Page 3 of Sir Avery's Wish
Eli’s eyes burned. A sickening reality slammed into him. “They don’t know who you are. But what if they got my license plate number?” He hitched a sob. “How long before they show up at my apartment? And I don’t dare drag my parents into this nightmare. I’d never recover if anything happened to them.”
“Daaaaamn…” Lenny crossed his arms over his middle, rocking back and forth. “You’re fucked.”
Eli fought back tears. “No kidding.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Look, is there someone you can stay with for a few days? I wouldn’t go back to your place for a while.”
Lenny snorted. “You mean ever. I’m never setting foot in Encino again, much less that apartment.”
“Well, for now. Where can I drop you?”
“Huh? Where are you going to go?”
Eli’s shoulders slumped, a horrible realization filling him. “The bus station.”
Chapter One
Avery skimmed his email inbox, verifying that the most important messages had been dealt with. The rest he would forward to his executive assistant to handle. Despite keeping his direct email at the Charles River Suites as secret as possible, determined investors, day traders, business loan companies, and the occasional enraged guest still managed to snake their way through to his inbox.
The top floor of the twelve-story hotel housed four premium suites. After discovering he spent more time at work than he did in his Cambridge home, he’d upgraded his workspace in case he decided not to bother making the journey home in the late hours.
And those times when each day ran into the next meant he was still comfortable. After all, it wasn’t as if he had any family or pets to worry about at home. Not that he didn’t hope to change his circumstances someday, it was merely that no one had sparked his urge to commit.
However, the yearning to find someone who could belong to him had become stronger lately. After owning the hotel for over ten years, the overwhelming demands on him had eased. Renovating the historic building to a five-star destination had taken up the first year, then the grand opening the following year.
The historic building’s exterior had been rejuvenated, returning the Beaux-art style structure to its original grandeur. Inside, he’d collaborated with designers to create a lobby that fused modern elegance with a nod to the hotel’s roots. The expansive open area featured polished marble floors, leading to deep royal blue plush carpeting in the registration area.Antique crystal chandeliers, along with intricately carved velvet furniture, enhanced the hotel's overall opulence.
Once the lobby was completed, the style informed the rest of the interior. From the upscale restaurant to the ballroom to every guest room, Avery had overseen every detail. Other amenities such as a spa, indoor pool with a stained-glass ceiling, and jet tubs in the premium rooms had made the hotel a coveted destination and an enormous success.
It had also made him an incredibly wealthy man.
Avery scratched his cheek, then frowned. It appeared he’d forgotten to shave that morning. He’d barely slept more than two hours, rolled out of bed, then showered and dressed without his usual morning routine. The previous day had been a blur of meetings and crisis management after the head chef quit without notice. Ty, his friend Zane’s boy, who worked in the kitchen, had stepped in to help the sous chef, a much-appreciated gesture that had saved the day.
Avery rubbed his eyes, the grit of exhaustion behind his lids reminding him he was overdoing it. Forty-six wasn’t ancient, but his thirties were long gone, taking his unstoppable energy with them. He chuckled as he shook out his hands. Although his energy had lessened, it hadn’t disappeared.
He leaned back in his desk chair. Perhaps he should consider heading home early tonight, though the thought of his empty Cambridge house held little appeal. At least here, surrounded by the controlled chaos of his business, he felt useful.
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. “Come in.”
Darla, his executive assistant, a tall mid-thirties redhead with organizational skills that rivaled his own, peeked around the door. “Sir, Mary Chen would like to speak with you if you have a moment.”
“Oh?” Avery pinched his eyebrows together. “Sam isn’t available?”
Typically, his head of housekeeping would discuss any issues with his operations manager.
“He’s taken a sick day, and Mary insists it’s something you’d want to be aware of.”
“I see. Then send her in.”
He quickly checked his watch. Whatever was going on, he hoped it wouldn’t be too involved. As much as he appreciated Ty’s help, neither he nor the sous chef were ready for the big time. One of his buddies, who owned his own Michelin-rated establishment, was dropping by in about an hour to assist in his search for the right chef.
Avery glanced up as Mrs. Chen swept into his office, a study in seriousness. He couldn’t bring himself to call her Mary—not when the short, round woman with a perpetual frown and mostly white hair pinned back in a tight bun meant business. She was a magnificent manager, and he didn’t know what he’d do without her.
Mrs. Chen regarded him with her lips pressed together, her brow furrowed. However, the typically no-nonsense, perfectly postured woman had her hands tightly folded in front of her as she worried her fingers.
“Sir, I need to speak with you about one of our laundry staff members.” She paused, her fingers still working against each other. “Eli Newman.”
Avery straightened in his chair, his attention sharpening. Mrs. Chen's obvious discomfort was unusual—the woman had weathered everything from flooded guest rooms to drunken wedding parties without so much as a tremor in her voice.
“What seems to be the problem?”
