She smiles again, this time with teeth. “Oh, I’m sorry, a complimentary bellhop is just part of the suite package. Your suitcases are over there.” She points a long finger at my two suitcases stacked in the far corner of the lobby.
Spencer holds in a laugh as he slides his passport back into his jacket pocket.
The receptionist nods her head at Spencer. “Enjoy your suite, Mr. Cole.”
“I’m sure I will,” he replies, as I drag my suitcases toward the elevators, one handle in each fist.
As we walk, Spencer flicks through the bright green TechRumble folder until he stops at the judging panel page. “Whoa, is this the Big Kahuna?”
I glance to the side, seeing an image of a man who is known as the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. “Yeah, that’s Dominic Odericco. He took over Odericco Investments from his father five years ago and introduced the whole concept of TechRumble the year after.”
“He looks like that guy Regé-Jean Page,” he says, examining Odericco’s strong jaw and sharp cheekbones. “I did not think tech nerds could be this hot.” Spencer’s voice bounces off the walls as we make it to the elevators.
I look around to see if anyone overheard before bringing my voice down to a whisper. “Can you keep it in your pants please; we are here to be serious business people.”
“Don’t worry, I amveryserious about that bod.” Spencer has already googled Dominic Odericco and is clicking through long-lens paparazzi photos of him half naked, drinking martinis on a yacht with a small gaggle of models. His toned golden-brown chest with a smattering of dark hair glinting in the sunlight.
“Oh my god.” I throw my hand over his phone screen as a pack of men in suits walk by.
Spencer laughs and clicks the button for his special little elevator with swirling gilded doors reserved for the top three floors of the hotel.
As it dings open, he shouts, “See you, cheapskate.”
I glare at him, running a hand over my face and slinging my handbag over my suitcase before pulling both my bags toward the normie elevator. The much less exciting silver doors immediately start to slide open. All I want to do right now is shower and chill out in a king-sized bed.
Before I’ve even stepped a foot into the elevator, my eyes scrunch shut as a large body barrels into me like a freight train. A freight train grasping a cardboard holder of coffees, which promptly lose their flimsy lids and release their contents all over me. Like a targeted tag team assault, the iced coffee with whipped cream splashes over my face and hair while the matcha latte hits me directly in the chest. The two cappuccinos fall outof the holder and explode in every direction as they slam into the ground with a wet thwack.
“Shit!” a disembodied voice shouts.
“Fuck!” I wipe my blurry eyes and stumble backward, immediately feeling the lobby go upside down as I trip over one of my bags. As I fall, I grab blindly at the nearest object to try and save myself, but all I do is pull the shirt of whoever slammed into me over the top of the other suitcase until they are on the ground next to me.
Everything scatters across the lobby—my phone, key card, coffee cups, the entire contents of my handbag, and the other person’s over-ear headphones.
As the assailant and I peel ourselves from the floor, our eyes finally meet. Mine squinting through the coffee, his wide form just hitting the floor at full speed. His biceps flex under his white shirt as he pushes himself off the floor, sitting upright with his hands on his wet thighs. His eyebrows meet as he stares at the crowd around us slowing their pace to gape. To be fair, I would also stop and stare at the brown and green explosion staining the perfect marble floors.
His hazel eyes scan the scene once more before flicking up to me. “Are you kidding me?” he says in an American accent.
“AmIkiddingyou?” I say, completely bewildered at his tone. “I’m not the one who just launched themselves into another human being without looking where they were going.” I glance around too. Great, just half the people in the lobby are looking at us now, but my heart is still pounding. Several members of the janitorial staff are already cordoning off the area so other patrons don’t step in the mess surrounding us and quarantining our embarrassment.
Gathering up the contents of my handbag, I take no real notice of the man next to me until he shakes his head in bafflement. “You know, it’s common courtesy to letotherpeople out of an elevator before you and your twenty bags enter. I thought the British were meant to be polite?” The front of his chestnut hair flops forward as he assesses where the coffee hit him. He wasn’t originally in the splash zone, but his fall landed him face-first right where the two cappuccinos exploded. His jaw tightens as he winces and stands, then offers me a hand up.
Does this guy think because he has a face like that, he can just ram through life however he pleases? I don’t take the offered hand, instead choosing to place my palm in a puddle of cooling coffee and get up by myself, causing a ripple effect in the liquid. He barks out a humorless laugh and shakes his head, choosing to watch me lift my suitcases off the floor by the dripping handles.
“It’s common courtesy to look where you’re going when you’re carrying two liters of latte like a loaded weapon.” I wipe at the bright green and brown stains covering my coat.
“Just perfect. Exactly what I needed today,” he grumbles to himself, wiping his wet hands on his suit trousers before checking his watch.
I throw my arms up in exasperation, gesturing to my torso. “And this is exactly how I wanted my day to go! This is the only coat I packed!” I gesture to the rain clouds building outside.
He winces, eyes softening as he takes in my state for the first time. My face is wet, my light beige coat now looks like I’m making a cow print fashion statement, and my hair has a smear of whipped cream in it. Compared to me, he barely has a scratch on him. He runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”
“No, it’s fine.” I gather my things and shove the loose, soggy contents of my handbag back into place. The laminator Cecily got me for Christmas thankfully saved my folder of presentation notes, narrowly avoiding complete and utter disaster.
“I insist.” He picks up one of my suitcases. “It’s one of the hotel services, so you’ll have it back by tomorrow.”
I glance up and down at him, and he easily stands half a foot taller than me. “Are you seriously holding my suitcase hostage? After you’ve thrown coffee all over me?”
His face softens. “Is it working? If not, I’ll have to send you a cutoff handle in the mail with a ransom note.”
