Room Service

by Chance Carter

  I didn’t exactly agree that getting plastered and eating my weight in healthy snacks was what I needed, but I was willing to give it a shot. For science. After swallowing my mouthful of apple, I tipped my head back and showed I was truly in the spirit by drinking the remaining contents of the glass. Willow cheered and rose to refill my glass, and I indulged in another slice of apple.

  Three glasses later, I realized what I did need. We were listening to one of Willow’s Billy Joel records, because apparently he had some sort of soul healing ability. It was about halfway through “Piano Man” that I realized what I needed to do.

  “I need a life change,” I announced from my bean bag throne.

  Willow, lying across the couch with her head over the side, looked at me with an upside-down smile.

  “What kind of change? A new haircut?”

  I self-consciously ran my hands over my auburn waves, horrified at the thought of something happening to them. I loved my hair. It was silky, shiny, and always seemed to have the perfect texture. There was no way in hell I’d be chopping it off in some sort of ‘new hair, new me’ effort.

  “No, I mean like a big change.”

  Willow sat up, sensing this was a serious conversation, and turned down the volume on the stereo.

  “You know I’m all about change,” she said. “Lay it on me.”

  “Uh, well...” I said, frowning. “ I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

  Offering up an apologetic smile, I shrugged. “Help me?”

  Willow laughed and came down to sit across from me, folding her legs into a perfect lotus.

  “If you’re going to make a big change in your life, it needs to come from in here.” She said, pointing to her chest, just above her heart.

  I normally hated when she tossed out trite expressions like that, but this time it struck a chord. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was Billy Joel. Maybe it was the bean bag chair. Whatever the case, I dug down deep and tried to figure out what my heart would tell me to do if it could speak. Which it couldn’t, no matter what Willow said.

  Even though I was miserable about losing Lance, I did recognize that I wasn’t always happy when we were together. There was something missing from my life with him, something that I’d never really taken the time to explore, because I’d been afraid of pushing him away by doing so.

  “I want independence,” I said. “Lance always got to dictate how I lived my life. And before Lance, it was my parents. I’ve been in a rut for God knows how long now and it’s time for me to get out of it.”

  Willow pumped her fists in the air.

  “Yes! That is exactly what I think you need! That was some great soul-searching, babe.”

  I smiled, pleased with the compliment, and took a celebratory drink of wine.

  Now I had to figure out how to be more independent. Finding my own place would be part of that, but I would have to make some other changes first.

  “So what’s the plan?” Willow asked.

  I thought for a moment.

  “I think I want a new job.”

  My current job, waitressing at a family restaurant, wasn’t cutting it for me. I’d only stayed there as long as I had because it was stable and I got decent tips. I was always too afraid to try something new in case Lance needed to lean on me. Now that I was going it alone, I could rely on the little lump of savings I’d been building to get me through if things went south. After all, I wasn’t going to be using the savings now anyway, since it was supposed to be for our wedding.

  “A new job,” Willow said, with a wistful tone. “That’s such a great idea! Very Bridget Jones of you. You should try to find something art related.”

  I cringed at this, even as a shiver of excitement ran down my spine.

  “No. Not art. I’m willing to try just about anything, but I’ve always wanted to work in an office.”

  Cue Willow’s cringe. She couldn’t think of a worse place to work than an office, with its business suits and filing systems. She was an elementary school teacher, and a brilliant one at that. Sometimes I wondered how the two of us ever found each other.

  “Okay, a business job. We can work with that.”

  She raised her glass for a toast.

  “To new beginnings.”

  I countered her toast with one of my own.

  “To going all Bridget Jones on this bitch.”

  Chapter 2

  Max

  It was, by all accounts, a successful party. The drinks flowed freely, the sound of laughter drifted above the strains of classical music from the orchestra tucked in the corner of the grand ballroom, and not a single one of the tasteful yet elegant decorations was out of place. Everyone was having a good time.

  Everyone except the birthday boy, that is.

  “I love when your mother throws these things,” said my best friend, Jeremy Braun, grabbing a crab cake from a passing tray and stuffing it into his mouth. “Always a ton of beautiful women. Always a ton of tasty food.”

  “And that’s all you need to have a good time?” I asked, in a voice drier than my Moët.

  Jeremy quirked a brow, genuinely puzzled. “What else could a man want?”

  “Some peace and fucking quiet,” I muttered under my breath.

  Jeremy heard me and laughed, snatching a stuffed mushroom and nibbling at it uncertainly. After his first bite, he made a face and dropped it on the next tray to pass by.

  “I wish she’d not do so much seafood, though.”

  “It’s expensive,” I answered. “Of course she’s going to order it. By the bucket load.”

  Jeremy’s olive eyes stared past me and his brow wrinkled. “Speaking of which. Incoming—”

  That was all the warning I got before Paulina Westfield bustled into my vision, arms held slightly aloft like a tiny drunken dinosaur. I could tell from the tinge of pink on my mother’s cheeks that she was having a nice time this evening, which I should have expected.

  “Maximilian, there you are.”

  I cringed at her use of my full name. I hated when she did that.

  “Here I am,” I said, offering up a pleasant smile. “Lovely party. Thank you.”

  “You deserve it, my dear. My only child, now thirty years old,” she sighed. “So, what does that make me? A lonely old widow? It’s nice to get to spend time with all these young people, even if they do remind me that my glory days are far behind me.”

  “Paulina, you look stunning,” Jeremy said, in a honeyed tone he reserved for such occasions. “Nobody would believe you were Max’s mother if they didn’t know.”

  It was true that my mother did look much younger than her fifty-three years. She always bought the best skin creams and lotions on the market, and had regular teeth whitening and Botox treatments. She wore her dyed black hair in an elegant chignon most days, though for tonight’s special event she’d opted for a more elaborate up do, with braids, pins and all sorts of other debris. Her clear pale skin had barely any wrinkles, and when she looked at me it was with the same icy blue eyes from all my childhood photos.

  “Jeremy, you’re such a charmer.”

  Mom laughed and rested a hand on his arm flirtatiously.

  “We really must find a girl who can keep up with you, otherwise you’ll leave a string of broken hearts behind you.”

  “As long as I never break yours.”

  My mother practically preened at that. It took her a full twenty seconds to recover before she turned to me, intent evident in her gaze.

  “I’m afraid I must steal you away, darling. I have somebody I’d like you to meet.”

  I glanced up at Jeremy, who shrugged and took another sip of his champagne.

  “I’ll go do the rounds.”

  I nodded to my friend and followed my mother through the crowd, wondering what she had up her sleeve this time. She was always up to something. Paulina Westfield was a meddler, through and through. She had no qualms about eavesdropping or gossiping, so long as it served her purposes. Generally thos
e purposes weren’t harmful, but I had at least one ex-girlfriend who’d learned the hard way not to mess with my mother.

  Mom stopped in front of a tall blonde wearing a pretty purple dress. The girl was talking to a group of people, but the moment my mother tapped her on the back she turned and gave me a dazzling smile.

  “Maximilian, this is Cynthia Bronstein. Her father owns half the properties in Manhattan, you know.”

  “Not quite half,” Cynthia said, laughing shyly.

  She had a pretty smile, which matched the rest of her pretty features. Long, dark lashes that framed exotic green eyes, a straight aquiline nose, and lips that parted with lust when she saw me looking her over. She was hot, I’d give her that. The dress was tight on her curves, and I wondered how her ass would feel in the palm of my hand.

  “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” my mother said, and just like that, she was gone.

  “Happy birthday,” Cynthia said.

  “Thanks.”

  The silence lengthened between us.

  “Your mother said you like sailing.”

  I sighed, “My mother wishes I liked sailing. I like to go out on my father’s yacht from time to time.”

  “Your father’s?” she said her eyes filled with confusion. “But I thought...?”

  “Yes, he’s dead,” I said, straightforwardly. “But I don’t feel comfortable claiming ownership over something he put so much of himself into.”

  My father loved that yacht. He would spend weeks at a time out on the water, which I’d always thought would get lonely. Little did I know at the time that he was never actually alone. When he died five years ago, he left the yacht to me, but it would always be his in my mind.

  “I’m sorry,” Cynthia looked down. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Actually, if you’ll excuse me I have a phone call to make,” I said. “My apologies.”

  I slipped away from Cynthia, not particularly caring if I hurt her feelings with my abrupt departure. I wasn’t upset, just bored. I’d had that same conversation with countless girls over the years. After a while, they all started to blend into one—just another young, pretty socialite with more money than sense. They weren’t all like that, of course. Some of them were quite intelligent and talented, but that didn’t make me any more interested.

  The aspect I enjoyed most about my mother’s parties was the relative anonymity they afforded. Few of the people here could spot me on sight, and those that could were generally distant acquaintances that didn’t have the nerve to come talk to me anyway. And there were lots of them.

  I did a couple rounds of the room, accepting well-wishes from the people I did know, then blending back into the crowd. All the while, I kept an eye out for Jeremy.

  I soon spotted him near the back corner of the room. He had a napkin of food in one hand and a drink in the other, and he looked bored as hell. He brightened up when he saw me.

  “For a lawyer, you’re awfully anti-social,” I mused when I reached him.

  Jeremy offered a weak shrug.

  “My job is to talk. I’d rather not do it in my spare time too if I can avoid it. Especially to your mother’s lot.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, with amusement. “You say that like they’re not your own lot as well.”

  Jeremy had grown up just as privileged as I did, only his father was a lawyer instead of a business tycoon.

  “Oh, you know,” he said as he gestured vaguely toward the mass of people in the ballroom. “They’re all so… stodgy. She picks them based on breeding and temperament, much like a person chooses a show dog. Where are all the playful little mutts?”

  I knew exactly what he meant. If just one of the girls my mother introduced me to had a spark of fire in her, perhaps I would be more interested. But she wasn’t looking to entertain me—she was looking to marry me off.

  “Oh shit.”

  Jeremy shoved the food in his mouth and stepped around me before I even had the chance to ask him what he was doing.

  I turned and saw why he’d made such a speedy exit.

  Paulina was headed straight toward me, her jaw so tight I wouldn’t be surprised if she cracked a tooth. It was her signature ‘pissed off’ expression, one that she’d cultivated and perfected over decades of dealing with my churlishness and my father’s antics.

  “Maximilian Augustus Westfield!” she snapped, her voice a little louder than I would have liked. “What in the name of all that is holy do you think you’re doing?”

  “Well, I was having a conversation with one of my friends at my birthday party, but it looks as though you’ve scared him off.”

  It irritated me when she called me Maximilian, but I got especially annoyed when she resorted to using my full name. Most of the time I tried to pretend my middle name didn’t exist. It was just like her to name her firstborn son after a Roman emperor.

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “You know very well what I mean. Cynthia Bronstein is a lovely girl and now you’ve embarrassed her.”

  “Embarrassed her?” I asked. “How did I do that, I barely even spoke to her.”

  “Exactly! What will everyone think?”

  I groaned, not caring how impetuous it made me sound.

  “Mother, I don’t care what everyone thinks. Isn’t this supposed to be my birthday party? Aren’t I supposed to be doing what I want?”

  “Maximilian, my nerves are running very thin. Do you want to give your poor mother a heart attack?”

  Oh boy. She was gaining momentum and was likely to spin up into a full-blown tantrum if I didn’t do something to stop it. I often thought she’d entered the wrong business. Rather than being the stay-at-home wife of a billionaire property investor, she should have taken her penchant for drama to Broadway. Then I wouldn’t have to be the only one dealing with her song and dance.

  “I’m not trying to give you a heart attack.” I placed a reassuring palm on her shoulder. “Cynthia was very nice, but I thought it best to save both of us some time by ending our acquaintance before it truly began.”

  “That wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t do it to every girl!” she moaned. “You’re thirty years old now, Maximilian. You need to start thinking about a smart match. You need to start thinking about an heir.”

  My eye twitched. “Why would I do that, when you spend so much time doing it already?” I clapped her on the shoulder.

  Paulina was not amused.

  “When are you going to start taking your role in this family seriously?” she said, downing the rest of her champagne flute, not waiting for me to answer. “I will find you a wife, Maximilian. Mark my words. I refuse to see the fortune your father built get divided amongst the snake den you call your cousins. Hear me?”

  “That’s a commandment for the ages, Mrs. Westfield,” said a smooth female voice from my left. “Possibly one of your best yet.”

  Rather than glowering at the newcomer, as Mother would usually do, she turned to the petite brunette at my side with a warm smile.

  “Haddie! My dear, you’re late! That’s not like you.”

  My personal assistant Haddie was my rock. I didn’t know what I’d do without her, especially in situations like this. She had an uncanny ability for defusing my mother, which was worth having her on my payroll all on its own.

  The pair air-kissed, and Haddie winked at me as they did.

  “I got a little caught up at home,” Haddie said. “Do you mind if I steal your son for a moment?”

  “Not at all, darling. Enjoy the party!”

  Then Paulina disappeared into the crowd, grabbing another glass of champagne on the way.

  I turned to my PA, smiling down into her brown eyes.

  “Remind me to give you a bonus for that. She was about to go nuclear.”

  Haddie chuckled.

  “I’ll remember you said that. Can I have a word outside?”

  We went out onto the patio, which was largely unoccupied due to the
chilly spring evening. It wasn’t raining, at least. Haddie wrung her hands and pursed her lips, clearly about to say something she found uncomfortable.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She smiled, and stuttered, “Uh, well... I’m pregnant.”

  My eyebrows dove skyward.

  “That’s great news! Congratulations.”

  Haddie smiled weakly, but I had a feeling her being pregnant wasn’t the big news she pulled me aside to talk about.

  “Yeah, the only thing is that Dave and I are going to move to Virginia to be closer to his family,” she said. “So you’re going to be needing a new personal assistant.”

  My smile fell.

  Fuck.

  Chapter 3

  Emma

  My knee shook uncontrollably. I had to rest a hand on it to keep from jiggling against the person next to me, who had already proven herself to be far more suited for the job for which we were both about to interview. She knew it, too.

  It wasn’t my fault I didn’t have a high-end pant suit to rock on interview day. I’d spent the past couple of years as a waitress, and the only uniform requirement for that had been something that wouldn’t show stains. This was a whole new world. A new and scary world. If I got this job, however, I’d be well on track toward getting over Lance and moving on with my life. What said progress more than a well-paying office job at one of the biggest real estate firms in the world?

  Unfortunately, the other people waiting in the reception area had the same hunger in their eyes that I did. They wanted this job bad—but I wanted it more. It would push me way out of my comfort zone, yes, but it was the only interview I’d been invited to so far, at a place where I wouldn’t have to serve or make food. I wanted to start taking steps forward in my life, and this job was my golden ticket. Which of course made me even more anxious as I listened to the ticking of the clock on the wall and waited for my name to be called.

  The woman doing the interviews, and the candidate she’d just interviewed, came down the glass paneled hallway across from me and into the room. The woman glanced down at the clipboard in her hand, then looked up, searching.