“Sir? What do you require?”
I liked his attitude right away. His green eyes and slight brogue were charming. He’d taken this job to come home, I deduced.
“Something muddy, smokey, with an orange aftertaste. Not too sweet. Give me my next favorite signature drink, please, Oliver, if I may call you that?”
He surveyed the clothing I was carrying. “You may indeed.” Placing a coaster on the countertop he snapped his fingers. A young, handsome Filipino bellman relieved me of my load, moving in the corner of the bar, in the shadows like a clothes tree, awaiting further instructions. Again, very impressive.
“And what may I have the pleasure of calling you, sir?”
“I’m one of your new tenants, Marco Gambini.” I hesitated to mention the vacant front desk, knowing it might be career-ending, but I decided to go with truth. “And your front desk is missing an attendant.”
“Yes, Brent is attending to a little escort out the back of the building. It’s where we deposit the detritus, and it’s unfortunate you happened to come along during that moment. I’m sure he’ll be back shortly. And I apologize. This is on the house, Sir.”
He pointed to a deep purple/cobalt cocktail floating with some heady orange cream liquor, the red pitchfork plastic stir had skewered a bright red cherry. I liked the visual of the screwed cherry, though I didn’t like things too sweet. I sipped. Hint of fizz. Orange and roses aftertaste. Pure sex. I was hooked.
I held the squat etched glass up to him, “Perfect. What do you call it?”
“Midnight in Manhattan, sir.”
“I like it even better.”
I loosened my tie and unbuttoned my shirt. I felt comfortable studying the room. A young, very lean, blonde girl came up to me, sort of like the house pussycat. With practiced grace and subtle fragrance in a form-fitting dress that revealed how perfect her body was, she joined me at the bar.
I usually like to talk last. This time, I was going to tell her I wasn’t interested, but she beat me to the punch.
“So you are the legendary Marco Gambini, the billionaire SEAL?” She interrupted my possible answer to give her command, “Ollie, another one of those for me, with two cherries, please, and don’t let him pay for it.”
That’s when she turned to me and I did like what I saw.
“You’re timing is poor, sweetheart. I’m no longer a billionaire.”
“Oh, I think not. I don’t judge men by their performance but by their potential.” She glanced me up and down like a man does to a beautiful woman. “I’d like to be your first date, sort of a “‘welcome to the family’” kind of fuck, if you’d do me the honor.”
She got me laughing right away, and that was a good sign. I liked women forward, assured, and beautiful. She was nearly half my age, and that worked too, in all sorts of ways.
Brently Morrison, the front desk manager, burst into the bar, his hands wringing, breathless. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Gambini. We had a difficult situation, and I was pulled—”
“Brent, I think we’re good,” interrupted Oliver. “If you can show Lujan here to Mr. Gambini’s room, he’ll hang these things up for our new resident.” He turned to me. “Is that to your liking, sir?”
As I leaned back into the bar, the blonde moved close enough that I could feel how her body breathed, something I always loved about a woman. “Just one drink, and then I’d like to get settled. It’s been a long day.”
With another couple snaps of his fingers, Ollie sent Lujan, my suits, and duffel with Mr. Morrison. I still had the Glock tucked into the back of my pants since I never could get the feel of wearing a holster for the animal. I turned and caught her forcing a stabbed cherry between her red lips, biting and chewing it while gazing at me with steely light blue eyes.
I figured Oliver would have warned me if she was a working girl. I had always thought sleeping with women other than my wife to be a stupid hazard many a man regretted later. Especially without a blood test or background check.
But I was getting reckless in my old age. In my rage. Or maybe I was mistrusting my new-found freedom when it came to women. I’d always been tightly bound in my commitments, still fingering the groove left behind from fifteen years of wearing a wedding ring. Moving in here would be a doorway to my new bachelor lifestyle and I liked to stake out the terrain, notice the little things that could result in a failed mission to guard the safety of my men. I turned around just to make sure Rebecca wasn’t there watching me take the morsel dangled in front of me—someone I knew I’d thoroughly enjoy.
But the coast was clear. I was ready to launch.
Permission to engage, you bastard. Make it so! I told myself.
She was lovely to look at and I allowed my heart to melt just a little at the edges like a dark piece of chocolate on a warm plate.
“I know the name of this building. I know the name of this drink. I don’t know your name,” I whispered, leaning into her.
She didn’t answer right away but devoured the other cherry in front of me, tearing at it with her bright white teeth, daring me to grab her and kiss her sweet lips, which of course I wasn’t going to do in public.
But I thought about it.
In my fantasy, she was naked, displaying her perfect ass as she lay a path of rose petals in front of me while I walked barefoot, crunching them with each step.
She gave the perfect answer. “You don’t need that, Marco. I know what you need.”
Well, all right then.
Chapter 2
Marco
Brent brought me my key card. “We will have your touchpad completed tomorrow, if that suits you, Mr. Gambini,” he said, handing the platinum
