Bossy(98)

“Do you think the—the buffet is open, Joyce?” Standing next to her, hunched over a walker is her companion, who I assume is Mabel from Joyce’s tirade. Contrary to her friend, Mabel looks her age, crooked and bent, clutching her handles with shaking hands. Her floral dress, while probably expensive, hangs loosely.

Joyce huffs noisily. “I’m sure it will be soon. Though if the line doesn’t start moving faster, I do believe we may meet our end here, Mabel. It’s all over.” Her tone moves smoothly from frustrated to melodramatic. I’d say she was bitchy, but then I see the way her eyes soften when she looks at her friend, and how she’s supporting her while they wait. She’s just impatient, and this waiting isn’t easy for Mabel.

Well, Mom always said to do the right thing. “Excuse me.” I get Joyce’s attention, her gaze hawk like again. “I’m sorry. I know it isn’t much, but you can go ahead of us at least.”

Joyce’s expression softens again, and she actually cracks a smile. “Thank you, dearie. It’s nice to see that good manners haven’t completely died out. Some days...” She trails off while I get out of the way. I’m glad to see Gavin moving as well, but then he frowns a moment. He throws me a sly glance, as if to say watch this.

“You know what, ladies? Making you wait like this is unacceptable. Follow me.” And as simply as that, he forces his way through the crowd. “Come on, people. Let the ladies through. What kind of misanthropes are you?”

Misanthropes? I’m surprised he even knows the word. Still, the crowd parts reluctantly, letting the four of us past, until we’re standing at the desk with the surly concierge glaring up at us. “What’s going on?” The couple he was helping, the man in skinny jeans and a polo jacket, the woman in a designer dress and some awfully big and gaudy jewelry, glare at us, their eyes shooting daggers. They obviously want to object, but Gavin’s a pretty scary guy when he wants to be. They stay to the side and fume quietly.

He flexes as he leans on the concierge’s desk, looking down with pure disdain. His tattoos shift enticingly, though I’m pretty sure that’s not what the man in front of him thinks. Gavin’s voice is even, calm and full of steel. “I’m not sure what you think customer service is around here, but this sure as hell isn’t it.”

The concierge sighs dramatically, then explains in a bored voice, as if he’s already had to do this several times today, “Sir, we’re processing the line as quickly as we can. If you’d just go back to your position—”

“Listen...” Gavin takes a look at his name tag. “Richard. Dick? Can I call you Dick?”

“I—” The concierge doesn’t get far.

“Listen, Dick, these two ladies have lived far too long to have to wait for a weasel like you. If you guys don’t have an express lane for seniors, well, then I’m opening one now. Starting with them.” He looms closer for emphasis.

“Sir, we don’t— I can’t—” Dick is so shocked he can’t make words.

“You can and you will.” He gestures magnanimously for Joyce and Mabel to step up to the counter, then hangs back just far enough to never leave Dick’s field of vision. Crossing his arms over his powerful chest, he glares until the sour concierge helps them check in.

Wow. I don’t even know if he’s an ass, a hero, or both. I’m glad the two old ladies don’t have to wait any longer, but holy crap. He obviously doesn’t care, but I can feel the eyes of everyone around us boring angrily into my back.

Joyce turns to us with a remarkably childish grin. “Thank you so much, young man. You’re a brute, but you used it to our advantage, so we appreciate it.”

Gavin shrugs. “I do what I must.”

“You do indeed. You remind me a lot of my fourth husband, actually—” Mabel interrupts her by pulling on her sleeve. “I suppose I’m needed. Thank you again.”

I give them a little wave and a smile as they walk towards the elevators. Meanwhile, Gavin’s turned back to the counter.

The concierge tries to take charge again. “Sir, you’re not a senior. Please get back in—”

“Oh shut up. You want to get rid of us, so here’s your chance. Herbert Caldwell and Marie Wilson. We have a suite.” Gavin talks right over him, but when he hears the names, it’s like the concierge is a whole new person. He lights up, smiling broadly, eager to help. I roll my eyes. What a suck up.

Gavin receives our key cards and hands one to me which I jam in my pocket. He thanks the concierge for his help, then picks up both of our suitcases and sets off towards the elevators with long strides, giving me nothing to do except follow. I catch up, just in time to hear him mumble something like, “...ass-kissing motherfucker.”