“As in Freddy Krueger?”
“The red-and-green sweater guy?”
“The razor blades for fingers guy, yeah.” I brushed cobwebs away from my face, peering into the darkness. At the end of the hallway, a heavy metal door swung back on its creaky hinges and he stood in the doorway.
“Then yes, that kind of boiler room.”
“Great.” I swallowed, and then was swallowed up by clouds of steam. “Good lord, it’s like pea soup down here!” I exclaimed, narrowing my eyes to see better through the clouds. An entire city of pipes and pumps lived down here, incredible roaring metal and steam . . . everywhere steam.
“No wonder you’ve got fireplaces in every room,” I said, looking over the equipment. Stone Age, these boilers were from the Stone Age! “Where are the guys in overalls shoveling in the coal?”
“Aren’t you being a little bit dramatic?” he asked as he consulted a hand-drawn map on the wall. “Lakeside Lounge, Lakeside Lounge, aha!” He started fiddling with gauges and levers.
“I don’t think so, Mr. Bryant,” I said, looking around with a more critical eye. “Do you have any idea how much money you’d be saving in heating costs, let alone the tax credits you’d receive, if you switched over to greener technology?”
“Wait, just wait a second, you just got here and already you have me installing an entirely new heating system? We’ve been using this system for years and it’s never failed us before.” The steam was getting really thick, the room was hot and sticky and good lord was it getting hotter by the second.
I tugged at my leather jacket, trying to flap a little breeze in. “Then why exactly are we down here? Why exactly did you run away in the middle of a conversation?” He looked at me incredulously just as a loud knocking began ringing out from the furnace on my right. And the furnace on my left started to spew an enormous jet of steam, filling the already hazy air with an even bigger cloud.
“You were saying?” I asked, smirking more than a little bit.
He stepped closer, ducking underneath a pipe, tugging at his tie as he came. “Oh, you’re an expert in heating systems now? When did hotel management school cover that?”
I could feel a trickle of sweat running down my chest and I gave up trying to flap a breeze and just tore off my jacket. “I literally know nothing about heating and cooling, other than when I turn on my AC in the summertime I don’t want to hear a groaning unit. What I do know is your bottom line, and I know the amount annually spent on utilities is staggering.”
“I have a huge hotel,” he countered, taking off his own jacket and grabbing a giant wrench.
“That I’m sure is sealed up nice and tight for the winter,” I replied, ducking under a pipe and stepping right in front of him. “You want me to tell you about the draft in my room last night? My bed was freezing! First I thought it was from the balcony, then I thought it was coming under the door from the hallway outside. Turns out it was from both. It was like a freaking wind tunnel.”
“I am sorry, Ms. Morgan, that your bed was so cold last night.”
“Says the guy bragging about his huge hotel.”
We stared at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills. Archie’s glasses were beginning to fog over, yet there we stood, toe-to-toe. We breathed in at the same time, and I could see his pulse beat just below his jawline beneath the barest hint of five-o’clock shadow. We were both worked up, angry, annoyed. Then he licked his lips. Just the tip of his tongue flickered out, catching the tiniest bead of sweat. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly rude?”
“Everyone who’s ever hired me.”
“And you’re proud of this track record?”
“Every one of them is now a sterling reference. I can give you their contact info whenever you like.”
He shook his head, turned away, and set to work with the wrench, turning down the thingamabob, throwing his entire body into it. He grunted at one point, and because of the steam I could see the muscles in his back straining through his white shirt. I took a step closer, just the one, to watch as he struggled with the whatsamahoozit.
“Almost . . . got it . . . there!” he cried, turning around triumphantly in a final burst of steam and whistle to find me standing much closer than I had been only a moment before.
Surprised it was over so fast, and totally caught staring, I mustered up a “Bravo, Mr. Bryant,” and then internally slapped myself for sounding so Happy Birthday, Mr. President when I said it.
He smirked. I scowled.
Asshole.
We emerged from the basement sweaty and sticky, messy and a little bit sooty. Back in the Lakeside Lounge where we’d started the tour, I clapped my hands together, eager to get us back on track and away from whatever it was that just . . . whatever.
“Well, thanks for the tour, particularly that very eventful ending. Do all the guests get that extra-special ending or . . . ?”
“Just you, Ms. Morgan,” he said, making a show of putting his hand to his ear and listening to the radiator. “Listen to that, purring like a kitten.”
“A kitten who’s carrying around a kettlebell maybe.” I snorted. “It’s still clanking.”
“Patience, some of these systems need a little extra stoking from time to time, but in the end, it’s worth the extra-special attention.”
“Stoke this, I’m going to go get cleaned up. And then, per your father’s request that I enjoy my day up here on your mountain, I’m off to do a little sightseeing.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” he answered, cleaning the last of the steam and soot from his glasses.
“Where do you think I should start?”
“Massage?”
“Maybe.”
“Too chilly for a swim in the lake.”
“Agreed, I was thinking of going for a hike, any thoughts on which trail I should take?”
“You’re going to hike? In this?” He looked out the picture window at the drizzle that had started up again. It was a bit warmer than yesterday so this time it was rain only, no icy slush. No slippery slopes.
“I won’t melt. Besides, anything more than a day indoors and I start climbing the walls.”
“You could hike around the lake. It’s flat, covered in gravel so it shouldn’t be too muddy. It’s a nice way to see the property, and you get a great view of the hotel.”
“Done,” I said, turning to go.
“Do you have dinner plans?” he asked, so quickly I wondered if he was asking me to— “I mean, do you need me to make a reservation for you in the dining room or will you be dining in your room again?”
“How did you know I dined in my room last night?” I blinked innocently.
He shook his head dismissively. “This is my hotel, Ms. Morgan, do you really think I don’t know everything that’s going on?”
I chose not to answer. “I’ll be in the dining room tonight, I’ve got a date. Two, in fact.”