Mr. Celebrity steals a glance at me just as I’m studying a beautiful marble statue behind him.
Okay, fine, I was checking him out. But the guy is clearly as self-absorbed as he is handsome, and that's totally unfair if you ask me.
He raises an eyebrow, and I ignore the embarrassing way my heart kicks into high gear. I turn to look away, but just as I’m averting my eyes, he places a plastic bag on the counter, snagging my attention again. The bag saysValue Gas,and sure enough he pulls out a Salted Caramel Twix bar.
He looks right at me.
Then, he bites into it, slowly. Chewing it so obnoxiously that crumbs cling to the corner of his mouth.
I wet my lips, then immediately regret it.
He licks his own lips clean and gives me a little smirk. This guy is pure evil.
Luckily, Kurt and Berta reappear, but my stomach sinks when I see their tight smiles.
“So sorry for the delay,” Kurt says, and Berta parrots him, giving me a sympathetic grin. “We found a solution. Unfortunately, you won’t be staying in one of our suites as originally planned. Of course we’ll refund the difference—”
“What? No, no, no. Ineedthe suite.”
“I’m very sorry, Ms. Donnelly,” Kurt says, his voice low and even. “We’re fully booked because of the hockey tournament. The suites are all reserved for the players. We’re hosting both men’s teams,” he says, a hint of pride sneaking into his tone.
My mouth falls open. “You have got to be kidding me. I thought this was a five-star hotel!”
“My deepest apologies. There seems to have been an issue with the booking system. We’ll offer you a spa treatment voucher, and breakfast will be on us, of course.”
I sigh, running a hand over my frizzled hair. “Does the room have a bath, at least?”
He winces. “I'm afraid not, but there's a nice walk-in shower with hydrotherapy. And you’re welcome to use our hot tub, sauna, and the steam room at the spa at any time as well. Normally, it's extra, but I'm including that in your reservation.”
I'm about to answer when Mr. Celebrity leans toward me.
“I don’t mind giving up my suite, if it helps,” he says. “She’s had a rough day. And even if I’m a big-shotcelebrity, I don’t really care about the room, or whether it comes with a bath.”
He shoots me a pointed look.
Touché, I guess. An annoying flutter chooses this moment to overtake my stomach. Maybe because of that hint of a French accent I just detected. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Just a slight rounding of the vowels, a faint cadence beneath his words that doesn’t quite match the clipped American tones that surround us. It’s barely noticeable. And somehow, that makes it even more distracting.
Get it together. This guy is not being charming. He’s just trying to prove a point.
Berta beams. “That’s extremely generous, Mr. Marchand, but I’m afraid it’s not possible. The organization blocked entire floors for the teams. We can’t put anyone else there.”
“Right. VIP only,” I mutter.
“Exactly,” Berta chirps, not catching my sarcasm.
Now it’s my turn to give Mr. Celebrity a pointed look.
Kurt clears his throat. “All right, let’s get you checked in, Ms. Donnelly.”
“Thanks.” I brace my hands on the counter, forcing a strained smile. “Don’t forget that spa access.”
4
Baptiste
The tournament officially kicks off tomorrow with our first practice, but we already have a big day today. A detailed schedule was waiting for me in my suite last night. We’ll start with breakfast followed by a bunch of meetings, photo shoots, and some interviews this afternoon. The fame aspect of the job never really interested me, so it’s not going to be my favorite part of the tournament—no matter what Feisty Brunette may think.
I finish getting ready, then head downstairs to the large ballroom for breakfast.
