Page 3 of Muerte

She gasped dramatically. “Lolita!”

I shot her an apologetic smile, not entirely sorry at all.

“Let’s just agree that the kind of rich men we’d be into only exist on the other side of a screen or within fiction, making them statistically unobtainable. They either live billions of miles away or don’t exist.”

I just barely stopped myself from questioning this we she was referring to. That would open the door to a whole different kind of conversation.

“Have you forgotten the men who own this resort, technically our bosses’ bosses? What about all their friends?”

“They don’t count. They’ve all got wives that they’re shockingly devoted to.”

“So?”

“I don’t want to split custody of dick, sharing the holidays and weekends. I need commitment.”

Lord, help her. “How did we go from talking about their looks to you screwing them? And when did this change of opinion come about?”

“I had an epiphany about the scandal that would break out if a man like that got caught balls deep in the help.”

So, not because she suddenly felt remorse for all the previous married men she’d slept with. “Anya, I know this may sound insane to you, but maybe going for a regular nine-to-five man wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

“You’re right. You’ve lost your mind.”

I ignored her rebuttal and proceeded to wash my hands, grabbing my bag afterward. She waited for me to finish, checking her cell notifications with a small smile I didn’t dare ask about.

The last time I did that she thought it was a green light to show me some random man’s genital selfies. The secondhand embarrassment I had for him lasted nearly two weeks. Some poses shouldn’t be done clothed, let alone naked.

We headed back into the hall and through the double doors that gave us access to the main lobby. Now knowing what was going on, the craziness from that morning made a little more sense. In fact, I think it had gotten worse now that an onslaught of guests had arrived for check-in.

Men and women all fashionably dressed were clustered together in small groups, conversing with one another while bellhops rushed around with carts of luggage, going the extra mile to earn bigger tips. Navigating through all of this to reach the corridor that led to the restaurants was as tempting as skipping over hot coals barefoot.

There were so many people.

I could handle the judgement that came with this job in the presence of one or two, not an entire army. Anya didn’t have such reservations. She looped her arm through mine and urged me onward.

“Don’t worry about these judge-y motherfuckers, Lo. Think about food, because I’m starving.”

Leave it to her to know exactly what my hesitation stemmed from. “Do you have some idea of what you want to eat then?”

I hoped she chose the bistro. It was always the least busy, and hopefully today wouldn’t be an exception. With a whole thirty-five minutes to order, eat, and then be back on the floor to finish our remaining rooms, time was always of the essence.

As we made our way through the maze of guests, I tried to pretend I didn’t feel the needling of multiple eyes on us. I placed one foot in front of the other and let the beauty of Millennium distract me.

The lobby had always been my favorite part of the resort. It was purely designed for opulent tastes. The marble floor never went unpolished, resembling smooth, untouched glass.

There were bouquets of fresh, beautiful flowers that were replaced every other day, always in shades that complimented the cream and wood-toned hues of the Millennium’s color pallet. But my absolute favorite part of the resort’s design was the domed skylight that made up the ceiling.

Catching a flash of movement in my peripheral, I glanced over and saw a bellhop rushing our way with a cart of luggage proportionate in size to my entire lower half.

I untangled myself from Anya and made sure she was clear of his path with a gentle shove, and then did a quick skip-hop to avoid being run over, bringing myself within centimeters of a man’s broad back.

I held my hands out to steady myself, taking a quiet breath of relief when I didn’t go bulldozing into him. The bellhop had the decency to breathe out an apology as he whizzed by.

I didn’t recognize him as one of the regulars. The resort must have called in reinforcements. I quickly moved away from the man and his companions, catching a fragranced note of cologne—something exotically warm. I’d never associated the scent of cologne with money, but whatever that man had on was undoubtedly expensive.

I slowed briefly so Anya could catch up to me, allowing her to loop our arms back together. She immediately leaned closer and whispered, “Did you see them? Please tell me you saw them.”

“No. I was too busy saving my dignity.”

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