Page 3 of The Grumpy Doc's Surprise Delivery

“No, no,” I say, taking the drink. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

The customer service at this resort is really something. As soon as I landed at the airport, someone was there to greet me, pick me up and take me to the hotel. It’s one of those properly exclusive, all-inclusive resort kind of hotels. The swimming pool is clean and clear and huge, and the dining room smells divine.

The woman smiles at me and presses a key card into my hand. “You’re in room four-oh-three.”

“Great. Thank you.”

I drag my suitcase to the elevator and make my way to the fourth floor. The bag is heavy, but not with clothes. I don’t really feellike spending all my spare time by the pool — I don’t do relaxing very well, so I brought some journals with me to read through.

But for tonight, I’m super tired from the travel, and all I want to do is flop down onto a luxuriously soft hotel room bed and sink into the down feather pillows. Plus, Phoebe talked me into staying for a few extra days after the training course is over, so I’ll have plenty of time to lie on the beach then.

Until then though, my aim is to work.

I wander along the corridor, counting the rooms as I go: 397, 399, 400, 401… 403! I swipe the key card on the lock and… nothing happens. I frown at it, annoyed that these things are always finicky, then try again. The little red light flashes and beeps and keeps the door soundly locked.

I try a couple more times and still nothing happens. I sigh deeply, then return to the elevator to head down to the front desk. This isn’t exactly what I want to be spending my time doing, but I guess these things happen.

Once I reach the desk, I wait patiently for the receptionist to become available because he’s busy on the phone. He smiles when he faces me, finally.

“Hey,” I say, stepping forward. “I’m sorry. I think there’s been a mix-up or something. I can’t get into my room.”

“Do you have a key card?” he asks.

I nod and hand it over. “Four-oh-three,” I say.

“One moment, please.” The man looks down at his computer and starts typing and clicking frantically, trying to figure out what’s wrong.

I’m still waiting for the receptionist to fix the mistake when suddenly, a tall, well-dressed man shoves his way next to me. He looks a little older than me, maybe mid-thirties, and he has the sourest expression I’ve ever seen. His brown hair flops into his face, and his eyes are sparkling green under his furrowed brow. His jawline is strong, drawing my attention to his neck, his cheekbones, and for a second, I find myself swooning until he opens his mouth.

“What the hell’s going on here?” he snaps. “I paid good money to stay here, and I can’t even get into my room. What the hell kind of organization are you running here?”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” says the receptionist, smiling even though he can’t mean it. “May I see your key card? You do have a key card…”

“Yes,” he glowers. “Four-oh-three. I was told it should work.”

“We’re very sorry, sir,” says the receptionist again.

“I guess we must have been double-booked,” I say, doing my best to break the tension of the situation.

But the man just rounds his fury on me. “Well, if some incompetent fools weren’t running this place, we’d both have been able to get into our rooms by now.”

“Hey,” I say, my hackles rising. “They’re doing their best.”

“Clearly not,” he scoffs, shaking his head so his bangs flop against his forehead. If I thought he was handsome for a split second, his attitude has ruined any of that for me.

“Dude, chill,” I say. “It’s clearly not their fault.”

“It’s all right, madam,” says the receptionist, trying to diffuse things.

“No, it’s not,” I say, feeling defensive. “He has no right to speak to you like that.”

The rude man glares at me, but neither of us says anything else. It doesn’t feel worth my time or energy to argue with him. It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again.

I’m not going to let one asshole ruin my trip. Even if I do feel bad for the receptionist. He probably has to deal with people like this all the time.

We stand there in an uncomfortable silence for another five minutes or so. The receptionist vanishes into the back room, presumably to break something before he deals with this jerk again, then returns with his very best pacifying smile.

“We’re deeply sorry for the double-booking. Please accept our sincerest apologies.”

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