“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.”
Maybe not in those words, but for once we agree on something.
Chapter 7: Angie
The door opens to our room, and even Gavin whistles. “Nice choice, Dad. It’s the fucking bridal suite.” He steps inside with our suitcases, leaving me in the doorway with my mouth hanging open and my eyes flitting around the room.
Our cabin’s huge. Two rooms. The bright white walls are covered with floral murals that are so detailed that I half expect to be able to smell them. I can’t keep from running my fingers over everything, like I have to check if it’s real.
The room has all the typical hotel room things, a sitting area, a minibar, closets and drawers, but everything looks money. Stainless steel and polished wood. Gold trim. The two love seats are so white I’m afraid to sit down and get them dirty. The pink heart shaped pillows are a little hokey, though.
A gorgeous bouquet of roses stands in a vase on the low glass coffee table, as well as a bucket of champagne and a box of fancy chocolates. I don’t know champagne, but I bet it’s the good stuff. While Gavin carries our suitcases into the bedroom, I sneak one of the chocolates, and it’s amazing. Smooth and delicious, filled with some sort of alcohol that melts in my mouth and warms my stomach.