ALTHOUGH IT'S ALWAYS CROWDED,
YOU STILL CAN FIND SOME ROOM
FOR BROKEN HEARTED LOVERS.

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

My stepmother always says; All men want the same thing. And it's to have a wife they can mold into their perfect little doll. A woman that listens, and does whatever their husband tells them to. A good wife.

She's right.

There's a guy I have my eyes on. He walks by the reception every night, and each time, he looks at me just a second longer. Last night, when our eyes met, I saw his glazed, and glassy ones looking straight through me. I could tell he'd been crying. Broken hearted.

His fingers were twisting locks of his dirty blonde hair, which was recently dyed. I remember his black, slicked back hair from a couple weeks ago. He'd always have a thin strand swinging in front of his forehead, down in between of his eyebrows. I'm not sure which color suits him better, but the blonde makes him seem all the more supreme.

His clothes don't change that often. It's always some kind of black shirt, black dress pants, and black leather shoes, yet his gold jewellery always blings differently around his steady fingers, and his veiny neck. He's moneyed, -or rather his father is-, but he likes to spend it recklessly.

Nonetheless, he looks expensive, and I like expensive. Well, I like expensive men, to be specific.

"Fix your tie." My manager points with his pretentiously manicured fingers, and a self-centered tone. His nose always points up, and his eyebrows nearly blur into his crooked hairline, but still, he's my manager.

I do as he says while uttering curses under my breath. He finally disappears behind the door of the Employee's Only room, and my curses get louder.

The Andromeda Hotel is known for it's exellent guest treatments, but me and my co-workers get bashed in the process. There's only one person that knows how to be respectful to us, and it's the broken hearted rich guy. Speak of the angel-

Austin walks in again. A superb face, and pearly white teeth completely changing the atmosphere of the reception hall. Suddenly, the intricate golden details carved into the walls feel like they have a purpose. This hotel was built for Austin to grace it with his superiority complex.

He wears a tightly fitting black shirt, which displays his slim waist, and honey glistening biceps beautifully. Tonight he isn't wearing his usual dress pants, but rather a pair of black, straight legged jeans.

As always, he's blinged up. A caramel 3 o'clock shadow along the line of his jaw, and above his lips, as well as the subtle brushing of his tongue across his plump bottom lip make me press my thighs together.

"Hi." He approaches me by the reception, and perches his lazy arms on top of the counter. "How you doing, Ottie?"

His voice, so sublime, speaking my name like he's singing an unchained melody. Like he speaks from the throat. Such a deep, hoarse tone, and a superb amount of rasp lacing the depths of his vocal chords. He sounds like he belongs in a sixties advert for Marlboro.

Just the simple fact he knows my name gives me tingles in places I'm expected to be ashamed of. Goosebumps find their way from my legs, all the way to my nape. My face heats up immensely.

I can't do anything but nod with an awkward smile plastered across my red face. "I'm good. How are you?"

Austin rests his elbows on the counter between us, and nestles his chin in his palms. Then, with a groany and long sigh, he watches me through his pretty lashes. My fingers start to shake, and I forget how to use my hands. His body, casually leaning forward gives me the impression he knows he makes me nervous. And loves it.

"I'm fine." He says, but his cheeky smile quickly drops. "I hope two twenty-five's free, because I'm tired, and all I wanna do is drift into a deep sleep."

His eyes dart to the board of keys behind me. Tension hangs low in the air of the reception hall. I only ever see Austin late at night, and wonder what it is that gets him worked up to pay a visit to the broken hearts hotel.

I heard that's what people call this place.

Shaking my thoughts away, I nod and turn to face the key board, franctically searching for the two twenty-five key. That's the room he prefers most of the time, but I never had the balls to ask him if it's his lucky number, or just a preference.

Even faced away, I feel his eyes on me. Not that I don't like it, but I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight. Once my fingers finally trace the right key, I bring my fingers around it and take it off the board with it jingling against the keys surrounding it.

"You're wearing a skirt." Austin smirks as I turn back to him. His eyes skim me from my wide eyes to the hem of my skirt, which stops at the middle of my thighs. When his eyes travel back up to meet mine, his smirk grows. "I've never seen you in a skirt."

I don't know what to do besides take small steps back to the counter and place the key in front of him. It's like I swallowed my tongue, or maybe just my words. I gulp over and over but to no avail-

"It looks good on you." Austin grabs the key off the counter and steps back. Then when he's about to make his way to the elevator, "I like it." He winks.

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

➥ IN THE NEXT CHAPTER

Austin opens the door to a rather shy Ottie.

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