Page 11 of Manhattan Kiss

“Yes, every week. If only we had more guests like that.” She laughs.

“I wonder why?” I ask, not expecting an answer from Avril.

“Isn’t that the best part of working in a hotel? Speculating about all the guests? Wondering what their lives are like when they’re not in the hotel.”

I smile. I’ve never thought about it, but I speculate about the guests in The Rookery all the time. “Yeah. I guess it is. The Rookery is different. We have people who come back every year and we have a smattering of business guests, but most people are families and retirees on holiday in the area.”

“That makes sense. You’re out of the city.”

“But if Mr. Black stays so often, it must make better sense for him to rent an entire apartment or something? Surely?”

Avril’s eyes grow wide. “Don’t suggest it to him, please.”

“I promise.” Although I’d like to slide brochures of other hotels under his door. I don’t want to have to deal with him on a regular basis. I mean, I wouldn’t mind looking at him. I just don’t want to be in his pathway or be snapped at by him. But life’s all about navigating obstacles. Mr. Black will just be the first hump I have to get over.

FIVE

Deacon

Brian is more irritating than usual this morning. He shouldn’t even be working. It’s Sunday. This entire morning is more irritating than usual. It doesn’t help that I haven’t had my coffee because it’s all down some woman’s shirt. I didn’t have time to go and get another because some of it spilled on me and I had to go back to the hotel and change.

“I’ve told you a thousand times that I won’t travel if it means being away from New York Wednesday to Sunday.”

“But the conference is only on Wednesday to Saturday.”

What about my answer is he not understanding? “Then I’m not going.”

“This might be your only opportunity to get in front of ABC Inc. this year.”

“I don’t have time to say the same thing to you over and over again, Brian. You asked me to go, I said no. This isn’t a negotiation. I have a call coming through. I’ll speak to you later.”

Brian is my COO. He’s good at his job. I basically pay him to be tenacious, but he should have learned that one thing I’ll never change my mind about is leaving my kid when it’s my days to be in the house with her.

Gabby has wanted to move our days around a couple of times, but my answer is always no. I’m not going to confuse Willow. My daughter needs to understand that whatever happens, she’s going to wake up to her mother on a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and me on a Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. That’s just how this works. The only thing that’s ever been flexible is Saturday night. We started off agreeing to alternate Saturday nights, but Gabby asks me to stay until Sunday so often, we agreed, to keep things consistent, I would stay every Saturday night. It suits me. I get more time with Willow. And it suits Gabby, as she gets to go to dinner or whatever the hell she does with her Saturday nights.

There was no call coming through when I hung up on Brian. We both knew that, but I take the opportunity to call my sister. Since we were kids, she’s been the only one who’s been able to pull me out of one of my moods. She knows me better than I know myself.

“To what do I owe this particular pleasure?” she asks. “I’m just on my lunchbreak, so make it quick.” Chloe still lives in the UK. I keep telling her to come over to the US, but she was dating some loser in London for years until she found out about his cheating. She says she has her friendship circle there. She might be an adult, but she’s still my little sister. I worry about Chloe. I always have. She tells me that I’m overbearing because I couldn’t keep Penny safe. That might be true, but it doesn’t stop me from worrying.

“I’m irritated,” I say, like that explains everything.

“Interesting. Can you give me any more meat on the bone?” she asks.

“I bumped into someone this morning and poured my coffee all down her. I think I need caffeine.”

“Is she hurt? Did she have to go to A&E?”

Guilt tugs at my gut. “No, she didn’t go to the emergency room.” I only know that because I saw her in the hotel lobby earlier. But I didn’t even check to see if she was okay.

I’m a fucking arsehole at times.

“You think I need coffee?” I ask. My sister can always figure out what’s at the bottom of my bad mood better than I can.

“No, I don’t think you need coffee. You need a personality transplant.”

“Ha.”

“I’m serious. Did you check on your poor victim? Maybe she’s walking around with third-degree burns.”