Mr. Fiancé(82)

“You keep making drinks like this and bringing me scones, and you may just have to,” I joke. “But how’d you know?”

“What? That you’d be tired?” Mindy asks, laughing. “Uh, in case you forgot, for the past two weeks, we’ve all been wiped out. I’m sure that V-man loves the money, but he’s not the one busting his ass” —Mindy glances down at her thighs critically— “or in this case, big ass.”

“Oh, come on, you’re a size two!” I protest.

Mindy scowls. “A big size two.”

“There’s no such thing!” I scoff.

“Want to see my ass?” she offers.

“I’ll pass.” I chuckle. Mindy always does this, complaining about her weight when there’s nothing to complain about. I just argue with her to get kicks. I take another sip of my heavenly latte before adding, “And if Mr. Vandenburgh hears you call him V-man again, you know he’s going to blow his stack.”

Mindy laughs and screws up her face, looking remarkably like John Cleese as she pitches her voice perfectly to match the hotel manager’s. “Ahh . . . yes, Miss Sayles, we’ve noticed that you’re taking your job far too seriously, and I’m going to need to make sure you don’t have a broom handle lost inside your buttocks. Please bend over and spread your cheeks for me.”

I laugh, barely holding onto the coffee in my mouth as I set my cup down, trying not to cough. I can’t help it. Mr. Vandenburgh does look a lot like a very short but chubby John Cleese, and Mindy’s got the voice down to a tee. Mindy lets up, and I swallow before sitting back, wiping at my eyes. “Girl, thank you. I so needed that. You don’t even want to know what I had to deal with today.”

“What, the production monkeys aren’t appreciative of the fine rooms we’ve made available to them?” Mindy asks. For the past two weeks, The Grand Waterways has been rented out by a Hollywood studio that’s producing a film in town. While the production team staying at the hotel haven’t exactly been the cleanest guests, they’ve been a hell of a lot better than the sports team that just trashed that room.

“No, actually, it was that rowdy ball team.” I shake my head. “And you don’t even want to know what I saw in their room,” I say, pinching my face into a disgusted scowl.

“Sure I do,” Mindy says, her eyes flashing.

“No. You don’t,” I say firmly. “Trust me.”

“Tell me!”

“No.”

“You suck.”

“Let me just put it this way. I had to call Jimmy and his team to handle it.”

Mindy makes a face. “Oh, it was one of those, huh?”

“Yeah. One of those.”

“I bet it smelled like toe jam and ass crack.” Mindy grins.

“Actually, it was worse.” I laugh, remembering the acrid stench that made my eyes water. “There were like stains . . . everywhere. It was so gross!” I don’t even think about bringing up the used condoms.

Mindy grimaces. “Good lord, what the hell were they doing in there? Having a golden showers competition?”

I snort, nearly gagging on my coffee, and then I start coughing so hard I nearly choke.

Mindy stares at me with concern, half-rising out of her seat. “Jesus, you okay, Bri?”

I motion her to sit back down. “Don’t do that!” I gasp when I’m able to recover.

“Do what?” Mindy asks innocently.

I wipe at my eyes. “Make me laugh when I’m drinking coffee. I nearly gagged to death.”

Mindy grins impishly. “Wouldn’t be the first thing you gagged on.”

I scowl at her. “You’re disgusting, you know that?”

“Oh c’mon, Bri, don’t be such a prude.” She pauses, nodding at the supply room. “So, what’s left on your schedule?”

“Too much,” I reply. “But at least the penthouses should be easy. One of the suites is being used by some film crew, so they don’t want us in there. One is empty until a guest arrives tonight. So, that leaves just one.”

“Then perhaps, Miss Sayles,” a stern voice says from behind me, “you should look at making sure you have that room prepared for our VIP guest.” I turn to see Mr. Vandenburgh, all five foot four inches and about two hundred plus pounds of him, standing in the doorway. He’s in his tailored suit, of course, looking like a thousand bucks from the neck down while looking like a grumpy ass disorderly from the neck up. “That is, unless you want to pay for that coffee you’re holding.”

Oh, God, please save me.

I shake my head. “No, you’re right, Mr. Vandenburgh.” I glance over at Mindy, who is barely hiding a smirk.