Page 17 of Master Cordell

Over at Bottoms Up, the bartenders were busy serving guests who had wandered in there in search of something to drink. A small buffet of finger foods had been set up against a half wall next to the bar for anyone who was hungry but didn’t want to go have lunch yet. The bellhops and valets were briskly doing their jobs, and it appeared Sasha and her staff had already made several sales, since people were walking around with shopping bags with the boutique’s and MKR’s logos on them.

When there was a lull in arrivals, Tiffany glanced around, spotted Emma at the reception desk, and caught her eye. The woman hurried over to her. “Everything okay, Tiffany?”

She lowered her voice so none of the guests could hear her. “Everything is fine, except I have to run to the restroom before I pee my pants. I think Cordell is taking care of something on the second floor, so would you stand here and greet anyone that comes in? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Of course! I should’ve checked on you sooner—you’ve been standing here for over two hours.”

“Really? No wonder I have to go so badly after all that coffee I had earlier. I’ll be right back.”

She quickly strode toward her office to use the private restroom in there instead of the one off the lobby for guests. Thankfully, no one stopped her on her way. Once she’d relieved herself, she washed her hands and checked her appearance in the mirror. When she noted her lip-gloss was practically gone, she pulled out the small tube she’d tucked into one of the bolero’s pockets that morning and applied a new coat to her lips. While she knew she didn’t need to wear Sir’s collar while working, her neck felt bare without one, so she’d chosen the gold and silver Cuban-link choker that could be interpreted as either a D/s collar or a simple necklace.

Returning to the lobby, she heard someone bellowing angrily and veered toward the commotion. Mitch, Ty, and Tori weren’t by the stairs anymore, and she didn’t see them or Sir at the moment, which meant she was in charge. A tall, red-faced man in his forties was complaining to Brigitte about something and wasn’t letting the head concierge get a word in edgewise. Tiffany didn’t remember meeting him earlier, but some guests had arrived in groups of four or more, and she hadn’t been able to greet every single person. “You’re useless to me. I want to talk to the manager of the resort right now.”

Brigitte tried to speak but, once again, didn’t get very far. “I’m sorry, sir—”

“What part of ‘I want to talk to a manager’ didn’t you understand,missy?”

Arrogant bastard, Tiffany thought to herself before taking a deep breath and stepping into the fray. She pasted a friendly smile on her face. “Excuse me, sir, I’m the resort’s assistant manager, Tiffany Armstrong. May I help you?”

His beady gaze raked over her body, sending a chill up her spine, before it settled on the choker around her neck. He sneered. “No, subbie, you may not. What youmaydo is get on your knees and crawl across the floor until you find the damn manager of this place.”

Oh, he did not just say that.But Brigitte’s wide eyes and rounded mouth told Tiffany he had. The man was a Dom who reminded her of all she’d been through with Master Bru ... no, with Bruce. Her knees shook, and her gaze dropped to the floor. For a brief moment, Tiffany almost stepped away and ran to find Sir, but then her mind flittered back to when she’d been at the club, Edge, with him, Master Reed, and Dante. Drawing on the courage she’d found that night when facing all those pretending-to-be aggressive Doms, she straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and looked the man directly in the eye.

She tried to keep her tone professional, as difficult as it was. “Excuse me, sir, but you obviously didn’t read the resort’s rules you were sent when you made your reservation. While on duty, Master Key employees donothave to adhere to D/s club protocols, so they can do their jobs properly. Which means I stand before you as the assistant manager of this resort, who is trying to figure out why you’re upset and what I can do about it. I’m not here as a submissive who you can order around and expect to drop to the floor and do your bidding. The manager is not available at this moment, but I am. You can tell me what the problem is, and I can try to fix it for you right away, or you can stand here and wait twenty or thirty minutes for when Mister Roberts gets a free moment. Which do you prefer?”

As the man gaped at her, Tiffany realized how quiet the lobby had gotten in the past few moments. She forced herself not to look around, instead keeping her gaze on the jerk’s face. Finally, he thrust his hand toward her, holding a keycard envelope in it. “Fine. This damn thing isn’t working. I went to get some ice and now I can’t get back into my room.”

It was then that she noticed he was holding an ice bucket in his other hand. Over his shoulder, Brigitte rolled her eyes, and Tiffany had to stifle a laugh as she took the keycard from him, surprising herself when her hand didn’t shake. Relief that he’d backed down flooded her system. Why he’d complained to the concierge instead of going to the reception desk was beyond her. She wanted to ask him if he’d gone back to the correct room, but that would probably set him off again. She’d take the fact he was letting her do her job as a win and leave it at that. “Okay, if you’ll wait right here, I’ll just go reset the keycard.”

When he grumbled his acquiescence, she asked him his name to compare to the reservation on file. Once she had the information, she turned on her heel and strode to the reception desk. One of the clerks was free, and she asked the woman to check that the room number on the envelope was the same one the card had been set for. When she was assured they matched, as well as the name she’d been given, she had the clerk program a new card for the room, just in case.

Returning to where the man was waiting for her at the concierge desk, still looking annoyed but no longer ranting, she gestured toward the elevator. “I’ll escort you to your room to make sure the keycard works this time. I don’t want you to have to come all the way back down here if it doesn’t. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it’s a brand new system, and we’re still breaking it in.”

They rode the elevator in silence to the fifth floor. Locating the correct room, Tiffany slid the keycard into the slot on the door. To her relief, the indicator light flashed green, and the lock disengaged. She pushed open the door before handing the man the keycard. “You’re all set. If you need anything else, please let me know. I hope you enjoy your weekend.”

“Thanks,” he muttered before disappearing into his room and letting the door shut.

Shaking her head, she returned to the elevator with her head held high and darn proud of herself.

Chapter13

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Cordell muttered to himself from his perch at the banister on the second floor, as he finished listening to Tiffany put that asshole in his place down in the lobby. Cordell had beenthiscloseto running down the stairs to pound on the man—not something he should be doing to a paying guest on opening day—when he’d demanded she get down on her knees and crawl.

But then Cordell’s little submissive had made him so fucking proud. He’d watched her straighten her spine, lift her chin, and be the strong, assertive assistant manager he knew she could be.

“If you grip that banister any harder, twat-cop, you’re going to bend the wrought iron,” Ian Sawyer chastised as he stepped into place next to Cordell, then took a sip of amber liquid from a rocks glass. His brother Devon stood on the other side of him, with what looked like a glass of club soda with lemon and lime. About ten minutes earlier, Cordell had seen the two men showing a few guests around and leading them into the Dominants’ lounge on the second floor. Obviously, they’d stayed long enough to grab themselves a drink before wandering back out again.

Cordell raised an eyebrow. “Twat-cop?”

Ian shrugged. “I’ve decided to add you to my twat-roster. It’s a compliment by the way.”

A chuckle escaped him. “Okay, if you say so.”

“Think of it as a verbal hug or a pat on the back.”

“That’s my big brother—sarcasm’s his middle name. He sprinkles that shit on everything,” Devon stated with a grin as the three of them watched Tiffany return to the asshole with a new keycard, then gesture toward the bank of elevators. “You know, I was really surprised when Mitch agreed with your suggestion to offer the assistant manager spot to Tiffany. I mean, the only time I met her was last year when she came to Tampa with you for that collaring ceremony. All I remembered was this extremely timid sub who looked like she was going to fall to her knees any time a Dom spared her a passing glance or spoke above a whisper. I have to admit, Cordell, she’s come a long way since then. You’ve done an amazing job helping her recover from the piece-of-shit wannabe she’d been with.”

Ian nodded. “I agree. Although, by now, we know better than to worry about Mitch’s business decisions. Ever since he approached us, years ago, with the plans for The Covenant, he’s hasn’t been wrong about a damn thing. Every idea he’s had and every employee he’s hired has worked out. Nice to see he’s still got the touch.”

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