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Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
“Oh.” Freddie seems surprised to be addressed directly, and a blush paints his cheeks. “I’m a new recruit. The new owner hired me when he took over the hotel. I have a background in high-end establishments, and they needed someone to improve guest services, make sure everyone got the five-star treatment.”
“You mean it’s your dream to work at a hotel in the middle of nowhere known for gruesome murders?” Brooks retorts.
I elbow him in the stomach.
Freddie seems nonplussed by Brooks’s asshole observation.
“No,” he admits, shrugging. “It’s all rather unfortunate. But apart from a few isolated incidents, the Bridgemont has been transformed. You should have seen how shabby this place used to be. It’s great work experience to be a part of making that happen. I eventually want to run my own hotel as a manager. But it’s all about leveling up, you know? Starting from the bottom and moving to the top.”
“I admire a man who puts in…hard work,” I purr, the sexual innuendo impossible to miss. I even bat my long lashes for good measure.
Surprisingly, it’s Orion who growls sharply, though when I glance at him in surprise, his lips are pressed together, and he’s staring pointedly at a spot over my shoulder.
Weird.
“Oh, yes. Um…” Freddie rakes his fingers through his dark hair just as the elevator comes to a stop with a beep.
When I glance up, however, I see that it’s not our floor—we’ve stopped at the fifteenth instead.
The silver doors slide open, and all five of us stare at the man standing on the other side.
“What the fuck?” Jackson barks in alarm as the man wiggles his way into the tight space.
He appears to be about sixty or seventy years old, give or take, and has dark-blond hair swept away from a smooth-shaven face.
But that’s not why all five of us gape at him.
No, it’s because the man is wearing a pair of jean shorts so tiny they leave very little to the imagination. When he turns, the material is so far up his ass crack, both of his cheeks are hanging out. A tool belt is wrapped snugly around his waist, various pieces of equipment poking from it. The white tank top he wears is cut in a steep V that travels directly to the waistband of his shorts, leaving a whole bunch of hairy chest on display.
He has a hammer slung lazily over his shoulder as he continues to move into the elevator, butt first.
“Beep. Beep. Beep,” he singsongs in a piss-poor impersonation of a school bus backing up. He stops when he’s directly in front of Brooks and wiggles his ass from side to side. “Excuse me, young sir. Just trying to get comfy in this tiny box. Heavy load incoming!”
“Jesus Christ.” Brooks scowls with a look of disgust.
Abruptly, the strange man drops his hammer to the floor and then exaggeratedly bends over, shoving his ass against Brooks in the process.
“Well, would you look at that! I dropped mystrongandsturdyandlonghammer. Clean up on level sixty-nine!” He chuckles impishly at his own joke. “Would any of you strapping young men help me retrieve it?”
All of this is said with his ass still in the air, wiggling back and forth as his fingers continually graze the handle of the tool without ever grabbing onto it.
Jackson, bless his soul, looks as if he can’t decide whether to burst out laughing or cringe in sympathy at his brother’spredicament. He settles on saving Brooks by bending down, grabbing the hammer, and handing it to the old man.
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” the stranger purrs, his fingers grazing Jackson’s longer than appropriate.
The elevator dings to another stop, but this time on the nineteenth floor.
“Well, toodles, my new friends! I need to drillniceanddeepinto the walls on this floor. Have to finish constructing theslippery,wetpool. Please let me know if you ever require any assistance. I have a tool foreveryoccasion. I’m quitehandywhen you need me to be.” He tosses a wink in my direction as I gape, momentarily at a loss for words.
It’s not often someone leaves me speechless, but holy crap.
