Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
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.”