Page 6 of Devil's Deal

He shrugged. “Yeah, but it fits.”

Applesauce. I couldn’t deny that. At least in this little kingdom I’d created, I was important. Or important enough, since I signed their paychecks.

“I’m going to mull over this latest occurrence at Vigor.”

Huey nodded. “Gonna pump some iron, ha?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, Cory. We’ve got it covered up here,” Harlow said, side-eying Huey.

“I know you do. Thanks guys. If you need me, though, shoot me a text.”

Hoping that I could at least get an hour workout in, I left them to it and headed toward the gym. Starting a boutique hotel had been my dream, and until recently, it had been working out beautifully. At the entrance of the hall that led to Behind Closed Doors, our spa services, and Vigor, our gym, I stopped and stared at the picture of my husband and me the day we’d opened.

It had been a year since he passed, and I missed him every day. He hadn’t had a lot to do with the hotel, since this was supposed to be my baby, but he’d listened while I planned, let me bounce the wackiest ideas off him, and he’d have held my hand while I navigated this latest issue. He’d been my partner, my best friend, and unbeknownst to most, my Daddy. Right now, I really wished my nurturer and caretaker was here to tell me that it would be alright.

Blowing out a breath, I squared my shoulders and headed to the gym lockers. I could do this. I didn’t have a choice.

Chapter

Two

BOSLEY

I arrivedin Takoda not too long after the dinner hour. Omar had been asking me to visit for years, but I hadn’t been in this area in a long time. Since I had a break in contracts, I decided to go ahead and come back to this town that I’d purposefully avoided since I reached adulthood. Not that I’d ever told Omar I’d lived here before. That would be too hard to explain, so it was better left unsaid.

Since I had to travel so much, I’d taken to booking a room at boutique hotels. They were generally a little more expensive, but they were themed, and I enjoyed the atmosphere. Any little extravagance that separated me from my job, I considered a win. For the next couple of days, I’d be staying at The Gin Mill Hotel. This one was supposed to be fashioned after the speakeasy era.

From the outside, I wasn’t so sure about that. It was an old brownstone that looked like it might have been a church at one time. At least four stories, with a steepled top that looked like it could be an attic or a belfry, and I wondered if they’d made that into a room, as well. It was all very brown and blah except for the six long rectangular windows that ran the length of the front of the building. At least I knew it wouldn’t be totally dark and depressing. To the right of the main building was a large, one-story, flat square building. Yeah, definitely some type of old church.

I pulled up to the curb out front where a fancy sign readingValet Parkingsat on a gold pole. A kid wearing a red uniform with a matching hat, who wasn’t old enough to drink, with sandy brown hair and a small mole under his left eye, ran over to my door with a huge smile. I opened the window, and he said, “Park your car, sir?”

“Where’s it going?” I asked suspiciously. I didn’t expect any trouble while I was in town, especially since I’d checked in under my alias, Bosley Taylor, but I couldn’t ever be too careful in my line of work.

He pointed to the left of the building. “Right over there, sir. It’s easy to access, and the keys will be at the reception area from midnight to six AM if you should need to get into your car.”

Since I’d already duplicated the key to the car as soon as I picked it up from the rental company, I didn’t mind letting the kid take a set and park for me. It had been a long day, and I was tired, hungry, and in need of a good workout. One of the selling points of this place had been the huge gym they showcased on the website. “Sure.” I hopped out and grabbed the duffel bag in the back seat.

“Short trip?” he asked, too friendly for the likes of me. But the kid wanted a tip, so it made sense.

“Yeah, just in town for a couple of days.” I shoved a twenty-dollar bill in his hands. “Don’t scratch her.”

He beamed as he jumped into the car. “Thank you, sir. Enjoy your stay.”

With some misgivings about choosing this place, I made my way up the stairs to the front door. As I pulled it open, I blinked in surprise.Holy shit. In front of me was an explosion of color. I didn’t know where to look first. There were several huge chandeliers hanging from the ceiling with about a jillion little crystals hanging off them.

To the right was the check-in desk, and to the left was a seating area with green velvet couches. There were so many things to see. Brocade wallpaper was on one wall, but another had red, leather snakeskin-looking wallpaper. There were bold paintings with a plethora of gold trim and accents. In other words, the Art Deco of the twenties had birthed a baby and left it in The Gin Mill Hotel.

Bemused, I made my way over to the reception area and got in line behind a woman in her thirties, with black slacks, a red blouse, and her hair pulled up tight. As she moved away, a balding man in a gray suit, a long-sleeved shirt with the first three buttons undone to reveal a distinct lack of chest hair, walking at an angle, bumped into me and bounced off my body, laughing. His buddy, dressed similarly, with more hair, came and gripped his shoulders and steered him toward the main entrance. “Sorry about that, man,” he said to me.

Behind the desk, a guy in his early thirties with collar-length black hair on the verge of being greasy and flinty dark eyes said to his coworker, “That dude was so drunk.”

The other one, who was much more kept, with blond hair and big blue eyes, wearing a tag that showed his name to be Harlow, hissed, “You know Cory wouldn’t like that. First off, we don’t talk about our guests. Secondly, you need to use the right verbiage.”

The other guy, who didn’t appear to have a name tag at all, gave Harlow a somewhat-friendly shove in the arm. “Fine, teacher’s pet. What am I supposed to say?”

Throwing up his hands. Harlow said, “That fella was zozzled. Why can’t you get it right? We have a whole glossary of suggested terms in the employee handbook.”

Intrigued by someone who made an employee handbook with twenties slang and used words like fella and zozzled in this day and age, I asked, “Who’s Cory?”

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