“Villa Seven is – ” Nick starts, but at that moment, Adrian returns to the table, looking angry, and we drop the subject. He’s obviously upset, so I stand, excusing myself.
“You wanted to know about running the hotel,” Adrian says. “It isn’t that hard. Just don’t get ahead of yourself, trying so hard. Take care of complaints, and deal with staff issues, until Dad gets back from wherever he’s gone. You’ll be fine.”
Not so different than what his dad said to me. You got this. None of this really means anything, or speaks to my ability to run a huge hotel when I’ve only been here for two days. And I’m not the type to just sit back and not give it all my effort.
“Your deal,” Adrian tells Nick.
Nick picks up the cards and begins to shuffle.
“Not like you’re going to pay up, even if I win,” he mutters.
The walkie-talkie beeps.
“Sorry to bother you, Miss Bennett, but there’s been two more noise complaints about Villa Seven in the last ten minutes,” the desk clerk says.
Nick and Adrian exchange a glance, something passing between them that I can’t quite place.
“I’ll take care of it,” I say, trying to fake some self-confidence.
“If you happen to run into a young lady named Dawn, let her know she was supposed to start work half an hour ago,” Adrian says, not bothering to disguise his disgust.
So everyone knows that one of the maids has been spending the night in Cruise’s villa. The thought makes me slightly ill. It’s still early in the day, what kind of person blasts music this loudly before lunchtime?
The ‘do not disturb’ sign hangs over the doorknob of Villa Seven when I get there. A little bit of irony? Don’t disturb me while I disturb everyone else? Something about the arrogance of it makes my blood boil. I march right up to Villa Seven and pound on the door.
Cruise opens the door wearing swimming trunks. And nothing else. His hair is wet, so he either just got out of the shower, or just came in from a swim. Imagining either is…unsettling.
“Can I help you?” His voice is a sexy purr, but I know from our previous interaction that he’s playing around with me.
I purse my lips, sure I look exactly like some stereotypical old fashioned teacher. My hair is even in a messy bun, all I need are a pair of glasses to slide down my nose.
“I think you know why I’m here.”
He cocks one eyebrow.
“Did we have another complaint?” He’s teasing. It’s a little gentler than last night, but I’m not in the mood. Asking him repeatedly to turn down his music is nothing but a waste of my time. He knows he’s in a hotel, he must know that other guests can hear the music when he turns it up to full blast.
“Nope. You had two complaints, within ten minutes of each other.”
In response he raises both eyebrows.
“Two complaints? Maybe tomorrow I’ll go for three.”
As if he’s reading my mind. So he’ll still be here tomorrow? There’s no reason that information should do anything but frustrate me. No reason it should make my pulse speed up.
So far neither of his female friends have made an appearance. I can’t help glancing past him, surveying the room—it’s a mess. There’s a pizza box on the floor, some clothes, and several empty alcohol bottles strewn about, but the bathroom door is open and as far as I can tell he’s alone.
From two doors down I hear a baby crying.
“Maybe I should file a noise complaint against those people,” he suggests. “Their baby cries a lot.”
“Maybe that baby is crying because your taste in music is so atrocious.”
Those blue eyes consider me. “Really? You think my music is atrocious? I’ve heard the piped stuff the management plays in the lobby of this hotel. And that DJ last night—”
“Also atrocious, but in a different way,” I concede. “The lobby music shouldn’t be noticeable. Music played in public places is supposed to be innocuous.”
“Innocuous,” Cruise says slowly. “Adverb. Inoffensive or harmless. Safe.”
“Exactly.”
His sneer shifts to disdain. “Music isn’t about safety, it’s about taking risks. Therefore, I find safe music atrocious.”
“And hotels are about having a place to sleep where some awful man doesn’t wake your baby by blasting Nine Inch Nails.”
“Ah, so you recognize my atrocious music?” he cocks his head to the side. Like a fool, I feel a burst of pride because I caught his attention. I push the emotion aside. I must be demented from exhaustion and lack of sleep. I’m not going to impress him, and nothing about him, besides his abs, is impressive to me.
My brain spins out of control, thinking about those abs. And his tattoos. Which are all kinds of sexy.
But nothing about him—except every aspect of his appearance—is impressive to me. Okay, maybe I’m a little impressed with his vocabulary. He obviously isn’t stupid. And he has a dimple. Ugh, now I’m back to his appearance. No guy has any business being so good looking.