The Adams was the oldest and swankiest hotel in the city. The long lobby was a gleaming expanse of marble flooring and gold accented surfaces, discreetly uniformed employees waited in the tiny alcoves and behind the long rosewood counter. The faint fragrance of fresh flowers drifted through the air, mingling with expensive cologne and perfume.
The front door was manned by a smartly uniformed man who swept the door open and bowed gracefully in a single movement that was so smooth it seemed to be effortless, although it had been practiced for months and put into practice for over twenty years
The doorman did not blink an eye at the limousines, Bentley's Roll Royce's and Ferrari's that stopped in front of the doors constantly, disgorging the rich, the famous, and those who were infamous and their entourages and hanger-ons, or at least, not usually
The man stepping out of the Bugatti Veyron Super Sports was enough to make even the calmest of the Adam's staff feel nervous and flustered. It was a regular day when the latest pop star or actress stepped through the doors, but to have a Crown Prince in the hotel was a different story entirely and when George, the doorman spoke to say 'Have a good day Sir' he spoke a little louder than usual and instantly bit his mouth shut in order not to say anything else
"Thank you, and you as well," the tall man with the black hair, lean chiseled face and exquisitely tailored Savile Row suit said. That startled George, most never bothered to even nod, he was an invisible figure for the most part, a necessary convenience for the people who came and went from the hotel. Before he could stop himself he added, "I will, Sir.
Matt Windsor's dark eyes didn't dart around but he saw everything, nonetheless. His keenly observant gaze saw the way the employees went rigid and froze for a moment before rushing to take care of him.
The tall austere woman behind the desk gave him a formidably chilly glance.
"Good afternoon Your Highness, will the rest of your party be joining you shortly? I can have their rooms set up now so as to prepare for their arrival."
"They will appreciate that, I'm sure." Matt saw his bodyguards taking up their usual places and he sighed inwardly. He had joked to a trusted friend that he often wondered if the increase in number of guards from one to three had more to do with ensuring he didn't escape the marriage he had agreed to than any concerns for his actual safety but sometimes he wondered if that were truly not the case. "I need the adjoining penthouse as well please. I would like that not to be mentioned to my security detail.
"Certainly." Her eyes were no less warm when she forked over his keys but she didn't ask why he needed the other penthouse either, a mark in her favor.
Rachel pasted a smile on her face as she climbed off of the bus. The black tail of exhaust that belched from the back of it made her cough and she stood for a moment in the cold wind just to make certain that none of that stench of that smoke lingered on her hair or clothes. When she was positive it didn't she headed for the staff entrance of the Adams Hotel.
She had grown up seeing the hotel almost daily as both of her parents worked there but she rarely noticed any of its appointments. While the skylight and soaring conservatory were things that guests exclaimed over and the food served in the restaurant was created by a five star chef imported from Europe and the whole place was steeped in a history of unimaginable luxury for those able to pay the price for her it was just the place that her dad opened the doors and her mother ran the housekeeping department in.
And now she worked there as well, something she would have said would never happen if she had been asked about it when she was younger. She had been struggling with a huge debt load while trying to finish college so she had been faced with several unappealing choices: take out student loans or move back home. In order to avoid those options she had decided to try to grab a second job as a bartender, a job she had held before. Her father had told her the Adams had need of a bartender during the hours she was open and she had begun the job.
The night had fallen hours before and the door for staff was heavy, hidden in a small and dirty alley. She had to make sure to pick her feet up high or risk getting spots on her shoes, shoes which were required to have a high gloss shine on them despite nobody being able to see her feet as she stood behind the bar. The heavy shadows that stood over the trashcans and pallets made it harder for her to navigate her way to the door. She knew that the staff entrance served its purpose but that didn't lessen the sense of unfairness over it that she always felt. Her father had never entered the Adams by the front door, despite being the man who opened that door, unless he was toting something a patron had shoved into his white-gloved hands.
The long hallway that led into the kitchens and laundry smelled of starch and garlic. The air was heavy and hot and she had to duck around carts piled high with dirty dishes from room service and baskets filled with fruit for the tables in the suites.
She ducked into the back of the bar, moving behind the bar as the bartender she was relieving slid out in a seamless motion designed to ensure that the change would not jar the guests. A quick scan showed Rachel that the place was mostly empty. The only customers were a couple who sat huddled in a booth, a mostly emptied bottle of wine on the table before them. The woman was a pop star who had a reputation for being difficult under the best of circumstances and heinously hard to handle when she had been drinking, the man she was sitting with was her husband, who was also a difficult person when drinking. It seemed they both drank nearly constantly and the entire staff at the hotel hated to see them coming, and with good reason.
Rachel had waited on her before and dreaded doing so again, she had been rude and demanding and she had left a measly two dollar tip for the nearly three hundred dollars in drinks she had guzzled down, an amount that had made Rachel feel both slightly sick and angry.
She kept on a discreet eye on the couple, hoping they would finish up and leave. It looked iffy for a few moments then the woman stood, a bit unsteadily, grabbed the bottle and upended it into her pink frosted mouth. She slammed it back onto the table and snarled out a few choice words to her husband before stomping off, her long blonde hair swinging across her pixie like face.
The husband left and it was just Rachel and the deep quiet. The clock showed it was nearly midnight, she knew that given it was weekday and late the bar would be less than busy, she made almost a thousand dollars on her weeknight shifts and the slow shifts were the price she had to pay for that boon so she simply waited, standing slightly at attention as she had been taught to do while her mind ran over the details of the term paper she was writing.
So engrossed was she that she almost didn't notice when Matt came in but when she did she couldn't speak for a moment. She had been around many good looking men in her life but there was something dark and brooding, maybe even a little dangerous about him that made her feel awkward and shy.
She may have been slow to notice him but he noticed her immediately. Her burnished auburn hair was piled high in a classical knot that showed off her high cheekbones and slightly tilted green eyes, soft full lips and incredibly pale skin.
His eyes dropped to the crisp white blouse she wore, it did nothing to disguise the full and generous swell of her br**sts and he let his gaze drift down her waist to sensuously curved hips. He couldn't see much else due to the bar but as he took a seat she smiled at him, revealing neat white teeth.
"What may I get for you Sir?" She had a throaty voice, slightly hoarse and very rich; it reminded him of the voice of a glamorous movie star from the nineteen forties. His eyes never dropped but he saw all too well how her thick thighs led to curvy calves, shown off to full advantage by a sedate black skirt, sheer hose and pumps polished so well they could have reflected his face.
"Jameson on the rocks, please."
His British accent and deep voice sent shivers down her spine, making her voice sound strained when she said, "Yes Sir."
Rachel could see him looking at her as she turned to the shelves that held the liquor. She felt a blush trying to creep up her neck and she forced herself to concentrate. She poured a generous dollop of the liquor over a few cubes of ice and laid a carved wood coaster on the bar in front of him and sat the drink on it.
Matt opened his mouth to speak but just then June Whiles, a pop star he had had the misfortune to have to meet when she had been younger and touring in England, came staggering through the door. "Hey, what the hell happened to my wine? You, behind the bar! Did you take my f**king wine?"
"The bottle was empty ma'am, would you like another one sent to your room?" Rachel's smile was bland and her manner calm but June was too drunk to be calm. "No I don't want another bottle you idiot! I want that bottle!"
June's husband came in and grabbed her arm. "You drank it all before you stormed out! Stop making a scene! Bartender, give us another bottle!"
She wanted to say no, Matt could see it. But at the Adams the guest was always right. June began to sob and stomp her foot, her pretty but petulant face awash with tears. The thick coatings of eyeliner that rimmed her eyes ran down her cheeks, leaving black streaks on her cheeks. Matt kept his face averted while Rachel decanted a bottle of Australian Shiraz that ran six hundred dollars a bottle. June grabbed a glass and guzzled it, burping loudly and then laughing wildly while her husband quietly poured her a refill. Matt shook his head in disgust.
Rachel had been too busy trying to stave off any further meltdowns in her bar to notice the motion but June saw it and her face took on an owlishly surprised look. "You're a real prince," she slurred, resting her slight body against the bar.
"Let's go June! Bring the bottle with you!"
Matt was glad her husband had intervened; he was in no mood to deal with the woman. She levered herself up and away from the bar, still holding the glass in her hand, and grabbed the bottle off of the bar, "You won't steal it this time," she said, "I'm going to report you for that."
Rachel said nothing. She knew that the manager ignored June's constant complaints, especially ones issued after a visit that included a tab in the thousands of dollars for alcohol, which was generally every stay.
The couple left and Matt said, so quietly she almost didn't hear it, "Now that's an interesting couple."
His comment was wry but she didn't dare smile. She asked, "Would you like another drink Sir?" instead.
"Yes, and why don't you join me?"
"We aren't allowed to imbibe while on the clock Sir, but thank you for the offer. Would you like me to order a light snack for you?" She let her index finger angle toward the phone. Part of her job was to ensure the comfort of the guests but another part was to insure that they parted with as much money as possible inside the hotel.
A devilish gleam danced in his dark eyes and a grin lifted the corners of his lips, "I would like something but I doubt it's on that menu."
Rachel blinked. He's hitting on me! She thought, I think he is anyway. Go figure, rich handsome man with nothing better to do than try to pick up a bartender. Her eyes went to his fingers, no ring rested on his hand. There were no tan lines or other telltale marks either but she knew that didn't necessarily mean anything.
She wanted to say something but she had no idea of what to say. Her natural shyness overcame her. "I'm sure they could make you whatever you like." There, that will redirect him.