Page 1 of Room Service
Chapter One
ELISE
I enter room twenty-nine of the hotel I work in, sighing as I carry the clean sheets over to the bed. I put them down on the table that sits to the side and look at the mess before me. Sheets pulled off and creased, the duvet is lying on the floor in a heap, the pillows askew, with two over by the window, and I can only guess that they have been flung there at some point.
My eyes move to the bedside table, where a couple of open condom wrappers sit, the tops torn off and thrown on the floor. At a quick scan, I count five empty packets, and my eyes widen a little. Jesus… five? I’ve never been fucked five times in one night, I would be lucky to get it once, seeing as my husband of five years is a lazy prick who is only concerned about getting himself off and then rolling over, because apparently that’s his job done. Wanker. It also doesn’t help that I don’t find him attractive in the slightest and the thought of him touching me makes my skin crawl. I hate him. I truly, truly hate him. I never really liked him in the first place, but my parents pushed me to marry him, because back when I did, he had a decent job, seemed to want to look after me, and they piled on the guilt for me to just do it and save myself from a life of poverty—which is exactly what we had all been living since I could remember.
He uses me when he wants something, and other than that, he sits on his arse and glugs beer whilst watching any old crap on the TV. My parents keep piling on that guilt for me to stay, and I am so fucking sick of feeling guilty all the damn time. It’s my life, and I’m the one working my arse off as a fucking cleaner to make ends meet, so I wonder why on earth they urge me to stay with him? I mean, shouldn’t they be telling me to run far away and make a better life for myself? I know that if it were my daughter, I’d be helping her, not drumming into her that there is no other option.
There is always another option.
And I already have a plan in place.
I save a little of my wages every month, putting it in a savings account until I have enough money to get the hell out of there. I’ve already made my peace with the fact that my parents will never forgive me, and for that, I can’t forgive them. We’re not close anymore, because they have driven me away with their constant put downs and ridiculous demands. I did what they asked, and they just moan at me anyway—nothing I ever do will be good enough, I know that now. Took a while for me to truly grasp that concept, but I’ve come to a point in my life where I no longer give a damn.
Look out for number one. And that is exactly what I have been doing for the last six months. I have no one to rely on but myself, and I will get myself out of this loveless marriage if it’s the last thing I do.
I’ve managed to save a few hundred pounds so far, by working overtime and walking to and from work rather than catching public transport. Every little bit of spare change goes into my secret kitty, and every time I add a little money to it, I smile and know I am one step closer to being free.
It’s going to take me a little while longer, but as soon as I have enough money for a plane ticket and have any paperwork in place that I need, then I’m out of here. I’ve already researched hostels I can stay in, and I have no problem with not having my own place, because I know that will come later down the line. Eventually. But even if I have to wait, so be it, because anything is better than my current situation.
I’m being proactive as much as I can be.
With another sigh, I start to strip the sheets, balling them up and throwing them into a heap on the floor, and I’m so lost in my thoughts that I fail to notice anything until there is the sound of someone clearing their throat behind me. I shriek loudly and throw the pillow that was in my hands in the air. My eyes are wide as I whip around, my heart beating a million miles a minute, and I’m met with a guy dressed in nothing but a towel.
Good fucking God.
“Umm…” Words fail me as I take in his toned abs, olive skin, and muscular arms. Where the hell did he come from? Is he a mirage? Is my mind conjuring up beautiful men now? Am I that fucking desperate in my pathetic life for it to do that? I close my eyes and open them, but he’s still there. Okay, not a mirage then.
“I didn’t realise housekeeping were due today,” he says, his face deadpan. Oh shit.
“I… I’m so sorry,” I mumble, as I feel my face getting hotter and hotter by the second—probably look like a fucking beetroot. I quickly move myself into action, bending and picking up the sheets that I’ve torn off the bed to take to the laundry room. “I’ll just… umm…” My voice fades off as I nod towards the door and start to move.
“So, am I expected to sleep on the bare mattress?” he questions, and I stop in my tracks, turning back around to look at him. He’s even more stunning to look at a second time, and when my eyes connect with his grey ones, I feel something weird happen inside of me. What is that? Like a flutter, only it’s pulsing and making its way down to my… Enough, Elise. That’s enough.
“No, of course not,” I say, averting my eyes from his, because they feel like they’re boring into me and trying to see into my soul. “I’ll just go and get the clean sheets and then I’ll be out of your way.” I turn and leave the room, the sound of the door clicking closed behind me seeming to echo all around.
I throw the dirty laundry into the trolley I have stationed in the hallway, and I take a couple of deep breaths. I put my erratic heart beat down to the fact that he scared the crap out of me, and I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the room, ignoring all the other reasons that it could be. I double check the chart to make sure I was supposed to clean the room today, and it shows that it should be vacated. Guess I’ll be reporting the faux pas to my manager then, because I sure as shit am not getting the blame for walking in on a guest—a very wealthy guest, I might add. You don’t stay in the Blue Diamond Hotel if you don’t have money. And yes, the name really does reflect the standard of clientele that come here. We get paid minimum wage whilst the owner rakes in the big bucks. I’ve never met the owner, but I imagine he’s a smug prick that deems everyone to be beneath him. I probably shouldn’t be so judgemental, but I’ve lived a life where I am judged at every turn, so fuck it, while I’m stuck here, I’ll judge others in the same way they do me.
I gather myself and go to pick up the fresh bedding, when I remember I already took the clean sheets in the room, so I make my way back to room twenty-nine, shaking my head at how I’m so flustered and distracted by the handsome stranger. I use my key card to open the door, and when I walk in, there is no sign of the handsome stranger. I breathe a sigh of relief and quickly get to work, remaking the bed and praying that I get out of here before he appears once again. I presume he’s in the bathroom as the door is shut, and I presume that is where he came from before, because there are no other doors except for the wardrobes, and I hardly think he managed to teleport his way in here. I chuckle quietly to myself as my brain goes off on a tangent. It’s the only way to survive some days—let my brain think silly thoughts to amuse myself.
I finish putting the bottom and top sheet on the bed, and I’m just making sure the duvet is all straightened out, when the handsome stranger emerges from the bathroom and walks across the floor to the table and chairs that sits right beside the floor-to-ceiling windows and takes a seat in one of the plush chairs. And I mean plush. So fucking plush it’s like a treat for your arse. I may have taken a few moments break on occasion, when no one else has been around, just to imagine that I’m one of the rich guests. It’s a wonderful fantasy for someone like me. Helps keep the dream alive that maybe, one day, it could be. You never know what life is going to throw your way. You just have to make the best of it until then.
I busy myself putting the new pillowcases on and plumping the pillows, keeping my back to him as I do, but it’s like I can feel his eyes burning into me, through me, watching me as I work. I don’t know whether to be offended because he’s monitoring my work, or whether to be flattered that he may just be checking out my arse. Yeah, okay, Elise, in your dreams.
When I’m finished, I finally turn to face him. “I’m sorry about the confusion this morning, sir. I will make sure it doesn’t happen again,” I tell him, somehow sounding more confident than I feel. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?” It’s the polite thing to do, and I’m hoping this means he may not report me for the intrusion, even though it’s not technically my fault.
He studies me for a moment, his finger brushing over his lips as he does.
I feel the tension in the room ratchet up a notch. Do I just leave? No, that would definitely mean being reported to my boss, who is a bitch and seems to hate me—she always relishes in having to tell me off, or so it seems, anyway.
“What’s your name?” he asks me, his deep voice doing nothing to quiet whatever the hell is going on inside me.
“Elise.”
“Elise what?” He speaks with such authority that it makes me gulp.
“Elise Woods, sir.”
