I draw the city skyline along the bottom of the card, sketching out two figures under the neon sign across from the Bellwood. I lick the golden underside of the flap, sealing the envelope shut.
It’s frigid in the walk-in cooler. David sent me down here to fetch the tray for delivery up to the VIP Penthouse. The tray is slightly chilled, on a gold cart, ready to be wheeled up to the top floor suite. I’m not one of the staff who typically takes food or drinks up to the hotel rooms, and I don’t even typically know who the guests are in the hotel unless they have restaurant reservations.
I push the golden cart onto the little service elevator that takes me back up into the main kitchen. David’s here on the phone, looking frazzled as usual.
“Thanks for grabbing that, Chase. Ruby should be out in the hall ready to take it upstairs. I’m heading to my one o’clock meeting.”
I give him a little salute. “You got it, boss.”
I push the wine cart out into the main hall and find Ruby, one of the kitchen staff, waiting there on her phone.
“Hey,” I tell her. “I can take this upstairs. You go ahead and take your lunch break.”
Ruby nods. “Sweet,” she says, looking back at her phone and walking off.
I get in the elevator alongside a couple who look like they’re walking mannequins for Louis Vuitton, with all of their bags and jackets sporting the logo.
I make it to the top floor and push the cart out.
I’m not up here often.
Since last year, I’ve tried to avoid it, unless I was taking a break on the rooftop.
I get to his door and knock twice, and it swings open quickly.
And I’m met with a woman who is definitely not Logan.
“Hi, there,” she says, her face bright but unsmiling. “We didn’t order room service, I don’t think?”
I blink at her in silence for a moment.
Holy fuck.
Logan is up here with a beautiful hookup.
A boulder sinks in my chest, and it’s as if I just had the rug pulled out from under me.
“No, no. This is a complimentary gift for Mr. Stone. From the Bellwood. I’m Chase. I work in the restaurant downstairs.”
I reach out to shake her hand.
“Oh, you’re Chase,” she says. “I’m Emily, Logan’s manager. You can come on in and put the cart by the dining table. Sorry it’s such a mess in here.”
Score.
I have absolutely zero claim to Logan, but I still like the idea that he’s at least not fucking a womanright nowas I enter his suite.
I wheel the cart inside and see that the suite isn’t a mess in any sense of the word. Emily has a tablet, a phone, and a giant bag down on the table, but that’s about it. She’s peppier than Logan but she looks just as stressed as him, barelyglancing at me as she leads me further into the living room, pulling her long hair into a ponytail.
“Do you have access to any of those little desserts they serve downstairs?” she asks. “Those were incredible last year. I did an extra thirty on the treadmill every day because of them.”
“There’s some right here, actually,” I tell her, opening up the portion of the tray with the sweets. “I made them this morning.”
“You make those?” she says, her eyes going wide. “Sinful. Fucking delicious. You’re going to be my downfall.”
I hand her one of them and she pops it in her mouth, her eyes rolling back.
“I’m in love with you,” she says. “Thank you, Chase.”
