Page 2 of Room 1003

Ben hummed then said, “Here’s your problem.” He tossed a boxy piece of metal onto the ground. “The relays protect your motor from fluctuations in current.”

“Tell me more,” Emily said, practically moaning.

“Uh-huh,” Roland said, nodding like he was listening as Ben described the inner workings of the elevator, but his eyes were glued firmly to Ben’s ass as he bent down to pull a new part from his toolbox.

A flare of jealousy had Emerson’s mouth pulling down in a frown. He’d never been anything less than professional toward Roland, but he couldn’t tamp down his curiosity before the question wormed its way past his lips. “Is… Is that the kind of man you’re into?” he asked quietly, clearing his throat.

“What?” Roland turned his head so quickly that their noses nearly brushed, and Emerson could almost taste the mint from the gum he was chewing. “Oh. No. My type is more… or rather, less…” His jaw worked, trying to put words together.

“His type,” Emily supplied, “is lean, not too tall, with wavy blond hair, ice-blue eyes, and an adorable cleft in his chin. You know, exactly what you see every time you look in the mirror. Sir,” she added at the end.

Roland’s eyes widened a fraction, but he didn’t break Emerson’s gaze. “Yeah. That,” he said, his voice breathy.

Emerson’s eyes flitted down to Roland’s mouth, watching with rapt attention as his tongue darted out, tracing a wet path across his plump lower lip. Emerson found himself leaning in, craving a taste…

Then there was a loud bang, and they jumped apart with a gasp. Guilt flooded Emerson’s body, heating his cheeks. This was his staff member, and he was expected to show him the utmost respect. Emily chuckled. “Get a room already,” she muttered.

Ben approached, wiping his hands on a cloth. “I’m all finished here. Your elevator should be in working order for now, but I’d like to come back for a full tune-up when I have more time. On an elevator this old, regular maintenance is important to keep it in working order.”

“Yes. Of course. Do you have a card? I’ll give you a call and we can arrange an appointment.”

Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, passing it over.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Stalma… Salta—match…”

The electrician laughed, shaking his head. “It’s a mouthful, I know. Like I said, just Ben is fine.”

“Well, thank you, Ben, for being so quick and efficient. You really helped us out of a jam.” Emerson reached out a hand to shake, but Ben shook his head and held his palms up, which were covered in grease.

“I don’t want to mess up your nice, clean uniform, but I appreciate the gesture.” He packed up his toolbox, and Emily let out a wistful sigh. “I’ll send the invoice as soon as I get back to the office. Is e-transfer okay?”

“Yes, it will be fine,” he said, meanwhile debating about how he could wring the money to pay for it out of his father, as it was very much a necessary expense. Likely, Emerson would have to pay for the repair out of his own pocket.

The electrician left, and their day continued on like normal. Roland’s break ended, and he headed back to the reception desk, and Emily followed behind him, ready to clock in for her shift, and she threw one last sly look over her shoulder at her boss, giving him a little wink. Her words had left Emerson reeling as he lingered over her description of Roland’s type, and he spent the rest of the day dreaming what-if.

What if this hotel, and Roland, were mine…

1

Shane

Iwashoveringsomewherebetween being exhausted enough I could fall asleep where I stood, and so stressed that I was at risk of running down the street screaming into the night.

This is not what I had in mind when I bought this house.

“How about now?” I called upstairs. “Anything?”

“Nothing yet,” Dad yelled back.

I drew in a deep cleansing breath then flipped another breaker switch. “Now?”

“Nope.”

The fuse box looked like it had been added to a few times, with a combination of old screw-in fuses and more modern breakers, which only made sense when a house was over a hundred years old, updates were bound to happen. But none of the labels were accurate. When I flipped the one marked “kitchen,” the basement lights went off. The one marked “living room” was linked with a bedroom on the second floor. There were a few without labels at all and one where the writing was so illegible that it could’ve read “banana,” but I chose to believe it was meant to be “bathroom”—not that it was linked to the bathroom, of course.

The cold concrete floor was chilling my toes right through my socks, and there was a whole host of spiderwebs that I chose not to look at too closely. I had expected our first official night in the house to involve a little more sleeping. All I had wanted was a cup of tea before bed, but when the kitchen lights hadn’t come on, this journey began. I had assumed it would be an easy fix, but I was starting to dread that nothing about this house was going to be easy.

“One more,” I grumbled. “This one for sure.” I was quite certain I’d flicked them all at least once, and there were only so many possibilities.

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