Page 37 of Crimson Love

I shift my gaze from Devon. “Excuse me?”

“Yepperoo. Looks like you’re not the first person to steal this junker.”

“That can’t be,” I mutter.

“Why not?” he bellows. “You’re not the only one good with his fingers, pretty boy.”

Fuck me.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” I say.

“Not sure what the point is on you trekking all the way to town from that fancy-ass manor. It’ll still be stolen. I’ve got to do my due diligence and call the Chief.”

“Don’t do that until I get there. There has to be a mistake.”

“Thieves ... takes one to know one.”

“Hold tight, Clive. I’ll get this figured out.” I hang up and turn back to Devon who’s frowning at me like I’m a freak show. “I’ve got to go. We can pick this up later.”

Devon spears me with a glare. “I don’t know what’s going on. I may not look like a ray of sunshine, but I’ll bend over backward to make sure my employees are happy. Do not rock my ship. Got it?”

I’m not about to tell Devon what Clive just shared. I’ve caused enough trouble for Lennon.

At least I won’t tell him until I get to the bottom of this.

A stolen car.

And, this time, not by me.

Lennon

A nd I thought yesterday was a day. If something could go wrong on the hotel side of the manor, it has.

Two washing machines kicked the bucket at the same time. One created its own Winslet lake in the basement laundry room. That was fun.

One guest’s room is too hot.

Another one is too cold.

Another can’t sleep because their bed is too hard, regardless of the fact Devon did not skimp in this area. I haven’t personally slept on one, but I did test one once. They are plush and feel like a cloud. If I can ever dig myself out of the hellhole I’m living in and can afford one, I’ll consider myself accomplished in life.

Goldilocks looks like a happy bitch compared to our guests’ first-world problems today.

This doesn’t touch the kitchen issue that bleeds into my responsibilities. They have two people out sick. I’ve been delivering room service between cleaning up leaky washers and doing my best to make sure guests are comfortable ... or at least appeased.

Maybe the universe thinks I need a distraction. At least the day has flown by. It’s nearly the end of my shift, though there’s so much going on, I couldn’t go home even if I wanted to.

And home is the last place on earth I want to be right now.

Thank goodness for my radio. I haven’t had to power up my cell since I shut that sucker off yesterday.

I’m about to round the corner to the offices but stop in my tracks.

“Hey.”

Jett is leaning against the front desk. His arms are folded across his wide chest and one ankle rests over the other. He’s in another pair of jeans, but unlike the long-sleeved T-shirt I’m used to seeing him in, today it’s a crewneck sweater. His hair isn’t quite as messy as yesterday, but that one curl that always distracts me still kisses his forehead in a way that makes me want to wind my finger around it and give it a tug for being too sexy and perfect.

He’s the exact opposite of me—the picture of the relaxed and casual. I haven’t been relaxed since yesterday before I got that text.