A guy walks across the room and pours himself a drink. He’s…not the sort of guy I would expect to find in Seascape Villas. He’s not wearing a shirt, and tattoos swirl up his muscular arms, over his wide shoulders.
I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from his tattoos, though in the half light of the villa it’s impossible to really see more than vague outlines.
My eyes travel up, away from his torso and muscular chest, and now we have eye contact.
The best way to describe his hair is shaggy, but in the sexiest way possible. Not surfer shaggy, exactly, and not like a skateboarder. It’s just-rolled-out-of-bed shaggy, the kind of hair you could really run your hands through. His eyes are a dramatic bright blue, and his lips are curving into an inviting smile.
Everything about him, and this moment, makes my heart speed up.
“Like what you see?” he asks. The question feels like a slap in the face. Like he’s calling me out for staring, when he’s the one who didn’t even shut his door all the way, and who’s playing his music so loudly that the entire villa is vibrating.
But I haven’t done anything wrong -- he’s the problem, and I’m not going to take any abuse from him, even if he is gorgeous.
Completely flustered by everything about this situation, I frown and reach for my name tag, desperate to regain some sense of authority.
He picks up a bottle of bourbon, and I realize that he’s been drinking. A lot. He might not be completely drunk, but he’s close.
“I’m Maya Bennett, the new night manager,” I tell him. “And we’ve had a noise complaint about this room.”
“Oh, have you?”
He leans on the door frame, exposing me to the full force of what I can only call sex appeal. He’s tall, but not too tall. Well proportioned—what am I saying—amazingly proportioned. He looks like he’s strong enough to rip the door out of the frame he’s leaning against, but that he’d do it gracefully, with a condescending smile. A flawlessly condescending smile because his teeth are white and straight and his lips are as perfect as the rest of him.
He raises and lowers his eyebrows, in a way that’s both self-aware, sarcastic, and somehow extremely hot. My first inclination is to giggle, and push my hair back, and I’m not the kind of girl who giggles, or flirts with half-naked men flaunting their muscles and tattoos.
It’s been a long day, and I’m obviously not thinking straight. Flirting with him would be the worst thing I could do. Guys like this—exceptionally good looking guys—expect special treatment. They expect women to go weak in the knees around them.
“Yes,” I say, keeping my voice and my expression serious. “Yes, I’ve come to ask you to turn down the music.”
I must be succeeding at the solemn demeanor, because the smile drops from his face.
“Where’s the owner?”
“The owner?”
“Yeah.” He smirks. “If you work here you must know the owner, Richard Bancroft.”
“Of course,” I say. “He’s gone away on business for a few days, and he’s left me in charge.” This is true. Richard Bancroft had the decency to at least meet me when I arrived at Seascape Villas, just long enough to inform me that he was going away for a few days and leaving me on my own as night manager.
On my first day.
It was overwhelming, to say the least.
But there’s no way I’m going to let this guy know it’s my first night. That would be a mistake. Guys like him love to exploit the weaknesses of others.
“And this is your first night on the job, I presume?” he asks.
“How…did you know?” I reply before I can entertain the idea of lying.
“Because only someone who doesn’t know what a complete dump the Seascape Villas on the Bay are, what a joke this place has become, would act like a noise complaint was something to take seriously.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, sweetheart, but all this piece of crap hotel is, anymore, is a place for people to party. Frat parties, graduation parties, rich kids with daddy’s credit card parties. If you start making people turn down their music, the old place will soon be out of business, and you—” He skewers me with that blue stare. “Will be out of a job.”
A sinking feeling in my midsection says he might be right. I haven’t seen more than a hint of the elegance I was hoping for when I applied for this job online. All my fantasies about learning the ropes of hospitality have pretty much flown out the window. But that’s beside the point.
“Nonetheless,” I say, “Your neighbors have called in about the music, so I’d appreciate it if you could turn it down.”
“Sure.” The sneer is still there. It doesn’t make him less handsome, but it does make me feel about three inches tall. Like I have no authority at all, despite my gold nameplate. I hold my ground, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.
With exaggerated care, he tip-toes across the room, as if his footsteps might also cause a noise complaint, and turns the knob on the stereo until the music disappears altogether.