Page 18 of How to Fall for the Secret Billionaire
“Okay, sir. It happens.” Her tone is diplomatic, but that smile is still there, like she’s holding it in place with sheer willpower.
“Sometimes our clients book and aren’t able to make it. We’re usually happy to reserve the room whenever they call to let us know. We’re nothing if not flexible and accommodating.” Hereyes don’t blink. “So you did call, sir? And if yes, what’s the name of the staff member who took the call?”
I clear my throat, suddenly wishing I could melt into Waffles and disappear under the counter.
“Uh… the thing is, I forgot to call. I actually didn’t think to call.”
“Okay,” she says, in a voice that says it is very much not okay.
And somehow, that’s worse than if she’d just snapped.
She takes off her glasses slowly, and I brace myself. Great. This is it. The official talking-to.
“Mr. Reid—” she starts.
“Cal, please,” I cut in quickly.
She ignores that. “Mr. Reid,” she repeats, firmer this time.
It’s the tone. Not aggressive. Not snarky. Just… firm. Like she’s had to manage one too many fires today, and now here I am, adding fuel.
“Key & Kettle is usually very busy at this time of year. We’re not just about turning a profit here—we’re about providing a home. That’s what this place means to people. So when someone books a room and doesn’t show up and doesn’t call, we have to assume they’re not coming. We can’t hold a space indefinitely while people are outside begging for it. That’s not just bad business, it’s unfair. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
At least I think I do. But do I?
Because while she’s talking, all I can really process is her.
She’s beautiful. I didn’t catch it when I walked in—I was too distracted by the dog, the relief of anonymity, and then the frustration of thinking I’d just lost my shot at this stay.
But now?
Now she’s holding my gaze like it’s nothing, calling me out with that same steady voice, and I can’t look away.
Black hair swept into a bun, not a trace of makeup on her face. I can see the freckles across her nose. The kind of skin that actually glows without trying. Her lips are full, softly moving as she continues her lecture, and I suddenly want to be someone worth her time. Iwantto impress her.
She’s not playing a part. She’s real. Grounded. Sharp. She’s not leaning on charm or flirtation—she’s got quiet control, and the confidence of someone who has nothing to prove to me. I either stay or go. Her smile is simply customer service, nothing more. I have a feeling that if we’d met outside, she wouldn’t even glance at me a second time.
I’ve been in boardrooms with sharks and billionaires, but no one’s ever made me feel this small—and weirdly, I don’t mind it.
“So, Mr. Reid,” she goes on, “it’s absolutely not right that you came in here and got upset over the room. You were four days late. You didn’t inform anyone. And usually, in situations like that, we offer a refund.”
“Please—I don’t want a refund.” My voice comes out lower than I expect. “I saw the ad for this place and… I came all the way here for it. I didn’t plan it well, I’ll admit that. But I’d really like to stay. I’m sorry I didn’t call. Is there any way something can be done?”
She regards me for a long second. No smile. Just quiet calculation.
“The room’s still available,” she says finally. “Surprisingly. The front desk is supposed to cancel it after two days of no-shows. That’s our policy. But someone must’ve missed it. Lucky you.”
Relief punches through my chest.
“I’m glad,” I say honestly.
She still doesn’t smile. Doesn’t banter. Just picks up an old-fashioned key on a brass tag, turns, and says, “Come with me.”
The room is nothing like what I’m used to.
It’s not sleek. Not sterile. Not designed to impress investors or win a feature in some architecture magazine.
