We wait as silence greets her call. After a moment the door swings open to reveal a middle-aged guy with slightly graying hair. “Yeah, we were just leaving.” He pulls on what must be a thousand dollar suit jacket. A slight gut thickens his middle, but otherwise he’s extremely good-looking. Behind him stand three other men, all dressed in equally nice suits, none wearing their jackets.
They ignore us as they push past, resuming their conversation in the hallway. “So I tell him…” The door closes behind them.
“Whew,” Marissa breathes. “It’s way easier if they’re not here.” She glances up at the corners of the rooms. “Of course there are cameras everywhere, so it’s not like we aren’t being watched.” She points to a tiny red light shining from a little device mounted at the juncture of the wall and ceiling. I’ve already noticed them all over the casino. “But it’s less nerve-wracking if we’re not tiptoeing around them.”
She jerks her head down the hall. “You take the bathroom and bedrooms, I’ll do the kitchen, office and living area.”
“Got it.” I grab the supplies I need off the cart and head in the direction she indicated.
The bedroom’s well-appointed in a nondescript way. I pull the sheets and bedspread up to make the bed. The sheets were probably 3, 000 thread count, if there is such a thing. That may be an exaggeration but, really, they are amazing.
Just for kicks, I rub one against my cheek.
It’s so smooth and soft. I can’t imagine what it would be like to lie in that bed. I wonder which of the guys slept in here. I make the bed with hospital corners, the way Marissa trained me to, dust and vacuum, then move on to the second bedroom and then the bathroom. When I finish, I find Marissa vacuuming in the living room.
She switches it off and winds up the cord. “All done? Me too. Let’s go to the next one.”
I push out the cart and she taps on the door of the suite down the hall. No answer.
She keys us in. “It is way faster having you help,” she says gratefully.
I flash her a smile. “I think it’s more fun to work as a team, too.”
She smiles back. “Yeah, somehow I don’t think they would go for it as a regular thing, but it’s nice for a change.”
“Same routine?”
“Unless you want to switch? This one only has one bedroom.”
“Nah,” I say, “I like bed/bath.” Of course that’s because of my all-consuming curiosity. There are more personal effects in a bedroom and a bathroom, not that I saw anything of interest in the last place. I didn’t go poking around, of course. The cameras in every corner have me nervous.
This place is the same as the last, as if they’d paid a decorator to furnish them and they were all identical. High luxury, but not much personality. Well, from what I understand, the Tacone family-at least the ones who run the Bellissimo-are all single men. What can I expect?
I make the bed and move on to dusting.
From the living room, I hear Marissa’s voice.
“What?” I call out, but then I realize she’s talking on the phone.
She comes in a moment later, breathless. “I have to go.” Her face has gone pale. “My kid’s been taken to the ER for a concussion.”
“Oh shit. Go-I’ve got this. Do you want to give me the keycard for the last suite?” There are three suites on this top floor.
She looks around distractedly. “No, I’d better not. Could you just finish this place up and head back downstairs? I’ll call Samuel to let him know what happened.” Samuel’s our boss, the head of housekeeping. “Don’t forget to stay away from the desk in the office.”
“Sure thing. Get out of here.” I make a shooing motion. “Go be with your kid.”
“Okay.” She digs her purse out from the cart and slings it over her shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I hope he’s all right,” I say to her back as she leaves.
She flings a weak smile over her shoulder. “Thanks. Bye.”
I grab the vacuum and head back into the bedroom. When I finish, I hear male voices in the living room.
“Hope you can get some sleep, Nico. How long’s it been?” one of the voices asked.
“Forty-eight hours. Fucking insomnia.”
“G’luck, see you later.” A door clicks shut.
My heart immediately beats a little faster with excitement or nerves. Yes-I’m a fool. Later, I would realize my mistake in not marching right out and introducing myself, but Marissa has me nervous about the Tacones and I freeze up. The cart stands out in the living room, though. I decide to go into the bathroom and clean everything I can without getting fresh supplies. Finally, I give up, square my shoulders and head out.
I arrive in the living room and pull out three folded towels, four hand towels and four washcloths. Out of my peripheral vision, I watch the broad shoulders and back of another finely dressed man.
He glances over then does a double-take. His dark eyes rake over me, lingering on my legs and traveling up to my breasts, then face. “Who the fuck are you?”
I should’ve expected that response, but it startles me anyway. He sounds scary. Seriously scary, and he walks toward me like he means business. He’s beautiful, with dark wavy hair, a stubbled square jaw and thick-lashed eyes that bore a hole right through me.
“Huh? Who. The fuck. Are you?”
I panic. Instead of answering him, I turn and walk swiftly to the bathroom, as if putting fresh towels in his bathroom will fix everything.
He stalks after me and follows me in. “What are you doing in here?” He knocks the towels out of my hands.
Stunned, I stare down at them scattered on the floor. “I’m… housekeeping,” I offer lamely. Damn my idiotic fascination with the mafia. This is not the freaking Sopranos. This is a real-life, dangerous man wearing a gun in a holster under his armpit. I know, because I see it when he reaches for me.
He grips my upper arms. “Bullshit. No one who looks like”-his eyes travel up and down the length of my body again-“you-works in housekeeping.”
I blink, not sure what that means. I’m pretty, I know that, but there’s nothing special about me. I’m your girl-next-door blue-eyed blonde type, on the short and curvy side. Not like my cousin Corey, who is tall, slender, red-haired and drop-dead gorgeous, with the confidence to match.