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Leandro Valentino.
As in the Valentinos. The multi, multi billionaire family that owned, amongst other things, this hotel. And a heap of hotels around the world.
The Valentinos who’d just been in New York for a high-society wedding.
“Oh, God,” she groaned, keeping her head dipped forward when the elevator opened into the kitchen, and she could dispose of the trolley. She returned to her station, grateful to see a message from her boss asking her to arrange the following day’s sightseeing for another one of their VIP suites. A music studio executive, his lingerie model wife and their four-year-old daughter wanted to do something ‘fun’, that included animals, pizza, a baseball game and some cocktails.
She booked a limo to take them to the zoo first up, including a private feeding of the lions, then lunch at a pizzeria just over the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge. Not only did it have the best pizza in New York—in her opinion, anyway—but the view back towards Manhattan was amazing from there. The hotel routinely had tickets reserved at some of the best ball parks in New York; she chose the game at Yankee Stadium, added in a selection of VIP snacks and some activity packs for the four year old, as well as team merchandise, then booked a sitter at the hotel and a place at one of the hottest rooftop bars for the parents to enjoy later in the night. All in all, a walk in the park for Skye. Sometimes she had to laugh at the ridiculously extravagant lives the hotel’s guests led, while she was struggling to make ends come close to meeting.
The tip from Leo burned a whole in her mind, right on cue. She’d have loved to rip the money up and throw in the nearest trash can. To hell with him and his generous ‘tip’. As if she wanted to be tipped after what they’d just almost done! But even when her pride was dented, she couldn’t waste the money. She wouldn’t.
Every last cent she received was for Harper. So Harper would never, ever wind up in the same position Skye had been, making the same choices. No. Harper was going to be financially independent. She was going to know she could go to college if she wanted to. She was going to have as much of the damned world at her feet as Skye could give her.
She jammed the money into the small pocket of her skirt, ignoring the business card that it was still wrapped around. She’d throw that out—later. At home. Not here, where anyone might see it and wonder how Leandro Valentino’s business card had ended up in the staff area.
Her feet hurt and she was tired, so when her boss came into the nook she was working from, Skye kept her fingers crossed that the shift wouldn’t end with another request. She’d had a busy few hours despite the fact it was the small hours of the morning. For their clientele, that was when things really got started.
She’d taken up food, made last minute reservations at clubs, basically seen to whatever whim the VIPs had, and she was exhausted.
Not just exhausted.
Frustrated.
Her body had started to zip and hum when Leandro had touched her, and it hadn’t stopped. Dissatisfaction at not having gotten what she wanted was a rising tide inside of her. One she had to ignore.
“One last request,” Susanna grimaced her apology. “But it shouldn’t take long.”
Skye arched a brow. Please let it not be Leandro.
“Would you mind running this up to the Presidential Suite?” Susanna asked, holding up a large brown envelope. “Some important documents, apparently. So important they can’t wait until morning.” Susanna’s good natured roll of her eyes was the kind of thing they often did. A little light-hearted teasing of their guests’ many weird whims. Did she know who was ensconced in that suite? Probably not. Susanna was nothing if not ambitious. Skye suspected the chance to wait on a Valentino would have been too hard to resist.
Skye had a choice.
She could tell Susanna, in a ‘by the by’ gossipy kind of way, who their guest was, and Susanna would suddenly be volunteering to do all the running herself.
Or she could go back up there, and…
And what?
Confront him?
Have sex with him?
She couldn’t answer that. Sparks filled her veins.
“Sure,” she said with a calmness that she definitely didn’t feel. “I can do that.”
“You’re a peach. Then clock off for the night. I hope Harper’s feeling okay.”
Skye’s heart twisted. She did, too.
Glancing at the clock above the wall, she took the envelope and strode towards the staff elevator, waiting for the doors to ping open. Once they did, she stepped inside, turned around and ignored the accusatory look in her own eyes.
This was stupid.
Definitely stupid.
But it was also the most alive she’d felt in years. Possibly ever. How could she resist that?
