Dumbfounded, all I can do is nod.
Then I watch her get into her BMW and speed off before I roll my eyes so hard Ithink I pull a muscle.
I’mstillannoyedaboutthe time I wasted this afternoon as I head into work. I nod to the gardeners who are planting sunflowers along the path to the inn’s front porch, then walk inside the large main doors. When I see Brenden, I’m going to let him know that this was the beginning and end of my dating misadventures for the foreseeable future.
Inside the front lobby, I almost trip over a pile of suitcases. “What the h—”
Thankfully, I catch myself before swearing in front of any guests. But this shouldn’t have been left here. Most guests carry their own bags up to their rooms, but if they’d like assistance, there are employees who take care of it. We can’t leave stuff here for someone to get hurt.
And who the hell brings this much luggage for a visit to Mayweather?
“Sorry,” I hear a quiet voice say as I maneuver around the safety hazard.
Turning my head, I spot a woman sitting in one of the lobby’s oversized armchairs. She’s got one leg crossed over the other, a pair of red cowboy boots on her feet, and she’s wearing a yellow sundress. I avert my eyes from where the dress has ridden up high on her thigh and scan upward to take in her long, wavy red hair.
A ping of attraction hits me in my gut, but I ignore it. I’ve had enough of high maintenance, hot women today.
I want to say,Are you just going to leave all these out here in everyone’s way?But I’d rather not get fired. So instead, I go with, “Is somebody helping you with these?”
The woman nods, then goes back to scrolling on her phone.
Great.
I glance around, looking for Brenden or Danny or anyone, because I’m sure as hell not going to carry her stuff. If it’s outside of the kitchen or the dining room, it’s not my problem.
Okay, fine, that’s not exactly true. I appreciate this job too much not to do whatever I can to help out. But still. Not today, Satan.
Luckily, before I need to figure out what to do, Brenden comes flouncing into the room, a little out of breath, and looking disheveled with hisglasses slipping down his nose and his peach button-up half-untucked from his pants. I should probably be concerned, but the irritation over how my own day has gone makes it hard to care about his.
“I’m so sorry, Riley,” he says, pushing his glasses back into place as he moves around me to stand in front of the guest. “Everything’s ready for you now. Again, I’m so sorry for the unexpected delay, but I can assure you that we’re prepared to have everything you need available for you for the duration of your stay.”
“Thank you,” the woman—Riley—says, still keeping her voice down. “And don’t worry about me. I don’t plan to be any trouble for you.”
I frown, glancing at Brenden for some hint as to why he might think shewouldbe trouble. Other than the obscene amount of luggage.
But Brenden ignores me and continues to address the woman, with his customer service smile spread so wide across his face that he resembles a Batman villain. “Oh no, we’re not worried at all! We’re so pleased to have you here!” He turns halfway around, gesturing to the staircase with a grand sweep of his arm. “If you’d like to head on up, I can show you to your room, and then I’ll make sure we get your bags delivered to you right away.”
“I can grab some,” she says, rising from the chair.
Her legs momentarily distract me before I snap out of it and turn to leave the room. Because whatever this is, it’s Brenden’s problem, not mine.
But of course, since my day is going so badly, Brenden chooses now to lock eyes with me, and the desperate plea in his halts my escape.
Shifting his attention back to the guest, he insists, “No, no, we’ve got it,” and ushers her up the stairs.
I stay here, waiting for him to return like I’m assuming he wants me to. I’ve got a bone to pick with him anyway over his stupid dating idea.
When he comes downstairs again, he begs me, “Will you please help me bring these up?”
“What the heck is going on?” I ask. “Shouldn’t Danny be here? And why are you more frantic than usual?”
“Please, Addison,” he says, making prayer hands in front of his chest. “If you help me so I don’t have to make a million trips, I’ll owe you big time. I promise I won’t ask you to cook me anything for a month.” At my skeptical look, he amends that promise to, “Okay, well, maybe three days.”
I huff a laugh. “Yes, fine, I’ll help. Lord knows your noodle arms wouldn’t survive this. But seriously. What’s going on?”
“Let’s get everything upstairs, and I’ll explain after,” he says. Yet as he bends down to grab two of the larger suitcases, he babbles a quick explanation anyway. “Guests checked out late and left the room a disaster, Danny possibly broke two fingers, long story, and drove himself to urgent care. And this is all terrible timing, since we really need to make sure Riley is happy, because the last thing the inn needs is bad publicity.”
“Publicity?” I question, confused.
