Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I have absolutely zero desire to take him his drink when it’s ready, but I know I don’t have a choice, so I pick up the tray and carry it across the room. He doesn’t look at me as I place his bourbon on the table, but he does glare at the water when I set it down next to the squat glass.
“I didn’t ask for water.” His glare lands on me.
“Everyone needs to stay hydrated,” I chirp with a fake smile, spinning on my heel to return to the bar.
As the night continues, he drinks alone in the dark, staring off into space. Not even Polly, who is normally a great distraction for men when they’re attempting to hide from their pain, can get him to crack a smile. Eventually, she gives up and goes home alone, leaving him to drink by himself.
“Elora,” Colleen calls from the register, where she’s been closing out the till while I sweep and mop the floors.
“Yeah?” I walk over to join her, and she hands me a wad of cash. I shove it into my pocket without counting it. She might not be the nicest woman in the world, but she hasn’t once shorted me on my tips.
“After you get your stuff from the office, I need you to help him to his room.” She motions to the man across the bar, hunched over in his chair, his head resting on the table. My stomach bottoms out. “He’s in Room 17, right next to yours.”
“Colleen, I—”
“Just help me by helping him.” She sighs, and I press my lips together to keep my mouth shut. Even if I told her all the reasons I’m not comfortable helping a drunk man to his room alone, I doubt she’d care. And I wouldn’t tell her no—partially because she’s the daughter of The View’s owner and partially because she scares the hell out of me. She reminds me of that mean principal in Matilda who I used to have nightmares about when I was little. She and Ms. Trunchbull could be sisters.
I untie the apron from around my waist and place it in the bucket with the other aprons and rags. I’ll collect the bucket tomorrow morning and toss them into the washer when I start my day with my second position here at the hotel as a housekeeper.
With my coat on and my purse over my shoulder, I walk across the bar, my heart beating harder the closer I get to the sleeping stranger.
Not sure how to wake him, I look back at Colleen, and she motions for me to get on with it, like I’m wasting her time.
I sigh.
“Hey.” I nudge him. “The bar is closed. It’s time to go.”
Nothing. He’s totally out.
“Dude.” I raise my voice and shake his shoulder. “You need to wake up.” His head flies up, startling me, and I jump back. When his glassy-eyed gaze focuses on me, I wipe my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans. “It’s time to go. The bar is closed.”
Looking around the empty bar with a frown, he stands—or at least tries to. He stumbles and attempts to catch himself using the table he’s been sitting at, his weight causing it to screech across the concrete floor, almost sending it and him crashing to the ground.
Great.
Letting out a frustrated breath, I get into his space. “Come on, buddy.” I duck under his arm and wrap one around his back, the other around his front, so I’m basically hugging his side. He’s so tall he hunches over me like a weeping willow, blocking everything out. I groan under his heavy weight and shuffle him toward the door Colleen opens for us.
So helpful.
“See you in the morning.”
“Yep,” I reply through gritted teeth and hear the door to the bar close behind us, then lock.
Jerk.
The two of us stumble and swerve down the sidewalk that leads from the bar to the hotel, and it takes all my effort to keep us from ending up in a bush or sprawled on the concrete path, but by some miracle, I pull off the impossible.
Halfway up the brick steps that lead to the second floor balcony, where our rooms are located, he makes a noise that sounds a lot like he’s going to be sick.
I tip my head back and glare at him. “If you throw up on me, I swear I’m letting you go.”
“Who’re you,” he slurs, frowning at me like he’s never seen me before.
“Your fairy godmother, apparently,” I grumble, urging him up two more steps. “You should really learn when to stop drinking.”
“Fuck off,” he bites out.
“You fuck off,” I bite back. “And that’s no way to talk to the person helping you to your room because you decided to drown your sorrows and can’t hold your liquor.”