Page 1 of Room 710 (The Scarlet Hotel #15)

The Staff

Benny had started working at The Scarlet Hotel years ago, fresh out of high school, and even though he hadn’t had much experience with jobs in general, he had quickly decided that Monsieur Holland was a good boss.

He paid better than other similar jobs, was generally fair when you needed a day off, and he never yelled at his employees no matter how badly they screwed up—although he sure had that ice-cold stare down pat (Benny had been on the receiving end of it more than once, always well-deserved).

And it was because of his status as a good boss that whenever Monsieur Holland asked Benny if he could help out with something extra, Benny always said yes.

Sometimes it was serving drinks in the bar when the late-night crowd got loud and rowdy, sometimes covering a shift at the front desk when someone called in sick.

He did his best to keep his hair tidy and his uniform clean so he could work all the special events in the ballrooms, which paid out well in tips.

Today, though, it wasn’t anything quite so exciting, and there would be no tips today.

“I’d better get some free lunch when we’re done here,” he grumbled, wrestling to unfold the stubborn table legs and get them locked into place.

“What was that, Benedict?” Monsieur Holland asked.

Benny whipped around, the back of his neck prickling with heat. He hadn’t seen him there, and he hadn’t meant to sass his boss. “What? Oh, I was just… I mean, nothing.”

Monsieur Holland’s stony expression cracked just enough to let a corner of his mouth tip up in a ghost of a smile. “Do you need help flipping the table?”

“No, I got it. Uh, thank you, sir,” he tacked on at the end.

Monsieur Holland nodded and turned to leave, but paused and said over his shoulder, “Oh, and Benedict, when you’re finished setting up the tables, Cherie has some lunch waiting in the kitchen for you.

” His smirk widened. “I appreciate your help.” Then he disappeared into the hall, off on hotel business.

Benny’s blush deepened, but he found himself moving with a little more gusto, knowing there would be food when he was done. So much better than the bologna sandwich he’d brought from home.

The Scarlet Hotel had a series of large rooms on the main floor that they rented out for various functions.

Wedding receptions, charity galas—whatever people were willing to pay for.

Chandeliers sent cut-crystal light refracting around the lavish rooms, graced with intricate crown moldings and polished parquet floors, giving any event a classy air.

Today, though, it was just the smaller multi-purpose room, which was far less glamorous, the floor covered in deep red carpet.

It had more “underfunded community center” vibes than ballroom.

Benny and Timothy were currently setting up a long row of display tables and draping them with white tablecloths, though he’d been told there would be no need for place settings because there would be no food.

Not a meal then… but there was a lot of activity, a certain buzz in the air that stirred his blood. Benny glanced around to make sure Monsieur Holland was truly gone this time, before he sidled over to where Timothy was smoothing out a tablecloth.

“Hey, so what’s all this for, anyway? Another book signing?” Last year, bestselling author Jordan Kepler had done a signing here, and things got a little… intense. Romance readers were insane! He’d had nightmares of being trampled beneath pointy heels for a month.

Timothy shrugged. “Nah, I heard it’s a TV audition or something.”

Benny wasn’t exactly the TV type, but he couldn’t deny the tickle of curiosity. “What, like a singing competition? Or you mean a casting call for a soap opera.” To say it was for TV left too many possibilities.

Before Timothy could answer, though, the double doors swung open and in came a crew carrying camera equipment.

They were chatting loudly, and Benny got back to work, hoping to overhear something important.

The crew set up in the back corner, unrolling some kind of backdrop behind a chair, then set the cameras to record from various angles.

Next, a burly man in a suit came in with three eager lackeys tailing him. He stood in the middle of the room and surveyed the set-up. “We don’t have anything to keep the line organized, so I need a line taped out on the floor for people to follow. That should be fine.”

“How many people should we expect?” one of the lackeys asked, scrambling to pull a roll of green painter’s tape out of his cross-body bag.

The suited man frowned, seemingly disturbed by the question. “Honestly? I have no clue. In previous years, we’ve had as many as 3000, but after last season’s clusterfuck, I doubt we’ll get half that. Just… roll with it and hope for the best.”

Thousands of people? Whatever it was sounded big. Benny had his doubts about a taped line being enough to keep that many people in order, though. He thought back to those insane book fans with a traumatized shudder. Their high-pitched squeals and flailing arms. But maybe TV fans were tamer.

Once the tables were set up, one of the TV crew passed Benny a sandwich board. “Hey, bud, mind setting this up out in the hall? We’re just about ready to open the doors.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” Benny hoisted the unwieldy sign under one arm and hauled it into the hallway. Once he had it set up, he stepped back to read it: Lonely Alpha Open Auditions. Benny couldn’t help the snort of laughter. Seriously? Reality TV wasn’t real.

“What, not a fan, I take it?” a man asked, and Benny turned around to come face to face with the large suited man from inside.

Shit! For the second time today, Benny had been caught with his foot in his mouth. He hoped this guy wouldn’t tell his boss. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no! It’s okay,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets, rolling his shoulders forward. “I promise, I’m no stranger to criticism. You’ve gotta have thick skin when you do what I do. I’m Elijah, the director. Do you mind if I ask what you don’t like about it?”

Benny shuffled his feet awkwardly. “It seems a bit… dramatic?”

Elijah laughed. “Well, yeah, that’s kinda the point, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but I mean, overly dramatic. Nobody acts that way in real life.” Benny bit the inside of his cheek, debating how honest to be.

Elijah seemed pretty laidback for an alpha his size, so he decided to just lay it all out.

“You pick all the whiniest, most annoying people, then shove them into a house together and record the fireworks. You’ll cherry pick like three good contestants, but the rest are just there to set off the occasional bomb. They’re drama fodder.”

Elijah shrugged, unapologetic. “Look, I can’t help it if that’s what sells—sex, money, and a good old-fashioned cat fight.

Viewers live for that drama. Nobody actually expects all the contestants to have a chance at winning, but everyone will have their favorite.

And who doesn’t want a happy ending? But even in real life, there are going to be some bumps in the road to any romance.

Right? So, we just happen to broadcast those bumps for public consumption and ad revenue.

The alpha still gets his omega in the end, the fans get entertained, and we all get a paycheck. It’s win-win-win.”

Benny nodded slowly, rocking back on his heels. “Sure, I get what you’re saying, but you can’t expect someone to go from first date to happily ever after in the span of three months. That’s not realistic.”

“Ah, but this isn’t reality. It’s television.” He grinned like Benny had made his point for him.

“So how does this audition work, then?” Benny asked, gesturing to the room behind him. “You’ll just open the doors and hope some people wander in off the street?”

“Sure, that might happen, but people send us their audition tapes all year. This is just the open call. We advertised it on our website. I doubt we’ll find anyone worth having on the show today, but you never know.

” He eyed Benny with speculation. “Hmm, have you ever considered being on TV? You’ve got a nice floppy-puppy look that viewers would eat right up. ”

Benny shook his head, chuckling. “Hell no.” Even as he said it, though, he couldn’t stop the errant thought from flitting through his mind…

What would it be like, having fans? As far-fetched as the show’s version of insta love was, he couldn’t ignore the appeal of cutting through all the bullshit.

To skip the doubt and second-guessing about how to approach someone, not knowing if they were interested or not.

Wondering whether you should call or wait for them to call you.

The wardrobe malfunctions, bad lighting, and no way to edit out your mistakes.

But would so-called love under the show’s phony conditions be a lasting kind of love?

Scoffing, Benny shook his head. Nah, that wasn’t for him. He would find love the old-fashioned way—on an app.