Page 4 of Unbonded (Pack’s Companion #3)
“Room service,” I call in my best customer-friendly voice. Since the rooms are soundproofed and most guests are too lazy to open their own doors, I don’t wait for a response. I give a cursory knock, then swipe my key card over the scanner and push my way inside.
This approach might be the most expeditious, but on the downside, I’ve walked into a few compromising situations that I’ve lived to regret.
Like a half-naked guy walking out of the bathroom with blood dripping down his face….
“ Oh, my God! Are you alright?”
A startled head swings in my direction, a curtain of chocolate brown hair brushing the omega’s square jaw.
It perfectly matches his dark eyes and compliments the acres of taut, golden skin on display.
I can’t help noticing that while he’s shirtless and the washcloth he’s holding to his face is soaked in blood, he’s still wearing immaculate black dress pants and expensive leather brogues.
“Um… I think I fainted and landed on my face.”
“Ouch! Come on, you should sit down.” When he sways on his feet, I gently take his arm and steer him away from the bathroom door.
This is a junior suite, which means the bed is just through an alcove, but he still stumbles as I lead him over and settle him on the edge.
“Pinch your nose and tip your head forward while I grab some ice from the cart.”
“Ugh.” He looks down at the stained washcloth. “I hope blood doesn’t make you woozy.”
“I’m fine as long as I’m not the one doing the bleeding.”
He gives a muffled laugh, and I gently remove the sodden cloth, replacing it with an ice-packed one. “How long ago did this happen?”
“Um… I’m not sure. I came in, went to the bathroom, and then the next thing I heard was you knocking on the door.”
I try to think back to the first aid course I took in college. If we can get the bleeding to stop, he probably doesn’t need to go to the hospital unless he suffered some other trauma when he fell. “Are you dizzy? Did you hit any other part of your head?”
“No, just my nose, I think.” He grimaces as he swallows, and I grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge, waiting while he drains it in a few thirsty gulps. “I do feel kind of lightheaded,” he says when he’s done, “but that could just be hunger pains.”
He presses a hand to his taut stomach, and I glance down at the perfect grid of muscle. He doesn’t have an inch of fat on him, and I quickly look away, hoping he didn’t catch me staring. “Well, that I can fix. You ordered both the steak frites and the crabcakes, so you can take your pick.”
He gives a heartfelt groan, along with a pair of wide, puppy dog eyes. “Don’t tease me! If I ordered anything – which I didn’t - it would have been the most boring salad on the menu. Dancer’s rules.”
He’s a dancer? It distracts me from the fact I’ve delivered dinner to the wrong room, and when I dart another glance at his chiseled physique, the pieces suddenly fall into place.
“Oh, my God. You’re Dash Devereux!” His name catches in my throat – an alarming squeak he probably hasn’t heard since puberty.
“I saw you in Nureyev’s Romeo and Juliet last year.
That balcony scene? I couldn’t stop thinking about it for weeks. ”
“Glad you enjoyed it.” He lowers the cloth to take another sip of water, his dark eyes smiling into mine.
Now that most of the blood is cleaned away, I can smell his scent – like the morning dew tea I used to drink when I could still afford it – and I feel my pulse flutter under my own scent gland.
“Admit it. You liked seeing me down on my knees, didn’t you? ”
I blush harder, because… is my celebrity crush flirting with me? It’s ridiculous to even think it, but I can’t resist a small smirk as I reply, “I honestly didn’t know the human body could do some of the things you did with it.”
He chuckles, and the devilish sound makes something unfurl low in my stomach.
It’s a whisper of heat I haven’t felt in a long time, and I watch, fascinated, as he rests his elbow on his knees and looks up at me through inky black lashes.
“Wait until you see me in my current show. It’s contemporary, so it’s full of angsty pirouettes and tortured grand jetés. ”
I feel a stab of visceral fury at Lee, who took our season tickets with him when he waltzed off into the arms of his boss. “Sounds amazing.”
“Mmm. It should be a good show.” He clicks his tongue as he probes his tender nose. “Of course, I didn’t think fainting in a bathroom was on the season’s program.”
The comment jolts me out of my starstruck haze. “Do you need me to call someone? A manager, or one of your mates?”
He stops poking at his nose and gives another devastating grin.
“Tell me more about this mystery pack you think I have. How many mates is it again, and do you mind ranking them by hotness?” I roll my eyes at his gentle teasing, and he chuckles, nudging my knee with his.
“I’m actually between managers right now, but there is someone you could call…
” He pats his pocket and clicks his tongue again.
“Damn. I think I’ve dropped my phone somewhere. I think it was in my jacket pocket.”
“I’ll check the bathroom. Just keep the ice pack on and stay still.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes twinkle, but he does as he’s told, and I quickly search the bathroom for both his jacket and phone.
There’s a white shirt hanging over the side of the tub, spotted with blood, but nothing else to suggest the room has been used.
In fact, I haven’t seen any sign of luggage in the suite, and I frown as I return to his side.
“Nothing. Do you have bags somewhere I could check?”
“This is actually a serenity room,” he admits, looking a bit sheepish. “Whenever I have a big event like this, I book a suite just in case.” My eyes widen a little, and he laughs. “Not for that . I don’t do well in crowded places, and sometimes I need to just get away and take a breather.”
“Ah, you’re here for the function in the ballroom.” It makes sense, since the hotel has been buzzing all night with glamorous guests and the paparazzi that follow in their wake like hungry shadows. “Is there someone down there who’ll be looking for you?”
“I told my dates I was going to the bathroom.” I’m not surprised by the use of the plural, since Dash no doubt has alphas flocking around him night and day, but his sheepish look is now accompanied by a worried frown. “I didn’t mention I’d booked a suite, so they’re probably…”
“Wondering where you are?” And no doubt fretting if the short bathroom break has turned into a half-hour disappearance.
A quick glance at my watch reveals that I’m already twenty minutes past the end of my shift, and I wiggle my aching toes.
I should just tell him to call reception, but I can’t in good conscience leave the greatest dancing sensation of our generation alone after falling and hitting his head.
“Do you want me to try to get word to them?”
“Oh, I can’t ask you to do that…”
I shrug, going over to the cart to bring him the bowl of soup and bread roll that accompanied the dinner order. “Just try to eat a little something while I’m gone. Can you tell me a little bit about who I should be looking for?”
“Probably best if you ask for Corbus Janssen.” The name clearly means nothing to me, but he gives a happy little hum. “Six-foot something, platinum hair, ice blue eyes, and a killer accent. Basically, your walking alpha dream.”
I give him my politest smile, because ‘alpha’ and ‘nightmare’ make more sense in my world, but I’m not about to burden him with that. “Sounds like he’ll be easy to pick out of the crowd, then.”
There’s an elegant sign outside the Grand Ballroom that proclaims the 15 th Annual Spring Gala is underway, and that the co-hosts of the evening are the city’s mayor and the Paragon Institute.
Butterflies twist in my belly as I stand at the door, the scent of wealth and privilege washing over me in a musky wave.
At least two dozen tables fill the room, the guests either sitting and chatting over minuscule plates of food, or milling around the dancefloor, where a jazz singer is crooning in front of a six-piece band.
Anyone else would probably look at the gleaming chandeliers and sparkling champagne flutes with either awe or envy, but all I can see are the diamonds flashing on Suzanna LaGrange’s hand as she lured Lee away from me.
Oh, God. Please don’t let them be here.
It’s a thought that didn’t even occur to me until just now, and I spend an anxious minute scanning the crowd for Suzanna’s eye-catching red mane.
There are plenty of beautiful women in attendance, but none of them seem to be my ex’s new mate, and I sigh in relief.
After nearly twelve hours on my feet, I’m dead tired, and a confrontation with the LaGrange Pack would probably finish me off.
Steeling my spine, I stride into the ballroom, my most professional smile pinned to my face.
My housekeeping uniform is nothing like the servers in their black and white, but I doubt anyone will look close enough to notice.
Hotel staff, for the most part, are invisible, and unless I step on someone’s foot or knock over a tray of champagne, I should be able to deliver my message without drawing any attention.
I just need to find a six-foot-something alpha who’s worthy of dating Dash Devereux…