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There were only two check ins left, both bed and breakfast only, and at this time of night they were likely to have one quick drink at the bar, then go to bed. However, both names on the reservations were unfamiliar to Summer, so she couldn't reasonably expect of anything of them. Fortunately, the first of the two latecomers did go to the bar immediately after checking in and required no assistance with his luggage, now Summer was just waiting on one guest. She quickly jumped from her stool when the last guest burst through the doors, letting in a cold blast of air with him.
"Good Evening," she greeted him, with her well-practiced 'hospitality smile'.
"Yes, good evening," he briskly replied.
Summer decided not to make small talk about the characteristically miserable British weather with the man. His shoulders were hunched against the cold under his dark wool trench coat and he looked more than slightly pissed off. To top off his unfriendly appearance, he had an American accent. Summer didn't imagine he would find quips about the weather funny when he had been dragged from what she imagined to be a lovely warm place, probably somewhere completely different to the English Midlands, judging by his even, golden tan.
"You're in room 24, which is just on the ground floor," Summer said, offering him the key, after taking the prerequisite details from the guest.
"On the ground floor? Don't you have any rooms on the first floor? I don't like ground floor rooms, it's going to be way too noisy next to the car park," the guest scowled and spoke in quite an aggressive tone.
Summer couldn't stand rude guests like him, she could already feel her face warming up angrily in response.
"Not a problem, I'll check you into a first floor room, just bear with a moment please," Summer replied.
She continued to smile, hoping her courteous attitude would appease the man, but he didn't smile back. She made sure to pick the best room the hotel had left of that type, in the hope that he would find nothing else to complain about. But usually once guests started off being a bit awkward, they would only get worse on the rest of their stay. Summer gave him the new room key and asked if he would like help carrying his bag to his room. Again, his response was short, but thankfully it was a 'no'. Summer let out the anxious breath she had been holding when she heard the double doors at the top of the stairs squeak open as he barged through them. However, she couldn't relax for long as he came back downstairs and headed towards her desk. Summer shot up from her stool again to greet him.
"Can I still order food at the bar?" He asked.
Summer made a quick time check, it was 9.29pm and it had been a very quiet night. The hotel stopped serving food at 9.30pm; the kitchen staff were going to hate her.
She withheld the sigh she wanted to breath out as she explained the situation to her favourite guest tonight, "I'm sorry, we stop serving food at 9.30. However, you can order a cold sandwich from the room service menu-"
Summer could immediately see by the mans expression that her offering had not gone down well.
"When I'm paying £150 for a room in the middle of nowhere, that's unacceptable. First you check me into a substandard room, even when I'd already asked for a room move."
"I can move you into a suite-"
Summer finished her shift at 10.30pm and at this time of night after doing seven days on the trot, she was prepared to take the wrath of the sales team when she came back after her two days off for giving this arsehole of a guest a very undeserved upgrade.
"Don't bother, I doubt it will be any better. But what I would really like is some hot food, so if you could bring yourself to put yourself out for me, that would be just great."
It took the majority of Summers willpower to not snap at him and to maintain professionalism.
"Of course. Please take a seat in the bar, I'll have a word with the kitchen and I will make sure you are seated soon."
After a lot of swearing from the chef and pleading by Summer, chef agreed to serve the rude guest. Mercifully, once that was sorted, the remainder of Summers shift passed trouble free, until she received a phone call from the very harassed sounding barman.
"Just a heads up, I've spilt red wine on Mr. Ambrose. I'm really sorry, I tried my best to clean it up, but he's coming to you to complain-"
Summer only had time to sigh in reply when she saw Mr. Ambrose, the rude guest, approaching. She quickly hung up the phone.
"I'm supposed to wear this shirt tomorrow for a meeting and your barman has just spilt red wine all over me."
The shirt was white and Summer would have laughed at the red blotches, if he wasn't offloading all his rage at her.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"I'm afraid there's nothing I can do, I can only apologise," was all Summer had.
It was true, the hotel didn't offer a dry cleaning service and there were no dry cleaners nearby that could get the stain out before he needed it. In fact, Summer didn't imagine anything could save that shirt.
"Do you not have a dry cleaning service?"
"No and there's not a dry cleaners nearby that would be open at this time to clean your shirt."
Mr. Ambrose took a heavy sigh, which sounded like a sigh of resignation to Summer. She inwardly celebrated.
"I'll get changed and take the rest of my dinner upstairs, can you at least arrange that for me?"
"Yes, of course."
"Expect to receive the dry cleaning bill for this."
Summer did not respond, not wanting to add fuel to the fire, and he didn't appear to want a response, as he was already storming up the staircase back to his room. As her and the barman were the only two members of front of house staff now left in the building, Summer trudged to the bar to ask her colleague to take the remainder of Mr. Ambroses' meal to his room.
"Are you joking? He spoke to me like I was shit, I'm not going to his room," was his response.
Fully sympathising with him, Summer resigned herself to the task. Besides, there was no pressing need to watch the desk now that all guests were checked in. She promptly arrived at Mr. Ambroses' door with his food and wine neatly arranged on a tray. She balanced the tray precariously on her hip as she knocked on the door, then adjusted her grip so that she was holding it with both her hands when he answered, topless. She almost spilt what was left of his red bottle of wine over his glorious, naked chest.
"I'm sorry for your wait and the inconvenience this has caused you," Summer blurted, looking steadfastly at the floor as stood frozen on the spot with the tray.
"Why are you here? Are you a waitress as well? What kind of a hotel is this? Who's doing your job if you're doing this? Just put it on the side."
Summer ignored his rant and his beautiful naked chest and the smell of his aftershave that permeated the air and his blue eyes that she could feel watching her every move as she placed the tray down.
"Enjoy the rest of your night," Summer said in a rush before exiting the room.
She did some serious clock watching until the nights team came in to take over from her, when they asked her if there had been any issues, she found she couldn't bring herself to mention Mr. Ambrose because when she did she could only think about his gym honed, honey hued chest and how strange him being such a dick to her had actually made her feel. Sure, she was a tad upset that he had been so rude, it would upset anyone, but it had also felt the teensiest bit hot to be made to squirm and jump through hoops against her choice by an attractive man ... she was super glad when the phone rang with a call from the bar and distracted her.
"I've literally just closed the bar down because there's nobody here and that dickhead wants a cocktail, can you do me a solid and make it? I need to leave now, I'm supposed to be going out and if I don't leave now I'll miss the taxi."
Usually Summer would refuse, it was his job after all, but she said "yes", she kind of wanted to see him again ... it was a cosmo, not the hardest cocktail to make, but difficult to balance on a tray and carry upstairs. However, Summer managed it. She was half disappointed to find Mr. Ambrose with his chest covered up, but at least he was wearing the hotel provided dressing gown which showed off his shapely calves.
"You again," he greeted her, after giving her a glancing look that made her feel a bit like he was sneering at her.
"Can you sign please?" Summer asked, holding aloft a pen and bill in her free hand.
"Yes, come in."
"Thank you," she said as Mr. Ambrose stood by to let her pass.
She felt a small thrill of excitement course through her when she heard the door swing shut behind her. Strictly speaking, she shouldn't have put herself in a situation where she would be in a room with a male guest alone. Mr. Ambrose took the glass from the tray as soon as Summer carefully set it down and gracefully took a sip. His hand looked big and strong around the fine rim of the glass, like if he only tightened his grip a little, he would completely crush the glass.
"Not bad," he raised an eyebrow sarcastically, then lazily beckoned Summer with a finger to present the bill again.
"Did you make this?" He asked her, after signing the bill so hard, with such disregard for the fact that Summer was trying to hold it steady, that it made Summers hand shake as he signed.
"Yes," Summer responded.
He replied with, "well done, Summer," patronisingly, craning his head to the side to read her name badge.
"I'm disappointed in the service I've had tonight, but at least you tried. I'll mention you to the hotel Manager, Summer."
"Thank you," Summer replied and picked up the discarded room service trays to leave.
She knew she shouldn't stay here any longer, no matter how much she was strangely enjoying how much of an arsehole he was.
"You can leave the trays outside, but come back in. I'd like your help with something."
"Certainly."
Summer hoped he couldn't tell how pleased she was by that. Mr. Ambrose held the door open for her and watched her bend down to put the trays outside his bedroom door, in the corridor. Summer could feel his eyes on her ass and was now starting to feel quite hot around the neck of her blouse. As she got up, back to her full, much shorter height than his, she avoided looking directly at him and went back into his room.
"How can I help you?" She asked.
"You like this, don't you?" Mr. Ambrose stated.
Summer was startled by the question.
"Excuse me, Mr. Ambrose?" She asked, carefully choosing her expression.
"You've enjoyed being ordered around by me, being belittled for not being able to get anything right. I bet this is the best night you've had at this sorry fucking shithole in ages."
He smiled and took a sip from his cocktail when he finished his speech. He was eyeing her up like he was a spider that had just caught a big fat fly its web. Unsure how to respond and now feeling slightly more uncomfortable than she wanted to, Summer wished him goodnight and went to leave his room, but Mr. Ambrose wouldn't let her. He was quick to bar her way, putting his arm out and resting his hand on the wall so that she couldn't pass.
He leaned down to whisper in Summers ear ,"your job here isn't done, I said I'd like your help."
His warm breath tickling her also sent a tickling sensation to between her legs too. Summer felt she was reading the situation correctly and decided to go with it, rather than be the sensible little girl he had almost scared off only moments ago. Summer kept her eyes downcast and enjoyed the lingering warmth of his breath on her skin as she responded.
"I'm sorry Mr. Ambrose, you're right. How may I help you?"
"Don't talk. I like you better when you're trying so hard to please me. That sounded a little too sure of yourself."
Summer swallowed; her mouth becoming dry because she was getting increasingly excited. If he wanted to play it that way, it was fine by her.
"I want you to help me get my moneys worth out of this stay."
Mr. Ambrose drew even closer to Summer, then gently tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. Summer closed her eyes, preserving the memory of the warm brush of his skin on her. He then traced his fingers down her cheek and across her jaw, Summer arched her neck back, inviting him to continue. Mr. Ambrose then made a sound which Summer took to be a sigh of appreciation.
"I'm not gonna be that guy. I shouldn't be doing this. Go back to work, I'm sorry I wasted your time."
Summers eyes snapped open. What the fuck was he doing? This really was the most exciting thing that had happened to Summer in the past few weeks, no, months. Actually, years. It was a fantasy of hers to get fucked mercilessly by a hot business man whilst on shift. She had to say something.
"I've finished work," she blurted out, "I don't feel offended that you've come on to me. You can carry on."
Summer put a tentative hand on his chest, where the dressing gown drew into a 'v' against his silky smooth skin. Mr. Ambrose gently pulled her hand away from him.
"No, you deserve better. I've been a douche all night, on purpose. It's a tried and tested pulling technique of mine," he said.
"So? I don't care."
Summer couldn't understand his sudden change of mind, she was certain she'd shown that she was up for it, how had she put him off?
"You should," he replied with a hint of empathy tinging his voice.
Not wanting to embarrass either herself or Mr. Ambrose by outstaying her welcome, Summer went to the mirror to get ready to leave. She looked her usual pale self, probably losing the flush of arousal now the possibility of a one night stand was dead in the water. However, that was only for the present.
"Have you got a business card?" Summer asked after taking her cursory glance in the mirror.
Mr. Ambrose took a moment to respond.
"No and even if I did, I wouldn't give one to you. This wasn't a good idea. I'm sorry I messed you around. Bye, Summer."
Summer just nodded.
"Goodbye," she said, then left the room.
Summer knew she had nothing to feel embarrassed about, people changed their mind about these kinds of one night affairs all the time. There could be loads of reasons behind his decision, but still, in the moment, it felt extremely sucky. The worst thing about it was the knowledge that now he had made his way into the dirtiest part of her mind he wasn't going to leave it for a very long time.