“Well then, get on with your duties,” he says acidly, his scowl hard enough to curdle milk.
Please let me find another job so I don’t have to deal with this shit anymore.
Seriously, after that bullshit upstairs, I’d almost be ready to tender my resignation if I were offered a job at McDonald’s sweeping the floors. I’m just so over this.
Vandenburgh opens his mouth as if to scold me further, but I hold up a finger as I drain the rest of my coffee.
“I’m going!”
I give Mindy a thankful nod as I pitch my empty cup into the trash. She flashes me a sympathetic look as I turn and walk out, making my way to the service elevators. I really can’t stand Mr. Vandenburgh’s presence for more than a minute, and I just want to knock out the rest of my shift and go home.
As I head up the hall, I can hear Mr. Van start in on Mindy.
“What the hell did you do to the machines, young lady? I got complaints about the coffee this morning . . .”
I crack a smile as I imagine the look of consternation on Mindy’s face.
By the time I finish the regular rooms, I’m nearly about to pass out as I push my supply cart toward the service elevator.
“Just a little while longer,” I tell myself, “and I’m free.”
By some miracle, a lot of the rooms on the next floor aren’t that bad. In fact, I’m feeling like salvation is near when I make it to the penthouse suites. My first stop is room 601. It’s reserved so I skip it.
Room 602 is occupied, with the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the doorknob.
So, that leaves Room 603, which should also be empty. The guest isn’t checking in until this evening. Before I step inside, I check the guest list. It just has ‘ANACONDA’ scribbled on the sheet. I frown at the name as I stare at the big bold letters. What the hell kind of name is Anaconda?
Shaking my head, I open the door and hold back a jealous grumble at the sight before me. Seriously, the living room of this penthouse is bigger than my entire apartment. Two thousand square feet, a master bedroom and a smaller bedroom-slash-office, and a sitting room. The damn thing even has a chef’s kitchen.
My grumble turns into a hiss of anger when I see that someone’s been up here, and it sure as shit wasn’t Goldilocks.
“None of this should be here,” I mutter as I take in the mess, frowning at a jacket that’s been thrown over the Italian leather sofa and a bag that looks like it was carelessly tossed into a chair and knocked it over.
Puzzled, I check my sheet again. Nope. No one’s supposed to be here. I step into the room, leaving my cart outside.
“Housekeeping?” I call tentatively. “Anyone here?”
Silence is my only answer.
“Hello?” I dare again. When I get no response, I walk over to pick up the chair that’s been knocked over. I figure that maybe someone has checked in ahead of the guest and left in a hurry. I’ll straighten things up and just leave.
A sound behind me causes me to spin around, and my breath stills in my lungs.
Holy fuck!
My heart skips a beat as my eyes take in the naked . . . god standing before me. Well, ok, he’s not totally naked. He’s got a towel over his head and he’s drying his hair.
But the way he’s built . . . sweet Jesus. He looks like he’s chiseled out of granite, with big muscular arms, breathtaking broad shoulders, a proud chest, an eight pack, and . . .
“Anaconda . . .” I whisper as I see what’s hanging between his legs, my pulse pounding in my ears. He’s got to be at least seven inches long already and he’s not even hard. My skin prickles as I gaze at his thick cock, my nipples hardening, my breath coming out in short pants.
The man freezes when his eyes fall on me, and I feel like I’m going to melt into a puddle on the floor. I have no words for how hot this man is. He’s not just hung like a horse. He’s fucking gorgeous too. Shaggy blond hair hangs down over his forehead, with startling blue eyes that seem to glow from the inside and a face that would make artists drool. He’s staring at me, his mouth, with full, sexy lips, hanging slack, the towel dropping from his hand to the floor.
Neither of us says anything for what seems like an eternity but has to be just a few seconds before he recovers and grins, his eyes boring into me with an intensity that makes me weak at the knees. “Hi, I’m Gavin,” he says easily, as if he’s not standing in front of me with a monster-sized dick dangling between his legs.
He’s not doing anything to cover it up either. Given what he’s packing, I understand why. It’s like he’s proud of it as he stares at me with a confidence that borders on gross arrogance.