Page 16 of Tasty Cherry
I pull my cell phone out to text him. “He’ll have to. I’m the boss.”
Raya’s laugh is hollow. “You are indeed.”
While the interns put on their badges, I tap out the message, already wondering if I can get Bertie to tell me if he assisted a certain dark-haired woman to her room.
I have to see her again. There has to be a way.
7
MILA
Istare at the woman at the front desk. Aisha.
She’s going to be a coworker. I can’t exactly lie. She’ll remember.
“You know, give me a minute,” I tell her.
She nods, and I grab my suitcase and roll it to the far corner of the lobby by the front window to sit down.
What do I do?
Sebastian is the general manager! I can’t work here! We did things! He already asked me out again!
Oh, God. This is the absolute worst-case scenario. Why didn’t I pop my cherry in some other town? Boulder isn’t that big, only a hundred thousand people.
And by the time you break it down to men, single ones, in the right age range, sure, the likelihood that the man I picked might work at this hotel, which is a major employer in this area, was probably higher than I should have risked.
But the general manager? Really, universe? The big boss? The one who I definitely, positively cannot see again?
Except I can see him. All of him. The muscles of his chest. The plane of his belly. And below. Yes, I can picture every inch of that.
“Can I help you?”
I nearly jump off the cushion. A kindly elderly man with deep black skin and gentle eyes stands beside me in a crisp red Castle Hotel uniform. A gold pin on his chest reads “Bertie: Bell Captain.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine,” I say. But my insides quake. I’ve been noticed by two staffers.
I have to make a decision. Am I going to leave? Or fight for this job? Clearly, Sebastian doesn’t realize I’m one of the new interns. He led me to the lobby.
But he’ll know soon. We’re supposed to meet him and Havannah in less than an hour.
What do I do?
“You seem a mite lost,” Bertie says. He sits beside me.
Something about his kindness melts me a little. “I might be.”
“Are you waiting on someone?”
I hesitate. What to say? “I’m not sure I should be here.”
“And why is that?”
“I wasn’t expecting there to be someone I know. Now I’m not sure what to do.”
The quiet stretches a moment. I’m probably going to bail. Just leave. Go home, I guess. I was there all summer, waiting for this job to start. I can go back, tail between my legs. Try to find something else. Hotels are usually hiring.
So why not say something to Bertie?