Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
TEN
Efa
Every time I come into the corridor from the Avenue Suite to go to my trolly, I can’t help glancing at the Park Suite. It still doesn’t have the light on requesting the room to be serviced like it has for the previous two days.
Is he not in there?
Is he trying to avoid seeing me?
I know it’s pathetic, but I’m disappointed. Yesterday, his hands on me, his mouth by my ear, whispering such dirty things, his hips pinning me down—his come in my underwear.
It was…
He is…
I know I’ve slept with the guy on two separate occasions and I barely know anything about him, but there’s something in me that needs more. If I’d had a one-night stand before, maybe I could compare. I’d know that it’s normal to be left yearning, normal to want to know the man who just made you come.
I slip my hand into the pocket of my uniform dress and finger the printed copy of my résumé that I’ve been considering leaving with Bennett. As a recent graduate with zero experience, I know I don’t have much to offer. But a job with Fort Inc. would fulfill a long-held dream. Surely I have to shoot my shot?
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t expected him to drop by the flat last night. Maybe a quick fuck over his desk is all he wanted, but I was a minute away from handing Gretel my resignation and locking the door for the day after what happened. I wanted to spend the rest of the week, the rest of the year, naked with Bennett.
Maybe he didn’t feel the same. How could he not? Maybe sex with older men is always… electric, but I’ve never experienced anything like it. We were so in sync. He knew what I needed without me having to say anything. He knows just how hard to bite, how much to push, when to tease and when to just fuck the living daylights out of me.
Maybe it’s American men. When people ask me what my type is now, I’m going to say rich, older Americans who fuck me like Bennett Fordham. Or Ben Fort, depending who he is in my head that day.
“Is that light on?” Marcella calls from inside the Avenue Suite.
“Let me check,” I reply, pulling out a spare loo roll.
Of course I don’t need to check. I know it’s not on. And it’s late.
“Not yet,” I say as I head back into the bathroom and pull off the almost-finished roll of loo paper from the holder and replace it with the one I’m holding.
“I guess he has a meeting or something,” she says.
“Or something.”
I get a gnawing sensation in my gut and I can’t decide if it’s because I feel bad there’s a chance Bennett might be ignoring me, or because I haven’t seen him today.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with this thing,” Marcella says, shaking the tablet that tells us which rooms are occupied and which have checked out. I’m ninety percent certain that turning it into a techno snow globe isn’t going to help, but you never know. Tech is fickle.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“Every time I try and update the rooms, it crashes.”
Her phone bleeps, and she answers while I take the tablet and switch it off. It’s a cliché, but sometimes hardware needs a timeout so it can come back in a better mood.
Marcella listens. “Totally crashed, yeah. Oh wow. Oh okay. Yes, yes.” She glances at me. “Yes of course, I’ll tell her.” Then she ends the call. “Systems are down,” she says. “It’s not just room updates. The reservations system is totally screwed.”
“That’s weird,” I say. I suppose it makes sense that there’s an interface between the booking and room-update systems. I don’t know why I do it—just a niggle of suspicion—but I pull out my phone and bring up the hotel website.
It’s down.
Now, that doesn’t make sense. There’s no way an informational website would be linked with the booking system and the room-update system.
“Yeah, so reception doesn’t know who’s supposed to be checking in or out, and how many rooms there are to sell. They need extra hands on reception. Apparently, you’re supposed to head down there ASAP.”
“Oh,” I say, glancing at the door of the Park Suite. I’m really not going to see Bennett today. “Are you going to be okay doing all this on your own?”
“Sure,” she says.
“Shall I finish up here with you?” I ask. I should have put my résumé in an envelope. Then I could have slipped it under his door.
But maybe fate is my friend here. I’m not going to have a chance to give him my résumé. And maybe that way I’ll save face. He probably would have laughed looking at my measly, one-page CV. No doubt he gets thousands of them, all more impressive than mine.