Page 1 of Room 810

Prologue

The Staff

Rolandwasuneasy.Therewas a certain vibration to the air around The Scarlet Hotel’s check-in desk—or maybe it was everywhere, but Roland wouldn’t know because he hadn’t left his post in hours—and if he had to put a name to that vibration, it would be…anticipation.Like the shifting breeze before a storm, threatening clouds on the horizon. Something was coming.

Maybe it had something to do with the plumbing issues they’d had last night on the ninth floor… A guest’s child had attempted to flush his toy down the toilet, and when it had gotten lodged in the pipe, he had continued to flush in an attempt to clear it. Needless to say, it was a verywetdisaster, especially for room 810 directly beneath them. The staff had apologized profusely, offered to dry clean his clothes, comped his room and food, but there was simply nothing that could undo that kind of damage. Roland hoped the man didn’t have many friends, because he would surely tell all of them about his experience, and bad news traveled fast.

There had also been various complaints about last night’s dinner served in the restaurant (no surprise, since their four-star chef had stormed out, ranting about the shitty work conditions, and the kitchen had been forced to run short-staffed), and paired with their recent elevator mishap, their reservations were already down. That, in turn, left the hotel running short on revenue. Less money meant less staff. It was a whole cycle, and all Roland could do was stand by and watch the slow-motion disaster. They were like a family here, and it was painful for everyone to have to say goodbye.

Roland’s boss, Monsieur Holland, had been locked in his office for hours. He should’ve gone home ages ago, but maybe he felt the same impending change too. A held breath, everyone scared to move in case they tipped the balance. But maybe movement was good, because it had become more and more clear lately that things couldn’t possibly stay the same. The hotel was floundering, and something needed to be done.

Roland preferred the night shifts for how quiet it was, but he’d been working overtime to help cover shifts for his boss. That meant he was especially exhausted, his entire body too heavy, and he was practically using the desk in front of him to keep himself upright. He was working solo this particular morning, and he was counting down the minutes until he could go home and crash face first into bed. First, though, there was the rush of last-minute checkouts just before 11 to contend with, and then his co-worker Emily would take over the checking in of new guests this afternoon.

The whole morning felt a bit surreal. Roland was talking with a man in a business suit one minute, then he blinked—perhaps longer than he’d intended—and when he opened his eyes, there was a young blond woman trying to pass him her credit card.

“Uh, yes, of course, Miss…”

“Abagnale,” she offered, probably for the second time. Her smile looked a bit forced.

“Yes, certainly. My apologies.” He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, but it was always safest to say sorry.

At long last, Roland found the lobby blissfully empty. He glanced at the clock on the wall and saw it was 10:42. Just 18 minutes to go.

“Ahhh,” he blew out a sigh. However, before he could even finish emptying his lungs, the doorman, Gerald, pulled open the front doors yet again, this time admitting a tall, lean man in a charcoal suit, with vibrant blue eyes.

The man approached the desk at a clip and gave Roland a harried smile. “I’m so sorry, I’m late for my meeting with Mr. Holland. Please tell me he hasn’t left yet.”

“No, he’s here. Just one moment, please. I’ll let him know you’re here to see him.” Roland didn't bother to ask the man’s name as he moved out from behind the desk. If he was late for a meeting, it was most likely Monsieur Holland was waiting for him. Besides, it wasn’t his business if his boss was meeting with a young, attractive man…

He swallowed thickly, pushing away the image conjured involuntarily to his mind. Instead, he focused on the shut door in front of him.Emerson Holland doesn’t belong to me, he reminded himself brusquely.He is my boss and nothing more.But that never stopped him from dreaming.

Roland could’ve called Mr. Holland from the desk phone, but he would always take any excuse to knock on his office door instead, breathing in his scent, perhaps taking a risk to brush against his tightly muscled body—by accident, of course.

When the door opened, however, he found his boss looking worried, and it set Roland’s heart beating. “Is he here?” Mr. Holland panted out.

“Uh, yes, sir. I’m sorry, but is—is everything all right?” he asked softly, pitching his voice low so no one would overhear. The acoustics of the lobby were hard to control, but he’d had years of practice of gossiping with colleagues.

Emerson’s eyes softened. “Yes, Roland. Of course. Just fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Roland knew he was lying, and he’d been lying a lot lately. Whether it could be blamed on his alpha nature, or maybe it was simply a character trait, but Emerson had a tendency to act tough. He kept a cool facade, rarely revealing even a ripple of emotion in his smooth expression. Roland had been watching him for years, though, and he knew better than to believe the lie. He recognized the slight tightness at the corners of his eyes, the twitch of his jaw. He would let it go for now, though. It wasn’t his place to pry. It wouldneverbe his place…

So, instead, Roland waved the visitor over from the desk. “Mr. Holland will see you now,” he said, using his clerk persona to keep himself distant. He tried his best to ignore the feeling of jealousy creeping up on him as he watched the guest enter Emerson‘s office, the door closing behind him and securing them inside. Alone.

It’s just a meeting. It’s not like Mr. Holland is going to bend him over the desk or anything…But once the thought had implanted itself in his mind, there was no shaking it. It was like some kind of torture, and Roland was desperate for some guests to interrupt the toxic spiral he was headed down—so, of course, the lobby was silent as the grave. He tried to keep his eyes trained ahead, but they kept darting back to that damn closed door, and his tie seemed to tighten around his throat like a noose. Even now, Emerson might already be buried inside that man, claiming him in the way Roland himself longed to be claimed.

Roland’s skin heated, sweat dampening his palms as he gripped the edge of the counter, his world swaying as his overactive imagination painted too-vivid snapshots.

He blew out a hard breath, his hands shaking as he forced himself to release his grip. “Fuck it. I need to know,” he muttered, taking a step toward the office.

He was just making up an excuse for interrupting them, when the door swung open quickly with a bang against the wall behind it. Mr. Holland came storming out, his face a mask of panic, the likes of which Roland had never seen.

“The reservation book, quick!” Emerson cried, his voice pitched too high, cracking.

Roland rushed over and grabbed the heavy leather-bound book, dragging it up in one motion, the deep boom of it as he dropped it on the polished counter too loud in the open lobby. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Mr. Holland ignored him as he pulled the book over and flipped the top page back, running a slender finger down the list of names. Then he paused, his face paling. “Yesterday,” he groaned. “He arrived yesterday, we’re too late.”

The stranger from the meeting had drifted over behind Emerson. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You always treat your guests with care. He’ll no doubt have had a wonderful stay, and once he writes his glowing review, you will see the return on the investment in no time.”

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