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Tossing some money at the driver, he exited and dashed through the rain to the entrance of the hotel. Not something his brothers would stay in, but perfect for him.
Guess sleeping in mud and shitholes makes an average place seem like something five-star. Sure, he had stayed at upscale places, but since joining the military, those were few and far between. Typically when he was with his family. Again, few and far between.
He waited for his turn and stepped up to the counter.
The woman gave him a practiced smile, even as her eyes roved over him in a deliberately slow way. “How can I help you, sir? Checking in?”
“Hope so,” he said. He took in her pale blonde hair, which was styled in some sleek bun, and couldn’t help but compare it to the wildly unrestrained curls Violet had. “I just got in from out of the country and am working with Violet Wentz at Welcome Home. I know she’s staying here, she’s my sister-in-law, and I would like a room on the same floor as her, if you have one.”
She opened and shut her mouth.
“You can call my brother, Bradford Rhodes, to confirm it all. He’s the head of Welcome Home.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t sure when my flight would make it in, which is why I don’t have a room.”
He held her gaze while she took a deep breath and nodded. For about sixty seconds all the noise between them was her typing. “Any luggage you need taken up to your room, sir?” She slid a key card over the dark, polished countertop.
“No, thank you. It will be arriving later.” He glanced down at the card in his hand. Sixth floor. Without another word, he ambled off, thinking over every last fucking thing that had happened since he’d arrived.
Exhaustion was too tame of a word for what surrounded him. Hastings knew he needed rest, but his conscience wouldn’t allow it until he got some answers about Evan. He fought off a yawn as he entered the elevator and pressed the button for his floor. Thankfully, he was alone and the ride passed in blissful silence.
There were more expensive hotels in the area and better rooms on the upper floors of this place, but Violet had picked mid-level. Why? Was it because she had a fear of heights? Superstitious? Lord knew Bradford would have rented out a penthouse suite for her at the Marriott or something like that if she’d wanted.
“So much to learn,” he muttered as he stepped off the elevator and headed down the hall, not giving a damn about the red-and-gold faded carpeting. “So little fucking time.”
He closed the door behind him with a groan and barely glanced around after making sure his home for the foreseeable time was secure. Perching at the edge of the bed, he removed his boots then flopped back.
God, he could use a shower. It took the last dredges of his energy to do so, but a short time later he was face first on the king-sized bed, out cold, dreaming of a curly-haired woman who didn’t do military men.
Chapter Three
“You, Paul, work miracles and I thank you for it.”
The man smiled at her as he crossed his arms before sitting on the edge of her desk.
“Helps to know that the one running this place has my back. I could have handled him.”
Violet tipped her head back then nodded. “I know you could have, Paul. It wasn’t ever about my doubting your ability. It’s that, plain and simple, it’s my job to handle those situations so my staff doesn’t have to.” She reclined in her chair, the squeaking breaking the silence between them.
Paul smiled. “How are we handling the mountain of a man who barreled in here earlier?”
“The senator?” she asked, even though she knew it wasn’t who he meant. “We’ll do our jobs, make sure this place is ready when the doors open, but I think we need to discuss having an on-site manager.”
Paul stretched out his legs, the tight white leather encasing them showing off that the man was in good shape.
“Not who I meant but sure, we’ll go that route since you obviously don’t want me to notice the faint blush on your cheeks when you think about the real mountain man.”
“I’m Black. You can’t see me blush.” She lifted her chin. “If I was, which, for the record, I wasn’t.”
He laughed, and she waited, not all that patiently, for him to stop being amused.
“If that helps you, sure, we’ll go with that.”
“Anyway,” she growled. “I’m hungry, let’s get something to eat and get a game plan in place.”
“More than what we have?” Paul stood and tugged on his orange shirt. “The old manager left stuff, but I don’t know what’s going on and what of his plan you want to use and what not.”
