Serviced_A Reverse Harem Novella_Little Black Book Club
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Serviced
A Reverse Harem Novella
Remi Richland
Copyright © 2018 by Remi Richland
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
A Note From Remi
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Overnighter Chapter 1
Overnighter Chapter 2
Coming soon from Remi Richland
A Note From Remi
Note: Serviced is a 28,000 word reverse harm novella. I have included the first two chapters of the next LBBC book, OVERNIGHTER, as a sample at the end of the book. Make sure to continue reading after the end to get a sneak peek at what is coming next!
One
My feet hurt. My head hurt. My suit jacket felt more like a straitjacket than professional outerwear and I was pretty sure if I were to take it off there would be boob sweat marks all over my cream colored blouse. The heat in Las Vegas was a stifling ninety degrees and it was only eleven thirty in the morning. I still had probably another seven hours of running around to do for the event taking place in ballroom B and I had already been there since seven thirty in the morning. I was damned tired.
My caffeine tank was also running on empty. There were eighteen hotel floors between where I was standing and the coffee shop downstairs, but if I thought I could take the elevator down in any kind of timely manner I was sadly mistaken.
“Miss Beckett, I have an issue with the linen delivery.” The dour-faced head housekeeper, who looked much older than the twenty-eight years I happened to know she was, hurried down the hall as soon as she saw me leaving the ballroom.
“Yes, Lisa, what’s going on?” I asked without even slowing. Stopping was a death sentence and only invited more people to congregate. If I stopped moving it gave my feet time to swell in my sensible beige pumps which was unacceptable as I had a lot more walking to do today. If Lisa needed to talk to me, she could talk and walk.
“The linens were delivered, but the table coverings for the Jensen reception are supposed to be blush pink, and these ones are mauve. They aren’t just a little off, the packaging is labeled differently as well.” Lisa pulled at the corner of her uniform, clearly distraught. I had no idea why she was telling me this, why didn’t she just handle it?
“Why did we accept the delivery? You should have just told them to take them back.” It was like talking to a small child. Lisa had been here for long enough, it wasn’t like this was her first wedding reception, and the Wellsborough Hotel attracted affluent guests. They were paying good money for blush colored linens and they would damn well get them.
“Yeah, well the boxes were labeled blush, the inner wraps were labeled mauve. We didn’t notice until they had already unloaded the truck. The reception is tomorrow, what are we going to do?”
The only option we had available —get it taken care of. Sticking to my no stopping rule, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and smashed the button that had the linen company on speed dial. “Jerry Lynn, it’s Elizabeth from the Wellsborough. Yes, well not so good,” I said in response to her well-intentioned inquiry about how my day was going. “Looks like the driver just dropped off the linens for the Jensen reception tomorrow and they are the wrong color.” I paused, listened to her hem and haw for a minute and then cut her off mid-sentence. “It’s only been about fifteen minutes since he left, so I would imagine he is at his next delivery location, which, in all honesty, could be anywhere in the local vicinity considering how many hotels there are in the area.” We weren’t in the heart of Las Vegas, but there was more to the city than just the strip and many other businesses besides the famous casinos. Not everyone’s idea of a Vegas getaway had anything to do with gambling. I know mine didn’t.
“Well, I figure we have two options Jerry Lynn. You can have him turn around and pick up the incorrect table linens right now, or you can have him go straight back to your warehouse, pick up the right ones, and we can make the switch out when he comes back. Which will be today, am I correct?”
Yeah, I got it was a Friday, an incredibly busy day for anyone in the service industry, especially people like us who were always preparing for the significant events of others, but this was roughly five thousand dollars’ worth of tablecloths we were talking about. Fix it.
“Thanks, Jerry Lynn,” I said as I ended the call at the same time as I approached the elevators, Lisa hot on my heels. “Go downstairs to the receiving area and tell the boys to get those linens boxed up on the dock. He’ll be back in less than two hours to pick them up and drop off the blush.” Lisa smiled and a look of relief spilled over her face, “Thanks Miss Beckett, I don’t know how you do it. When I call I can’t get them to help me out at all.”
It wasn’t like I was any better at talking to people than she was. I just knew who to call, and had the joy of having the words Event Coordinator, after my name is all. People respected the job title, and I had the right phone numbers on speed dial. If Elizabeth Beckett was on the line, money was being made or lost. Regardless, the call needed to be answered. That was all there was to it.
I barely had time to smile and say “You’re welcome” before the elevator beeped and the down arrow blinked red. Yes, timed it out perfectly. Just eighteen downward lurches between me and caffeinated bliss. Except the elevator didn’t lurch down. It lurched upwards. Twice. Sonofabitch. I love my job, I really do, but these elevators can take a flying leap for real. I cursed that lying down arrow silently, as I waited for the elevator to stop moving. Since there were two floors of banquet and event rooms in this hotel, located on the eighteenth and nineteenth floor, there were also another six floors of guest rooms. If anyone hits the down arrow on the elevator from any of those upper floors, the elevator will stop its downward trek to go up and pick them up. It was how they eliminated people being stuck on the upper levels waiting for the lower floors to get off and on the elevator. I may have hit the down button, but someone else above me did as well, so in elevator speak that meant I was a second-class citizen for this ride.
Damn it.
The lurching stopped on the twenty-first floor, and I pasted on my most courteous customer service smile as the doors slid open and I shifted my weight slightly from foot to foot. Getting on the elevator meant I had to stop moving and my feet were aching up a storm. I knew better than to wear new shoes on a heavy work day, but they were also super cute and on sale. I had to break them in somehow.
I smelled him before I saw him.
Elevator etiquette dictates that whoever is waiting to exit the elevator has the right of way before anyone entering the elevator, and this person must have known it because there was the span of several heartbeats before he joined me. And oh but he smelled divine.
The scent wasn’t too strong, more of a subtle change in the air. It was spicy, it was woodsy, and it was….something exotic. If I had been walking out in public and smelled this scent I would definitely turn my head to locate the source. When I saw to whom that enticing aroma belonged to my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth and my polite customer service smile
froze on my face.
Silver fox.
There wasn’t another phrase I could come up with to describe that man standing next to me. He held himself well, perfect posture in charcoal grey slacks and pinstriped dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up to three-quarter length. Dark hair dusted his arms, the same color that streaked across his temples but the rest of the hair on his head was a glorious silver. Strong jaw, dark brows and even darker eyes comprised a truly awe-inspiring air of elegance and authority. I felt myself lowering my eyes as heat bloomed in my cheeks. The elevator wall pressed against my back and I used it to ground myself in the present. Just because this guy was ripped right from the recesses of my fantasies didn’t mean I needed to make an ass out of myself in the elevator. But good night, men this attractive didn’t just end up next to me in close quarters. I mean, as an event coordinator I worked with a lot of people in the general public, but this man was physical perfection. Men like him didn’t exist outside of the books and movies - they just didn’t.
It took me a moment to realize that the elevator door had closed but we hadn’t moved yet. I observed the man who was looking back at me with a small smile on his face, like I had done something amusing but I didn’t know what yet. The elevator should have moved though, so I checked to see if any of the floor buttons were lit up. The ground floor button was blinking.
Wait, that wasn’t right. The buttons either lit up when you pushed them or they didn’t, they didn’t blink. Something was wrong. I frowned at the button and pushed it again, it continued to blink lazily, like a turn signal that someone had forgotten to turn off when they merged onto the highway and kept driving like that in the hammer lane to the irritation of everyone behind them.
“Is something wrong?” A low voice asked beside me. Wrong? What could be wrong when the sound of his words melted into my skin like butter? Heat flashed across my collarbone and I felt myself drawing the edges of my short sleeved blazer together, making sure I was covered and that the tips of my nipples, which had hardened with desire as soon as I saw him enter the elevator, weren’t in view.
Jesus Elizabeth, you’re a professional. I was thirty-six years old, not a horny teenager. Get a grip.
“No, nothing’s wrong,” I stammered and immediately felt like an idiot. “Well, something is wrong with the elevator, but I know how to fix it,” I said, finding my voice and pulling my cell phone back out of my blazer pocket.
“Oh? And how would you know that?” He asked, one perfect brow arched in amusement.
“Magic,” and I winked at him. I fucking winked at him, what a dork. Flirting with someone way out of my league in an elevator. Flirting with a guest no less. It was like all of my professionalism flew right out the door as soon as I saw a handsome face. I needed a day off or a vacation. Probably I needed to get laid.
Most likely it was all of the above.
But it wasn’t magic that was going to get the elevator moving, it was the power of a phone call, as per usual. Punching in another number on speed dial I actually had to wait for three rings until someone answered.
“Hey, Lizzie, what’s going on? You never call me anymore, I’ve been so lost without you.” Blake, the head of hotel maintenance answered the phone in his usual cheeky manner. Blake was always good for a smile or a laugh, and honestly, sometimes I lived for a quick quip from him to get me through those long and tiresome event days, but I didn’t have the luxury of joking around. I was in an elevator with a guest. An elevator that wasn’t moving. And even though I could have stood in there basking in his unique scent, I highly suspected he had better things to do than hang out with a harried hotel employee.
“Blake the elevator is being…temperamental.” I had to choose my words carefully. I couldn’t say “Blake the elevator is fucking up again,” because that would lead the guest to think that this was a chronic issue, and that was no good. Even though this had, in fact, happened several times before. Not with me in it, but other guests. I was pretty sure Blake knew what to do.
“Which elevator?”
“Um, the one I’m on?” I said, confused. We had four elevators, but I didn’t know specifically how he told them apart. “The one that is currently stuck on the twenty-first floor and not going anywhere.”
“Yeah, ok,” Blake said, and I heard him moving around, probably in his shop near the security office. I heard wheels creaking and groaning and assumed he’d sat down in his chair by his computer. He may have been the facilities manager, which was mainly maintenance, but a lot of his job was surprisingly high tech. A few click-clacks on a keyboard later and Blake had found us, “I’m gonna turn on the eyes in there, make sure you’re decent.”
“Oh my God Blake you are ridiculous,” but I couldn’t help laughing. Blake knew how to get a grin out of anyone, especially me. One of my favorite parts of the job was Blake and his easy smile. It didn’t hurt that he was easy to look at and incredibly smart. He was the type of guy I could see myself dating if I ever had time for such things. Which I didn’t. That and Blake had charisma, and that meant everyone liked Blake. I certainly didn’t have what it took to compete in a race with so many participants, so I didn’t. Blake and I were fine as friends, and if I wondered if he was as good with his hands in other ways besides his job well…what I thought in my head in my free time was my own business, wasn’t it?
Besides, right now I was stuck in the elevator with a guest, and there was no sense in thinking idle thoughts about Blake when what I needed to be doing was taking control of the situation and make sure the guest remained calm. I smiled at him while waiting for Blake’s next move, but he didn’t look upset at all, just smiled politely at me while lounging against the elevator wall.
“I’ve got my eyes on you right now,” Blake came back on the line, this time sounding triumphant. I waved to the security camera tucked into the back corner of the elevator ceiling. “My, aren’t you looking ravishing as always.”
I snorted with laughter at his overly done shtick. “Blake you are something else. Now that you pinpointed our location,” I said in a fake militant tone, “What do you need to get us operational again?”
“I can see the issue right now, and it’s actually not a malfunction on our part, which is a little frustrating. It’s the alarm company. Looks like there was a blip in the fire line and it triggered a silent alarm. I just need to call the security company and get them to do a reset. It’s simple, but because of protocol it’s going to take a few minutes. Five tops, can you hang for a bit?”
Five minutes alone in the elevator with the handsome stranger who smelled like heaven? Oh, the hardship.
“Yeah, we are good in here Blake, you do what you need to do. Thanks.”
“You got it, Lizzie. You look pretty today, I like your shoes.” Then the line went dead and Blake was off, presumably dialing up the security company with his password so they could do an automatic reset.
I looked up at the stranger who had been waiting so patiently, “I’m so sorry, but Blake is taking care of it. He’s our facilities manager here at the hotel and he knows exactly what to do. There’s nothing wrong with the elevator, just a mixed signal to our security company, and when that happens the elevator gets an electronic signal to shut down. He’s calling for a reset, it should only take a few minutes. I am so sorry for your delay,” I apologized again, not knowing what else I could do except shoulder the responsibility.
“You work at the hotel?” the man asked, looking surprised.
“Oh yes, I’m Elizabeth Beckett, I’m the event coordinator here at the Wellsborough,” and I reached my hand out for a shake. But instead of grasping it like I expected, he slipped his hand under my own and brought it up to his mouth. Placing what I am sure was a very chaste kiss on top of my hand, but set fire to under-utilized libido, he smiled charmingly.
“I’m Wesley, lovely to meet you. Since you are the event coordinator, would I have you to thank for the lovely gift basket of stationary and wine in my room upstairs?”
“Yes, that was my idea,” I said, pleased that he would take notice. “Honestly I usually try to organize the baskets in a theme for our special guests, but I couldn’t find anything about your group on the internet, so I didn’t have much to go on besides “book club,” hence the stationary. Forgive me for being curious, but what exactly is the Little Black Book Club?”
I don’t know why I asked. Maybe I was just trying to make conversation while we waited for Blake to fix the elevator, but his eyes practically sparkled with delight as he pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to me.
“The Little Black Book Club, Ms. Beckett, is not a club, but a service.” The warmth of his hand left a tingling sensation on my skin as he slid the card into mine. I wonder if my hands are going to smell delicious now. I thought idly to myself while turning over the black card with white lettering and reading the text.
Your fantasy is our specialty. Tell us what you need.
There was a logo, and a website, which utilized the letters LBBC instead of spelled out words, which could be why I couldn’t find it when I looked, and no other information. Your fantasy? Oh!
Oh.
“Like an escort service?” I asked, trying to understand. This was Las Vegas, there were a lot of those around and they weren’t anything special. Some were downright dirty and essentially just a polite way to advertise prostitution.