Page 4 of Enemies with Benefits
"Really? The only one with arguably worse taste in partners isyou."
"What can I say?" I asked with a grin. "I like to date eclectic and eccentric people."
"Your last girlfriend was arrested for murder."
"Second degree, and they brought it down to manslaughter."
"And the guy before her was...wasn't he the hooker?"
"He was an escort."
"Who was killed about three months after he broke up with you because he turned witness against the mafia."
"Not the mafia, but a big crime family, sure."
She stared at me and sighed. "At least mine have been normal, run-of-the-mill assholes."
"Really?" I asked, arching a brow. "Your first boyfriend was a gang banger."
"First boyfriend, yes."
"And your first girlfriend?—"
"Was a stripper who killed herself because she thought it was a great idea to mix her pill addiction with her alcoholism and crashed her car."
"She drove it off a cliff, and it took a diving team to find her in the Pacific."
I wasn't surprised when she stepped forward and punched me in the arm. She didn't hold back, and I actually felt a dull ache from where she hit me. Not to be outdone, I wrapped an arm around her neck and drew her down, holding her at my side as she shouted. “Mason! Quit!"
"You started it," I said, twisting so she couldn't jab me in the side like she always did. Of course, that made dragging her back toward the hotel a tricky proposition as she was wriggling and keen to find some soft spot to jab. Thankfully, my riding jacket was decently padded, and she couldn't find the right angle. She'd been raised around too many boys not to have learned how to fight, though. As our mother liked to tell me, she and I had come out of the womb practically grappling one another. In reality, I had been first out and had been holding her ankle, and not one to be outdone, she had followed very soon after.
Our fight continued all the way into the lobby before I finally released her, smirking at her outraged look as I righted myself and gave her a wink. "Again, you started it."
"You," she fumed, turning to face a mirror and adjusting her hair. "I'm on the clock!"
I looked around to see what else had changed since I’d last been in the hotel, considering how much my mother had changed things in a little over a year. The front desk was the same, a thick, wood monstrosity that could have withstood the force of a bomb if needed, and the same picture of the city behind it. Beneath it were pictures of people, both famous and not, who had visited the hotel. Those pictures were always being swapped around, and I wondered who was on the wall of fame now.
To the right of the entrance was the restaurant that my great-grandparents had started decades ago and had been maintained by subsequent generations. It had started small and expanded with my grandparents, decorated mostly with wood and some stone, making it welcoming during the day, but at night, when the lights were dimmed, it felt cozy and intimate. The bar behind that was put in by my parents, and it was mostly stone and glass, enclosed and well lit, while still feeling inviting and relaxed.
To the left of the entrance was the small café my mother had insisted on adding when we were kids. It had come about when Starbucks had raised the idea of opening in the hotel, and my mother had balked at a 'corporate parasite burrowing into my skin.' But it had given her the idea to add a coffee shop, although she knew very little about actually brewing coffee, but much more about baking. The problem was solved when she found some college kid with a dream and dragged her in. Against all odds, the damn thing was still popular years later. That college kid was my age and could make the greatest cup of coffee, and was still selling the pastries from recipes that came from my mother.
All in all, the place looked almost the same. Sure, some of the decorations had changed, and the furniture in the parts of the lobby not taken up by other businesses had been swappedaround or reupholstered, but that was tame to the point of boring when it came to my mother.
I glanced at my sister, who had finished adjusting her clothing and hair. "Why are you working anyway? Last I checked, the Manager of Sales didn't work overnight; business was done in the morning."
Moira huffed, pushing me out of the way as she walked toward the front desk. "Since I knew you were probably going to show up at some god awful hour, I offered to take over for the night. It's the slow season for another month, so we only need a couple of people up front for the night audit."
I frowned at that. "Since when has slow season been a reason only to have one person at the front desk?"
"You're really going to tell me what we do and don't need?"
"C'mon, Moira, I literally grew up in this hotel right alongside you. I know that even our slow season should call for more hands on deck."
"It's been an extra slow season. They happen every few years, which you should remember even if you're not around to notice anymore."
I ignored the jab and leaned on the desk, staring past her toward the lowest picture on the wall. It wasn't in a prominent position and never really had been, but anyone at the desk could see it. My mother stood in the center, with Marcus beside her, beaming as he wrapped an arm tightly around her shoulders. Beside her stood Moira and I, me grinning and Moira half-smiling, but the gleam in her eyes as she glanced at me said she was trying not to laugh and also not strangle me. That had always been our relationship, with me always daring, and Moira torn between trying to restrain me and going along with it in equal measure.
Behind us stood our half-brother, Milo, his arm wrapped around the neck of our step-brother and Marcu's son, Elijah.Both were grinning like fools, with Milo as tow-headed as ever, while Elijah was as dark-haired as his father. The two had been thick as thieves from the moment Marcus and my mother met, and some inextricable bond had formed between them that had never broken. Even as adults, they were tight, always talking on the phone, gaming together, and finding time for each other.
