Irresistible Bachelors: Books 1-5 by Landish, Lauren (classic literature books .TXT) 📗

“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.

“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