.”

  “That’s a lie and you know it,” I tell her, but Emily shakes her head stubbornly. She’s the sweetest girl in the world, but not exactly giving Kanye a run for his money in the confidence game. She prefers to spend her nights working late at her jewelry studio, creating amazing designs.

  But Emily isn’t the only one worried about attracting men tonight. I’ve got serious doubts about my ability as bait. I’m not anti-social. I’m just not good at flirting. Or handling myself around sleazy men without biting their heads off. In my mind, the guy I’m targeting tonight is just another grease ball, out to find the first hot, willing chick he can get his dick into. In order for the gig to work, that chick has to be me.

  Only with no dick-sticking.

  I shed my sweats and tee-shirt and reach for the dress. “Not so fast,” Callie stops me and points to the chair beneath the window. A brand new bra and panty set are laid out, both a pretty cream color, the bra with lacy cups and satin straps. The bra is push up, not that I need it. I’ve been blessed with a lot going on up top, but when I ditch my old bra for the new one, I’m immediately glad it has the little gel support pads inside.

  Because, damn again.

  “Don’t look at my ass,” I warn them as I change into the panties, and then step into the dress. Callie whistles behind me before I’ve finished smoothing the satiny fabric and I twirl because I can’t help it. The V-neck top is deep, showing off the inside swell of my breasts and creating a sexy valley of cleavage. The wrap top snugs my waist while the skirt shimmies over my full hips, the hem swishing mid-thigh. It’s perfect for an hourglass figure like mine.

  Emily squeals. “You look hot.”

  And with their help, I do. The dress is conforming and revealing and… well, the sexiest thing I’ve had on in forever. I wear jeans and baggy shirts to class. Pretty much the same on the weekends.

  Except tonight.

  Oh, God.

  Callie’s phone buzzes. “Okay, Jules, you’re up. The target checked in at The Drake a half hour ago.” She throws off the covers and comes over, gripping my shoulders in her hands. I give her a dubious look, hoping she isn’t spreading her germs all over me. She eyes me like a coach about to give a pep talk.

  “Listen, Juliet. It’ll be easy; I swear. Text Rob when you get there and he’ll tell you where to meet, and where to intercept the target. Make small talk. One look and he’ll be interested, I promise—you look so good—he’ll make a couple passes at you, Rob will snap a few pics and you’ll be done. Easy.”

  Panic sets in. I’m a confident woman, sure. I’m smart. I read, a lot. Put me in a classroom and I can talk my way through a debate like no one’s business. But this?

  “You’re doing me a huge favor,” Callie says, like she’s reading my mind – and the fact that I want to bolt. “I can’t lose this job, and I promise I’ll owe you forever.”

  She coughs and I can’t tell if it’s real or if it’s a guilt-cough. Either way, her face is pale but her cheeks are flushed and her eyes have that glossy-fever glaze. I soften. She’s done enough favors for me in our tim
e, the least I can do is help her out with this.

  I tuck a limp lock of her hair behind her ear. “I’ve got it, Callie. No worries. Just get better.”

  Emily pushes me out the door with a final good luck hug, and then I’m on my own. Luckily The Drake isn’t far, and double luck it’s one of my favorite hotels in the city.

  My dad always had a thing for Chicago’s early architecture, and when I was younger we’d spend countless hours touring remnants of the city’s past. From the time I could first appreciate Chicago School style and pick out the neo-classic revival scattered throughout the city, he and I bonded while poring over old photos and documents showcasing early buildings. Now that he’s gone, visiting some of our favorite cornices and columns helps me feel like a part of him is still here, watching over me.

  It’s no wonder I followed my heart into hospitality management. Stepping through the doors of a luxurious hotel is like stepping into another time, another place, where you can be anyone and nothing is out of reach. I always wanted to be a part of creating that fantasy, and tomorrow morning, I finally get my chance. After months of class work and papers, I’ll be starting an internship at one of the best hotels in the city. It’s a competitive course, and I beat out dozens of applicants to make the grade. I know my dad would be proud.

  The cab pulls up to the hotel. A valet greets me immediately, forcing my trepidation away as I get out and wrap my fingers around my gold clutch, and pray, pray, pray that I don’t trip and fall on my face or something equally ridiculous. My phone beeps with a message from Rob to meet just inside the lobby. I’ve met him once before, and he seems like a decent guy considering his sole job is to hang around taking incriminating photos.

  I step beneath The Drake’s famous illuminated banner canopy and through the gleaming glass doors. People mill about the marble lobby, and I take a second to breathe the opulence in. Goosebumps prickle my forearms. I can’t help it. The rich blue carpet beneath my feet sets the stage for a room glittering with elegance.

  “Juliet, darling.”

  Someone touches my back. Rob smiles, his tanned skin highlighting the perfect white of his teeth. He leans close as if we’re well acquainted, part of the act, I suppose, and I follow along, leaning into him and putting a smile on my face.

  “You look lovely. Just perfect. Here’s how we do this. The target is in Coq d’Or.” He leads me in the direction of the famous whiskey bar, and I’m so nervous I have to concentrate to hear Rob over the rush of my own pulse in my ears.

  “Second stool to the last on the right. Gray Armani suit. Brown hair.” Rob continues, nodding across the room. “Get cozy. As cozy as you’re comfortable with. A kiss seals the deal, usually, so… Callie does her best to get him to attempt it, anyway.”

  “A kiss?” I gulp. Callie never said anything about kissing.

  “It never goes farther, hon,” Rob reassures me. “His hand on your knee, leaning in to whisper in your ear. Any of that. Look, just do your thing. I’ll text you as soon as I have what I need, and we’re out of here.”

  I swallow and nod. Rob nudges me. “I’ve been hovering around that empty seat next to him, so hurry over there before some skank grabs it. I’ll be right back here.” He indicates an empty table in the back. It’s somewhat shadowed, perfect for him to snap his evidence.

  Running a hand down my hair, I square my shoulders and take quick steps towards the bar. Nope, too quick. I’ll face plant at this rate, and that’s no way to make a first impression. With a breath, I slow my steps, focusing on the feel of the dress swirling around my bare legs, how my breasts bounce a little as I walk in the nude kitten heels. Sexy. Confident. It’s like playing a part, I decide. Acting in a play. I just have to pretend to be the kind of girl who picks up men in bars.

  Easy.

  I slide onto the stool beside the target and set my clutch on the bar. Then I glance over for the first time at the man I’m supposed to entice.

  He’s hot.

  Not just hot, but smoldering. Oh shit. My insides flip. I wasn’t prepared for hotness. He’s facing away from me and I can only see his profile: rich brown hair, a strong jaw, and the kind of sexy, arrogant expression that makes me think of one of those guys in a British costume drama: the kind with a massive country estate who looks great wading out of a lake.

  Tonight, he’s all alone, sipping something that looks like whiskey. I look away, wanting to stay casual, but when I glance back, he’s looking straight at me.

  My heart slams into my chest.

  His blue eyes are cool, assessing. His suit is clearly tailor-made, or just expensive as hell, and the white button down molds to his muscular torso like threads of the gods.

  I don’t dare look down to see how his pants fit.

  He turns away and so do I, my cheeks burning as I grapple for something to say.

  Not that it matters, really. Not with the way he looked at me just now, like I was uninteresting, mundane, plain, not worth a spark of interest. I reach for my clutch, wondering if I should give up and leave right now, when suddenly, fingers brush over the back of my hand.

  “What’s your pleasure?”

  My stomach clenches and my pulse quickens. Am I really going to do this?

  Chapter Two

  “Highland scotch,” I say as naturally as I can with my head spinning and my heart pounding fast. I’ve ordered scotch before but never under the gaze of a man like this. My skin tingles as I catch his denim blue eyes, seeing a flash of interest now at my order.

  Damn, those are great eyes. The kind that wouldn’t break a stare for a moment, not even if he was naked, that chiseled body bearing down on mine, my legs wrapped tight around his waist, my mouth exploring the dip of his collarbone—

  The bartender arrives, jerking me back to reality. He places a glass in front of me, and I realize that while I was having dirty sex with the target in my head, he went ahead and ordered for me.

  “Glenmorangie,” he says. His eyes are crinkling at the corners as if he’s amused. Then he raises his glass slightly, and I do the same, trying to hide my shaking hand. I forget to smell the scotch first, because who cares, I just need the whiskey in me, so I take a sip.

  It coats my tongue with silken fire, both dry and sweet as it slides down my throat. We set our glasses down at the same time, and I notice the sharpness of his suit, how well tailored it is. The cuff sits perfectly on his wrist, the peek of a silver cufflink making me squirm on my seat. His persona speaks precision and control, while he wears an aura of raw sexuality like a second skin.

  If he snapped his fingers and told me to drop to my knees, I’d probably do it without an ounce of forethought.

  “Thank you,” I manage before hastily taking another sip and willing it to boost my flirting IQ by a few hundred points. Even though I need to lead him on, I need to be mindful of my response to him so I don’t get in over my head. His gaze falls to my necklace. It’s one of Emily’s designs, distinctive gold wire twisting around my collarbone and falling in a delicate chain to a single pearl drop that sits between my breasts. My skin tingles and I think he might reach out and touch me.

  He doesn’t.

  “My pleasure….” He pauses, waiting for my name. I think fast because I have no idea if I’m supposed to give him my real identity or not.

  “Julie.”

  He shakes my hand. He has long, firm fingers, but I feel a callous or two, which completely contradicts his suit. One screams wealth and power, but the slide of his roughed palm says otherwise.

  “And you are?” I ask, remembering a flirty smile.

  His eyes narrow and he pauses, almost as if he’s waiting for me to say something… acknowledge him maybe. I realize that he looks a little familiar, but I can’t place him. The amount of well-dressed, sexy and powerful men I run into on a daily basis amounts to zero, so I’m sure I’d recall if we’d met before.

  “Andrew.” He cocks an eyebrow and his hand is slow to fall away. Mine too, and when I do let go, my fi
ngers feel cool and empty. He doesn’t look like an Andrew, and I’m sure he’s fudging his name the same as me.

  Keeping my smile friendly, I ponder just how to go about this flirting thing. Clearly, Andrew doesn’t share my problem. He fixes me with a smile.

  “Meeting someone tonight?”

  I give him the cover story Callie coached me with. Men don’t want an easy target, so it’s best to seem like meeting is an accident.

  “Actually, my friend and I were going to meet for drinks, but she can’t make it now.” I try to look disappointed.

  “I like that you came anyway.” He tilts his head and I have the impression he’s sizing me up. “I think people forget how to do things alone.”

  “Me too,” I agree, leaning toward him despite my still-very-present nerves. “My friends would never go to a movie or dinner alone, but I like it. It gives me a chance to relax on my own, let my thoughts wander. Stop worrying about my game face.” He smiles and I feel my nerves start to calm a little. Maybe I’ll be able to pull this off after all.

  “You mean you don’t just want to be glued to your cell phone all the time?” Andrew nods over to the corner, where a man and woman are sharing a table – both of them ignoring each other to stare at their cell phone screens.

  Andrew and I share an amused look. “Not me,” I laugh. “I’m so behind with technology, I was still using one of those old-fashioned flip-phones, right up until I accidentally dropped it in the tub!”

  He smiles again. “So you like to think, and aren’t obsessed with taking selfies all day. Who are you, and what planet are you from?” he teases, leaning closer.

  His fingers brush against mine on the bar. I feel a rush of heat, unsettling me.

  “What about you?” I ask, changing the subject. “Is that why you’re here tonight: you need some time to think?”

  Andrew pauses, before meeting my eyes. “Actually, I’m more a man of action.”