Daniel ripped his hands off Jensen’s waist as he took a quick step back. A barely constrained snarl replaced the enticing smile he’d sported. “Are you a cop? Does your superior know you’re here? We have an understanding with the city, and I doubt they’d be happy you were here trying to stir up shit.”
“No, I’m not a cop,” Jensen choked out. The idea was laughable. He could maybe do one push-up and wouldn’t know how to handle alleged criminals. Or the public in general. Scratching the back of his head, he walked further into the room and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to stir up shit. I just have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Daniel eyed him suspiciously for a few moments before his shoulders dropped. “You booked a room at the Lillian.”
“I’m aware.”
“And you were at the bar alone.”
Jensen suddenly felt like he was failing a test he should have known the answers to. “Yes?”
Daniel blew out a breath. “Why did you decide to stay at this hotel?”
He looked around the room, suddenly almost unbearably uncomfortable. “It’s a perfect time capsule of the early nineteen hundreds art nouveau movement. It’s one of the only buildings on this side of the country that hasn’t been remodeled. All the original fixtures are still in use.”
“Wait.” Daniel put up a hand to stop him. “You’re staying here because of the building’s history?”
“Oh yes. Well, more specifically, because of its design.” He got up from the bed and went to his shoulder bag, rifling around before finding the book he was looking for. “I don’t really care if anyone died in the rooms or what celebrities vacationed here. I care about the building itself. Art nouveau. It’s my area of expertise. I published a book about it a couple years ago. It did not sell well.”
Daniel stared at the glossy cover for a long quiet moment before covering his face with his hands. Jensen wasn’t sure what to do, so he let his hands drop to his sides and shifted his weight uncomfortably. He probably shouldn’t have told Daniel about his lack of book sales. It wasn’t like he’d done the research and written the book to sell millions of copies, but it was a bit depressing that it hadn’t made its way onto a single university’s supplementary reading list. Jensen did not need to divulge that to an almost stranger though. Defeated, he replaced the book in his bag.
When he turned back, Daniel was staring at him like he was a curiosity at a state fair. And just like that, nausea coated the back of his throat, and his hand twitched to find his container of antacids.
“It was Jensen, right?”
He nodded.
“Well, Jensen, I hope you didn’t use your company’s credit card to book your reservation, because the Lillian is a brothel and I’m an employee here.”
Oh, he was definitely going to throw up.
2
Daniel wokewith crust in his eyes, a slight but irritating headache on the crown of his head, and a mouth drier than a Mormon’s liquor cabinet. His glamorous and confident work persona had swirled down the shower drain much earlier that morning along with all his hair product and makeup. The only thing that had followed him into his rickety bed was a tiredness deep in his bones and an ache for long uninterrupted hours of reprieve from his daily worries. He’d been fortunate enough to get that but still woke up exhausted. He was always exhausted. So much so that it was getting to be his most defining characteristic.
There’d once been a time when his close friends would describe him as fun or adventurous or the life of the party. Years had passed since Daniel could have been considered anything close to lively. Or since he’d had any close friends. But that didn’t matter much to him, not with everything else going on his life. He preferred it that way, really. He didn’t have the energy that was required to make people like him or to deal with the emotional fallout when they inevitably let him down. Overall, it was best that Daniel kept to himself, since he was the only person he could count on.
Avoiding all his tight and showy work clothes, he dressed in sweatpants he’d gotten a lifetime ago and a shirt he may have stolen from a previous hookup. Whether he wanted to or not, it was past time to face the day.
“You look like you had a late night,” Brody said as Daniel shuffled into the living room after his pit stop in the bathroom.
“Is there any coffee left?” he asked while pushing a finger against his eye socket, hoping to relieve his headache.
“It’s two in the afternoon, babe. Coffee is long gone.”
Daniel glared at Brody through one squinted eye. His roommate didn’t have the grace to acknowledge the silent cursing. Brody’s unflappable and downright cocky smile was in full effect behind his closely cropped beard. He was the only one in the rented house that grew out their facial hair, and his viewers would be distraught if he ever shaved it off. Luckily for them, Brody had no interest in removing any of the hair on his body and even played it up when he was in front of the camera. Right now, he was sprawled out on the large leather couch without a shirt on, looking very much like he might at the beginning of one of his critically acclaimed jerk-off videos.
“There’s some donuts in the kitchen that I got from work if you want one,” Casey said as he settled down next to Brody with a green smoothie. Not a second later, Brody wrapped his thick arm around Casey’s shoulders and pulled him into a cuddle. “What time did you get home last night?”
“Way too late.” Daniel sat on the other side of Brody, not needing prompting to rest his head on his broad shoulder.
“You must have made a killing, then,” Casey said before taking a long and noisy pull of his viscous meal replacement.
“I struck out.”
“What?” Casey popped his head out over Brody’s built pec and studied his face with large brown eyes. “What happened?”
“God,” he breathed out, then chuckled. The whole thing had been ridiculous. In all the time he’d worked at the Lillian, and he’d worked there for years, he’d never found himself in a situation like that before. There had been more than a couple of clients that somehow got it in their heads that the hotel would cater to extreme needs—kinks that should only be played out by those with training and experience. Of course, there were clients that got too invested and thought Daniel felt actual feelings for them. More than once, he’d had to get his boss involved to kick out someone that deluded themselves into thinking they were in love. “I got up to this guy’s room before finding out he didn’t know I was a sex worker.”
