Checking In While Being Checked Out

BLAKE

California, sweet California. Although I didn’t get out to this property as often as I liked, it had always been one of my favorites. It was a small hotel, but it was popular and really did feel like a home—to me, anyway. Having thought about my talk with Dad on the plane, I still didn’t want to settle down in one place for good, but I wouldn’t mind spending a couple of weeks in California.

The people, the vibe, the weather, the food. Everything was better here than it was in Florida. It helped that my family was far enough away, but not so far that I couldn’t get there if I needed to.

Compared to some of our bigger hotels, the lobby here was downright cozy. It had the big windows and panes of glass for walls like most of our hotels did, but it seemed warmer because it was smaller.

I made mental notes of things I noticed while walking in. Part of my job when I visited the properties was to report back on general impressions and things I thought we could improve in order to attract more business. Quality assurance.

The first thing I noticed was the sign out front. It wasn’t as eye-catching as it used to be, before some of the bigger hotels in the area sprung up. It seemed dull. We were in the process of rolling out bigger, improved signs anyway. I’d approved the budget just last week. This property would have to be added to the list of the ones being swapped out first.

Some of the bright red couches in the lobby were looking threadbare. Another thing I would have to approve a decent budget for. The front desk of the lobby sat right up against the back wall, next to a glass panel providing a pretty damn awesome view of the sun setting over the ocean.

Behind the front desk was a velvet lined wall filled with clocks telling the time in half a dozen states and countries where McAllen had hotels, and had a hidden door leading to the back where the staff had their break rooms and offices. A pretty redhead stood behind the desk, staring intently at her computer screen. Whatever was on the screen was apparently more interesting than a guest, since she hardly looked up when I entered the doors.

My eyes narrowed briefly. Part of our policy was that all staff should be warm and welcoming from the moment a guest stepped in the doors. Attentive front desk staff was crucial in that aspect. I wouldn’t make any snap judgments though. It was probably near the end of her shift and most guests wouldn’t expect, or even notice a smile as soon as they entered the lobby.

When she did look up, she blinked a couple of times before her lips curled into a wide smile. Almost non-existent lashes batted as I neared her. “Welcome to the Palo Alto McAllen. Are you checking in?”

Her tone bordered on flirtatious, which was worrying, but not entirely surprising. Danny and I both inherited the best physical traits of our parents. It wasn’t being immodest to say I was used to being hit on, even by our staff. Especially since most of the staff had no clue who I was when I first arrived. My reservations were always made under Mom’s maiden name, and all my credit cards had both.

Dad and I arranged it that way so I could observe the hotels before the staff found out I was coming. It was no use visiting the properties when we could never see what they were really like without the VIP treatment I got once they found out who I was.

“Yes, I’m checking in. I have a reservation under Carlton.”

The clerk, Tiffany, according to her name badge, smiled and started clacking away on her keyboard. “Okay, Mr. Carlton. I have you in a Superior Double Room for five nights. Is that correct?”

“Yeah, but I might be staying longer. Is that a problem?”

She narrowed her eyes in concentration, scrolling through the information on her screen. “It’s no problem. If you’re willing to pay for a sixth night up front, I can upgrade you to a suite at no extra charge. Interested?”

“Sure.” I handed her my credit card and was about to ask about the facilities when the door behind her opened. A woman I definitely hadn’t met before stepped through it, coming up to stand behind Tiffany.

From her uniform, I could tell she was the manager. She wore black instead of navy and had a soft smile on her face. Hers was very unlike the one Tiffany was wearing, which seemed almost predatory in comparison.

Long, dark brown hair was swept back from her face with those clip things women used to keep their hair from getting in their way. It tumbled past her shoulders in a wavy curtain and the ends caressed her waist.

“Good afternoon, sir. I’m Aston, the manager here. Let me show you to your room.” Her voice was smooth and velvety, like melted chocolate over creamy ice cream.

My mouth went dry when our eyes met. Hers were light green, almost the color of new blades of grass in spring. I shook off the physical reaction to the beautiful woman and forced my lips into a polite smile. “Thank you.”