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The Staff

The Scarlet Hotel had been around for a long time. Almost a hundred years, in fact, dating back to when Friedrich Holland had first built the place in the late 1920s. And in that time, it had seen the world remade ten times over. War and peace, economical boom and bust, changes in politics and fashion and technology. Yet, here it still stood, an icon of a bygone era.

Conner Rose had always been halfway in awe of the place, even before he’d been hired to work the front desk. He had memories from his childhood of standing in front of the austere building, admiring its classic architecture and glamorous guests. Now, even though he wore the same uniform as every other staff member—same crimson coat and black pants, white button-up and black tie—he couldn’t force himself to believe that he truly fit in, and not just because he was the youngest by far.

At 20 years old, he was still afflicted with that post-teen awkwardness, all gangly limbs and a clumsy gait that came with a late growth spurt that he’d never really gotten used to. His beard—if the strict dress code had permitted him to grow one, that is—grew in rust-colored patches in contrast to his blond hair, and every time he was left to watch the front desk alone, he broke out in a cold sweat. His boss, Monsieur Holland, had told him that confidence would come with time and experience, and Conner could only hope that was true.

It was during one of these terrifying moments of alone time, his supervisor Emily having stepped away from the desk, that a young omega came in through the front door. It was a good thing Sandy had opened the door for him, because his arms were laden with a stack of sage-green boxes tall enough to block his view. He had a large black duffle bag over one shoulder and walked carefully, unable to see where he was going.

As the man approached the desk, Conner started to worry. “Uh, hey, sir? You’d better slow down… Hey, whoa !” he ended up shouting when the man was just two feet from the counter and showing no signs of stopping. Conner had instinctively reached, arms outstretched, as if to catch him, but luckily, his shout had gotten the man’s attention as it echoed loudly off the marble foyer, drawing attention from a couple on the lounge over by the window.

A head, topped with a mop of curly brown hair, peeked around the boxes. “Oh! Hey, thanks. That could’ve been bad.” Whatever was in the boxes didn’t seem to be heavy at least as he lifted them up and plonked them on the counter to the side. He was dressed casually, with what appeared to be a dusting of flour down the front of his shirt, and he looked to be at least in his mid-20s. “Checking in for Liam Turner.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.” Conner’s hands were sweating. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what he was doing. He’d checked people in hundreds of times over the past six months, but he didn’t like working without a safety net. When he had a coworker on the desk with him, he could always ask for help if he needed it. Not that he ever needed it anymore, and he supposed it was nice that they had confidence in his abilities, but… in his mind, it didn’t matter than he knew the whole process inside and out; he was convinced he was going to screw up.

He reached beneath the counter and pulled out the heavy, leather-bound book where they kept a copy of the hotel’s reservations. Obviously, they had electronic backups, a whole website and online booking system, because they weren’t entirely in the dark ages, but Monsieur Holland insisted that people loved the charm of the relics, like their check-in book and old brass keys.

“Have you lived here long?” the man asked casually, propping his elbow on the desk as Conner ran his finger down the page, scanning names.

“Huh? Oh, um, yeah, my whole life actually.”

“And how do you like it?”

Conner blinked a few times, getting distracted from what he was doing. “It’s okay, I guess. I don’t really have anything to compare it to, though.” What did the guy say his name was again? Leif Tanner? No, that’s not right .

“Cause I just moved here,” the man went on—Liam Turner, Conner reminded himself, going back to the top of the page and starting over. “Or rather, I guess I haven’t moved yet, since I’ll be staying in the hotel for a bit. You see, it’s always been my dream to open a little café and bakery, and I finally saved up enough money. I’m leasing a space just down the street. Maybe you’ve seen the sign? It’s called Grounded.”

“Mm-hm,” Conner murmured, only half listening as he turned to grab the key from the hook on the wall behind him.

“I’m originally from North Salter. You know where that is? Anyway, I had to drive into the city because I took ownership on the first of the month, and the ovens were just installed this morning and I wanted to make sure they were working, but there was a delay on the apartment, and a friend of mine from back home used to work here, so… here I am.” Liam splayed his hands, like ta-da! before his smile turned sheepish, an adorable blush pinking up his cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to give you my life story. I’m just so… excited, you know?” The young man did indeed appear to be almost vibrating.

“Nah, it’s okay. I don’t mind,” Conner said with a smile, handing over the key. He appreciated the light banter. It helped ease the stress of working solo a little. “You’re in room 405.”

Liam stood there smiling, so Conner smiled back… and the silence stretched. Why wasn’t he leaving to go to his room? “Um, have a good evening?” Conner said eventually.

“Don’t you need a signature or a credit card or something?”

“Oh! Right. Yes.” Well, shit. It was a good thing Emily wasn’t here, or she would’ve scolded the hell out of him.

Once all the payments were sorted, Liam bent to pick up his duffle bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the elevator. “Sir, your boxes?” Conner called after him.

Liam turned and waved his hand. “Those are for the staff. Since I needed to try out the ovens and fryers to make sure they were working, I ran a few batches of pastries and donuts through. You can help yourselves, and if you enjoy them, maybe you’ll consider stopping by on opening day. I left a flier on top.”

Conner beamed, his mouth already watering. “Hey, thanks!”

The elevator doors had barely closed before Conner was reaching for the top box. Sure enough, there was a flier taped to the box, advertising the grand opening of Grounded Café & Bakery in two weeks’ time. He folded back the top of the box and couldn’t bite back the groan that snuck out at the incredible aroma. You couldn’t get much fresher than this. There were blueberry muffins with what smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg sprinkled on top, and strawberry custard tarts, but it was the powdered jelly donut that was calling Conner’s name.

Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, he reached in and brought the donut to his mouth. Biting down, the slightly sour jelly mixed with the sugar, and it was so damn amazing that he might have gotten a tiny bit of a chubby in his pants.

He might’ve blacked out for a minute, in some kind of dessert stupor, because the next thing he knew, the entire donut had somehow made its way into his mouth, and there was the tap-tap-tap of his supervisor’s toe on the floor behind him. Emily’s arms were crossed over her chest, her eyebrow taking on a dangerous arch. He paused mid-chew, debating his next move.

“Sow’y,” he mumbled in apology with his mouth full, powdered sugar flying. He tried to explain that the goodies were a gift for the staff, but it was all messy, powdery gibberish around the donut, so he pointed at the flier, regretfully chewing too quick to savor it. He’d have to have a second one to make up for it.

Emily read over the flier, before she made an inhuman growl and crumpled the paper in her fist. Then she turned that murderous gaze on him, and he nearly choked. She reached under the desk and came up with a garbage can. “Spit that out this very second,” she snapped.

In reflex, he swallowed. “No! Don’t swallow!” she yelped, and for a second, he worried she was going to pry open his mouth and go after it.

“What? Why not?” Was it poisoned? That seemed highly unlikely. Liam was so nice.

“Because he’s the competition!” she hissed, leaning in close and trying her best to keep things quiet. The Scarlet Hotel was not the kind of place for yelling. “We buy our coffee and donuts from Crave. ”

“But… can’t we go to both?” She was already shaking her head, her face a mask of disappointment, and his shoulders sank. “It was a really good donut,” he said weakly, though he felt almost guilty for thinking it.

“I know you’re fairly new to The Scarlet Hotel, but we are a fiercely loyal bunch around here, and the owner of Crave, Hugh, is like family. How would you like to see your brother’s business go under, all because you supported the competition? You wouldn’t, so you will. Not. Eat. The tainted pastries. Understood?”

Conner’s head bobbed frantically. He was a little afraid of Emily on a good day, and he realized he probably should’ve been terrified by her current fierce state, her flashing eyes and flushed cheeks, but in all honesty, he felt a tad jealous. He’d never had anyone this protective of him in his life.

“Now, you just leave these pastries with me. I’ll dispose of them.” She nodded once firmly then loaded up her arms with donuts, and with a heavy heart, Conner watched as the dozens of delicious treats were carted away.

Conner couldn’t decide which was a worse offense—if she threw them out or if she ate the whole lot of them herself. He sighed, licking the last of the sugar off his fingers. “It was a really good donut…”