Page 27 of Breakfast Included

And still he stood there, waiting for a man who clearly didn’t care. Who’d only told Reno what he needed to hear so he could get what he wanted. Reno shook his head at his own stupidity. What had Tate said that first night? “Just taking advantage of the situation.”

AKA taking advantage of Reno while they were stranded.

Reno narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips tight together. Better he cracked his molars from clenching his jaw too tight in anger than make more of an idiot of himself by breaking down in tears in the middle of a hotel lobby.

He was done. Done with Tate, done with dreams, done with men.

He pulled his phone out again and sent a new text.

Good to know nothing’s changed. Don’t bother texting or calling back. I’m blocking your number. Have a nice life.

He stabbed at the “block” key as soon as the textswooshedinto cyberspace.

He gripped the bag in his hand tightly and spun on his heel. He stormed outside and stomped toward the parking lot as the fury that burned inside him raged. He wasn’t going to waste another second of his life on someone who didn’t care about him. Especially not on the likes of Tate Boylan. Guess his brother had been right after all. Tate wasn’t good enough for him.

* * *

Tate watchedas Reno crossed the lobby with his sexy stride in snug jeans that showcased his gorgeous ass and exited the glass doors to the patio. His heart did a little slide and swoon in his chest. He couldn’t wait to get back home and start a real life with Reno. He had a lot of years to make up for after he’d panicked and run when he was a teen. If he hadn’t, he could have been loving that amazing man all this time.

“He certainly is a handsome man,” an unfamiliar voice agreed, as though Tate had spoken out loud.

He turned and smiled at an older gentleman standing at his side, a good half foot shorter than him. He wore a deep purple brocade jacket over a lavender dress shirt and black slacks, with a black-and-purple polka-dotted bow tie. The man’s watery gray eyes danced with humor, and his aged but still supple-looking skin crinkled.

“He is at that,” Tate replied.

The man ran his gaze over Tate and said, “You look like a nice strapping young man. Care to help an old man with his luggage?”

Tate snorted a laugh and looked over his shoulder. Reno was leaning over the patio railing, looking out over the river. He’d be done before Reno started to wonder where he was. “Sure, just let me get checked out.”

A few minutes later, Tate walked with his new acquaintance to the elevators and stepped into the open car on the left after the older gentleman. The man pressed the button for the third floor.

“My name is Tate,” he said and offered his hand.

“I’m Roger Henry Woolwood the Third. But you can call me Rog,” Rog said with a friendly smile as he shook Tate’s hand. His firm grip belied his age. “Pleasure to meet you, Tate.”

The doors slid closed, but the car didn’t move. Tate frowned.

“Which floor are you on again?” Maybe Roger hadn’t pressed the button hard enough. He reached for the panel, finger poised over number three. “Three, right?”

“Oh dear,” Roger said, his voice was low but lacked any concern that they appeared to be trapped in an elevator. “I forgot this elevator is haunted.”

Tate snorted in disbelief. It was rude, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You don’t know the story?” Roger turned to face him, and . . . was thatgleein his expression? “The other elevator is normal, but this one is haunted. Not in an evil, menacing sort of way, mind you, but in a playful jokester kind of way.”

“Okaaay . . .”

“You have to be polite to this one,” Roger said in a conspiratorial tone, and Tate expected him to start rubbing his hands together maniacally any second now. “We didn’t say please when I pressed the floor number.”

Tate looked at the man like he was mad. He had to be, because haunted elevators . . . Sure, The Retreat was old, but come on now. This could not be happening.

“We just have to ask it politely to take us up to the third floor.” Roger’s eyes gleamed brighter, and the grin on his face took a good twenty years off his age. The old man was getting a kick out of this. “You’re new, so you’ll have to do it.”

“Uhh . . . You want me to talk to an elevator?”

Roger nodded, his grin stretched into a huge smile, and Tate laughed. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Roger motioned at him to get on with it instead of answering.

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