then she remembered that other man, the accounting hawk, Taylor. To think she’d actually believed he was really a mob lieutenant! But he was definitely good-looking, her sex-muse continued. Handsome, fit.
Evidently, Feldspar had sent him packing. Taylor had said he’d be dining at the restaurant, but Vera hadn’t seen him all night. What are you thinking now? she questioned herself. What, you were going to make a play for him? Have sex with him in his suite? For all intents, a perfect stranger? Preposterous.
Nevertheless, she felt curious as to whether or not Taylor had had dinner at The Carriage House, as he’d said he would. Certainly, as a scout for an accounting firm, Taylor would have a company credit card for business expenses. She flipped through night’s credit receipts but—
No Terrence Taylor, she discovered.
Kyle had checked Taylor into one of Vera’s suites. Next, she checked her room register to see when Taylor had checked out.
That’s weird…
According to the register, Mr. Terrence Taylor, Room 201, never checked out at all.
««—»»
He’d checked in instead—
Good Christ…
—into a nightmare.
When Mr. Terrence Taylor’s eyes finally opened, all he could see at first was an ill-lit wash of murk. His legs felt numb, and a headache gnawed his brain. What the fuck happened?
Taylor’s memory struggled back…
That guy! What was his name? Kyle? He’d taken him to meet this Feldspar fellow, the general manager, but he hadn’t been in his office. “Oh, that’s right, he’s in the stockroom checking in a morning shipment. Follow me.”
Sure, Taylor thought. But hurry it up, will ya? Wrestling comes on in a half hour. Kyle led him down a cramped hallway behind the front offices, which seemed an odd access to a supply room. And—wait a minute. Why would Feldspar be tending to a supply delivery? Taylor had been a manager himself once, at a T.G.I.F. in Charlotte. Inventory and supply receipt was the service manager’s job, not the general manager’s…
Along the way, they passed several housemaids who were not exactly…provocative in the looks department. Sullen. Pasty-faced. Fat. One, with breasts like flaccid goldfish bowls, seemed to shrink at the sight of Kyle. If you were the last girl in town, Taylor thought, I’d be cutting holes in watermelons. You better forget about trying out for that Cosmo cover, baby.
A large security door stood at the end of the hall. room service staff only, read a plaque. Kyle unlocked it, and showed Taylor in. “The first pantry,” Kyle indicated.
Pantry? Taylor wondered. “I thought we were going to the supply room.”
“We are. Right in here.”
Taylor viewed the long kitchen, amid vague cooking smells. Pretty complete set-up, he appraised. Sure as hell more complete than the kitchen at T.G.I.F. Everything looked brand new. Along the back wall behind the prep line stood three heavily padlocked pantry doors, the first of which Kyle unlocked. They’re awfully security conscious around here, Taylor concluded.
