His VIP room

5

This place is so beautiful. When I arrived, I couldn’t fathom why it had such mediocre reviews.

Now, I’m starting to understand.

Staffing issues.

His people can’t handle basic procedures like booking.

Not a good sign.

No glorious ocean views and drinks so smooth you can’t taste the liquor make up for a heart attack in the middle of the night.

“You’re sure about the food? We have these coconut-macadamia nut muffins on our breakfast menu everybody raves about. If I call the kitchen, I bet I can score you a couple out of the first batch this morning.”

Muffins? He’s trying to buy me off with sweets?

“No thanks.” I try to keep my voice neutral.

As he drums his thick fingers impatiently against the desk, waiting too long for someone to pick up, I snicker.

“You’re still laughing?” he whispers, his eyes dark and glassy. “Never mind. I’m glad you find this so funny.”

Oh, Mr. Grumpmuffin, you have no idea.

2

Be My Guest (Brock)

Fuck, f**k, also f**k.

I haven’t been off the damn plane for an hour and I already have an irate reviewer on my hands. One more pissed off influencer in the legion torpedoing my crown jewel resorts.

What kind of review will finding the goddamned CEO of the entire company naked in your shower cause?

I resist the urge to put my fist through the wall, imagining the c*****e.

It won’t take ten seconds to go viral, and that’s all I—or Winthrope Resorts—needs right now.

I’ve got to take care of this s**t.

I still have the phone pressed to my ear, and there’s still no answer after a dozen rings. Another reason for our lackluster reviews, I guess.

Finally, there’s a click and someone picks up.

“Thanks for calling Winthrope Lanai. This is Shelly. How may I help you?”

Wake the f**k up, Shelly, I think, wondering if the night crew has any coffee on hand.

Her voice is so monotone it sounds like she’s been napping.

“Are you tired, Shelly?” I clip.

“Huh? Well, it’s three a.m. and I—”

A groan slips out of me.

You never tell a guest you’re exhausted on the job.

What kind of train wreck am I running?

“How can I help you?” Shelly asks again.

“Shelly, this is Brock.” I emphasize my name so she doesn’t ask Brock who. The last thing I need is for this influencer to find out how far up the food chain I really am. “There’s been a serious mistake. Someone overbooked the presidential suite. I need to know who made my reservation and the reservation for—” Damn. I don’t know her name.

That may be a first.

Usually, a girl as pretty as her knows exactly who I am before she sees my package.

Shit.

I look over to the chair, where my little intruder has gone from bright red to pale. I hate that my gaze lingers.

She’s all long legs and shy curves, barely concealed behind her skimpy pj’s. Rumpled blond bed hair spills down her shoulders, and her starlit green eyes only meet mine when she thinks I’m not looking.

She chews her plump lip nervously—and it does nothing to calm these devilish, intrusive thoughts I’m having.

In another life, I’d be having a very different night, alone in a room with a woman like this.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Piper,” she says.

Great. Of course she’s named after the guy in that fairy tale who steals all the kids with his magic flute and marches them away.

“Piper what?”

“Renee,” she whispers.

I’m not about to make the porn-star-name joke that springs to mind. It certainly won’t help anything now.

And I watch her reach for the bed on her good foot, pulling off the closest blanket and throwing it over her bare legs.

Too bad. If we weren’t in crisis mode, I wouldn’t mind seeing her lounge around in those little pink panties longer.

“Shelly, I need to know who made my reservation and the reservation for Miss Piper Renee. I also need a new room ASAP because there’s an existing guest in the presidential suite this weekend,” I say, glancing at her foot again.

In the light, the cut looks small, but it’s still oozing blood. She really should have a bandage and an alcohol wipe.

“And please send up a first aid kit for Miss Renee, pronto.”

Piper laughs. “You’re standing here in a towel, so I think we can skip the formalities. You don’t have to call me ‘Miss.’”

Is it missus then? My jaw clenches.

Shelly must hear that. “Is everything okay, sir?”

Fuck no.

And it feels like it can only get worse.

“It will be if you just do your job,” I say coldly.

“Do you have a preference for what room you’d like?” Shelly’s voice strains like she’s finally realizing the sky-high pile of s**t she’s in.

I’m about to ask for a honeymoon suite.

It’s the next tier down, right below this one.

At this point, I’d rather have Miss Renee keep the best room plus whatever else I can manage to avoid getting nuked into slag online. But something she said replays in my head.

We do have mediocre reviews, and most of those aren’t coming from the top-shelf suites.

“Put me in a room on the Garden level,” I say.

If I’m being kicked out of my usual room, I might as well find out how most of my guests stay.

“Garden room. Right,” she says, like she’s checking if she heard me right. “Let’s see, I’m going to put you in room... one oh nine. Will that work?”

“Yes.” I hang up, trying not to slam the phone down as I look at Piper. “Let me get dressed, then we’ll sort this out. Stay off your foot.”

She blinks at me and frowns.

I stomp to the massive closet beside the main door and grab my duffel bag. I didn’t expect to unpack until tomorrow and I usually sleep naked.

Apparently, it’s going to be a while before I get any shut-eye, though.

It takes me five minutes to change in the bathroom.

When I walk out, I find Piper still lounging in the chair, holding a tissue to her damaged foot, the blanket pulled aside.

Shit, I’m staring.

I was so gobsmacked earlier that I didn’t appreciate the way her t-shirt hugs her mango-sized t**s or how perfectly those lace panties cling to her sweeping hips.

I wish I wasn’t so observant now.

“They haven’t come with your first aid kit yet?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

Goddamn, someone needs to overhaul the entire training program.

I’m about to make excuses or at least apologize when we’re interrupted.

Knock-knock!

I nod. “Better late than never.”

I head for the door and yank it open.

“First aid kit as requested, sir,” a uniformed attendant says.

I take the white box from him. He gives me a quick update on a system error from the front desk, supposedly the cause of this insane mishap.

When he’s finished, I shut the door, walking back into the sitting room and tossing the kit in Piper’s lap.

“For your foot.”

“Thanks.” She opens it and takes out a sanitizing wipe and a bandage, then sets to work on her foot.

“Once you’re dressed, I’ll have someone come up and clean the floor so you don’t step on glass again.”