Page 38 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

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RHETT

The hotel was everything I had requested and more. The sprawling beachfront resort screamed luxury from the marble-lined lobby to the infinity pools that seemed to blend seamlessly with the Atlantic Ocean beyond. My suite occupied the entire top floor corner, with huge windows offering panoramic views of South Beach and amenities that most people would never be privileged enough to experience.

The living area alone was larger than most New York apartments and I was not talking about the shoeboxes people called an apartment. The suite was huge, complete with a full bar, designer furniture, and a sound system that probably annoyed the hell out guests when the party people got in the room. The walls had to be soundproof.

The master bedroom opened onto a private terrace with its own hot tub, while the secondary bedroom that Conroy was going to be staying in offered equally impressive views of the coastline.

Conroy dropped his bag in the room with his good arm, his injured limb still secured in the sling that made him look like a wounded soldier. Despite the limitation, he seemed in remarkably good spirits as he explored the suite’s various luxuries.

“Damn, Rhett,” he called from the bathroom, “this place has a shower that could fit six people and a bathtub carved from a single block of marble. What exactly are we compensating for here?”

“Nothing,” I replied, unpacking my clothes and hanging my suits. “I just believe in staying somewhere comfortable when I’m working.”

“Comfortable?” He emerged from the bathroom, shaking his head in amazement. “This isn’t comfortable, this is obscene. In the best possible way.”

I shrugged. After years of budget hotels and questionable accommodations during my early career, I made a promise to myself that I would never settle for less than the best once I could afford it. Life was too short for uncomfortable beds and weak water pressure.

If I was traveling, I wanted to see the place I was visiting. I didn’t want to look at a brick wall or a parking lot. Rooms with views cost money. And I was happy to pay it. It wasn’t like it was coming out of the tour’s finances. It was all on me.

My phone buzzed with a message from Simone, confirming that she and Clem had settled into their room across the hall. As expected, she was already reviewing tomorrow’s schedule for our Miami venue.

“So,” Conroy said, settling onto the living room’s leather sofa with a beer from the suite’s fully stocked refrigerator. “What’s the plan for tonight?”

“Plan?” I looked up from my laptop, where I was reviewing vendor contracts. “The plan is to get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow’s service. We have a lot of work to do. Hundreds of plates will be going out and I refuse to serve shit. I don’t care if it’s free.”

Conroy made a dismissive sound. “Come on, man. We’re in Miami Beach. The nightlife here is legendary. We should hit the town, have some drinks, eat food we didn’t have to cook ourselves for once.”

“The night before a service? Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” His expression grew more animated, the way it always did when he was building up to one of his persuasive arguments. “When’s the last time you actually relaxed? Had fun? Remembered that there’s life outside the kitchen?”

I returned my attention to the laptop screen. “I’m perfectly relaxed.”

“Bullshit. You’re wound tighter than a Swiss watch, and you have been ever since…” He paused, and I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. “Actually, ever since that night at Desman’s restaurant. What happened between you and Clem?”

“Nothing happened.” The lie came too quickly, and from Conroy’s knowing look, he wasn’t buying it.

“Right. Look, I get that mixing business with pleasure is complicated, but you’re going to drive yourself insane if you keep this up. Besides, this might be my only chance to convince Simone to see me as something other than just your right-hand man in the kitchen.”

That got my attention. I looked up to find him staring at his beer bottle with an expression that was equal parts hopeful and terrified.

“You’re serious about her.”

“Dead serious.” He met my eyes. “I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask her out for months, but she’s so professional. Focused. I can never tell if she’s interested or just being polite. You hog all her time.”

“She works for me. If you want to ask her out, do it. I’m not stopping you.”

“I need you as my wingman. Trying to figure out what Simone is thinking is like trying to read a stone statue, but you can. You know her. You can be my in.”

Simone was indeed difficult to read when it came to personal matters, maintaining the same level of composed professionalism whether she was discussing catering logistics or fielding questions about her weekend plans. But I had caught her watching Conroy sometimes when she thought no one was looking, and there was definitely something there beyond mere colleague appreciation.

“One drink,” I said finally. “We find somewhere low key, have a nightcap, and head back at a reasonable hour.”

Conroy’s face lit up like I just granted him parole. “You won’t regret this, I promise.”

Two hours later, I was absolutely regretting it.