Pumpking

Issue 8

"I am so sorry! Sorry to inconvenience you. Please, thank you," I bobbed my head as I spoke, bowing from the waist.

"No problem. I know how it is when you lose something and need to get it back." He had a thick French accent, it had the substance of a commanding voice behind it, like velvet over metal. I had an unnatural urge to ask him to read out a grocery list. He just needed a rose in one hand and I would have lost my knees.

Oh boy. No more mils and boon for me after the blush that spread across my face. I lingered slightly in the doorway, forgetting my habit of not rabbiting when the guests spoke to me directly for a moment.

"Thank you, you must be very strong- I mean. I'm sorry. I'll go now,-" I didn't move. My legs were locked as my eyes were lingering on the dimples around his mouth.

"No, no. Don't worry about it. What is your name?" He was already stripping off his jacket like it was glued to him.

My eyes fell to the sharp outline of his muscles under the white shirt; oh boy. I think my higher brain functions started to flatline when the jacket came off.

"Dion," I murmured, forgetting that I was crushing my spray-bottle in one hand. I wasn't going to lie anyway, he could read my nametag if he wanted to. It was on my chest.

He crossed the room and reached out, his hand gently brushing past my ear and sending a tingle down my spine at the same moment. I felt like a deer in headlights.

"You have the most coquettish red hair, Dion," He murmured.

The lift dinged behind me.

I snapped my jaw shut, and stumble-stepped back, "I'm sorry."

I ducked my head a final time and all but ran for the service elevator around the corner.

My head felt like it was on fire. I had forgotten what it was like when a man paid attention to me. I didn't interact with men most of the time. Of course, I had lost all sense of reason and thought. My cheeks were flushed just thinking about the way he had run his thumb over my hair. Oh god and the cologne he was wearing? Holy crap.

I smacked my hand against the button for the lift a little more desperately. I had not been expecting a VIP that good looking. Why did all rich people get such good genes?

No, Dion, you should be disgusted, I admonished. After all; he was obviously some creep with a red-head fetish. God, he looked good enough to eat, smelled good enough to make me want to be eaten and had a sort of... good old boy charm oozing off his horribly perfect white smile.

I relaxed in the elevator as I pieced my phone back together. Well he wasn't that much of a creep; he helped me get my phone. Besides, a rich guy like that, hitting on the help? Ha, I'd read that story.

I dumped my spray bottle and took a ten minute break while I ate a snack from the kitchen. It was one good thing about working in a hotel, we got free left-overs pretty regularly. Today was a few extra bread-rolls and jam that were going to be thrown out at the end of the night if no one ate them.

Chou had a new magazine and Bang was drinking some healthy green tea and mint concoction.

"I saw the VIP," I announced, trying to sound casual.

"Oh?"

"He was hot," At least I could admit that much.