Room Service
Chapter 11
"Evans, can I see you in my office, please?"
A question as simple as that shouldn't send a spear of dread impaling through her chest quite so acutely. And yet, Lily finds it difficult to think straight when memories of standing in this very spot, giggling away with James, flirting across the counter, and going up to his room once a day, play out endlessly in her mind. "Of course, ma'am," she makes herself say into the phone. "I'll be right there."
The brief walk to McGonagall's office is spent dissecting the tone in which the manager had requested her presence, a task that she quickly labels futile when she remembers the woman has probably never spoken in anything but curt, emotion-less phrases her entire life.
Surely, she won't fire Lily when she hasn't actually done anything. Not yet. Even considering how she'd almost kissed James in his room last night—a fact that she's since come to chide herself over during every other second that she can spare—it didn't actually happen.
But McGonagall doesn't know any of that! So, it can't be—
"Ah, yes, Evans, come in."
Lily blinks, startled as realizes her feet have somehow carried her to her destination on muscle memory alone. Figuring there's no beating around the bush, she sucks in a breath and steps inside the office, wiping down sweaty palms over her trousers. "Um, is everything alright?"
"Of course, it is," McGonagall assures immediately, and sounds a little surprised that she'd think otherwise. "I don't want to take up much of your time, Evans, since the reception is unmanned right now, but—" and here, her mouth does something that looks remarkably close to a smile, "—I wanted to personally commend you on handling all the visitors and their queries yesterday during the Longbottom-Fortescue engagement so splendidly. I've received several good reviews and feedback from staff members and guests alike on your patience and support in dealing with everything."
"Oh, I—" Lily collects herself, shuts her gaping mouth, and beams, warmth expanding through her limbs. "Thank you."
McGonagall nods, sitting back in her chair with a proud tilt of her chin. "Keep up the good work, Evans."
"Yes. I—I will. Thank you, again."
But right before she can turn around and leave the office, McGonagall adds, "Oh, I had one other thing to talk to you about."
"Yes?"
"Everything okay with James Potter and Sirius Black?"
Her breath stutters, the shift immediate; tongue feeling like sandpaper. "Yes, absolutely. Why? Have there been any complaints?"
"No, no, nothing of the sort." She waves away the concern with a small shake of her head. "Mrs Potter just checks in once in a while to ask if they're causing any trouble. As I hear it from her, those two have a knack for raising a bit of… mayhem when they're together." The thin line of her mouth depicts exactly what she thinks of such behaviour, and Lily has to hold back an amused smile. "So, I hope they're not… being a bother."
"They aren't." Lily bites her lower lip, quickly adding: "They're actually really nice."
"Well, that's good to hear, then." McGonagall nods, pleased. "That will be all, Evans. Have a good night."
"You, too."
The left side of her mouth lifts up in a smirk when she senses him sag against the counter. "Hi, Potter."
"It's James."
Something about that tone of his has her eyes looking away from her phone and up at him. He seems to be sporting his usual grin, with that familiar glint of self-assuredness in his eyes. But there—right there, the hazel also looks a bit glassy; the colour on his cheeks a little too pink; the stance of his body extra loose and relaxed.
Lily purses her lips, quirks a brow. "Are you drunk?"
"No." He grins brighter. "Just a little tipsy."
She narrows her eyes and stands up to appraise him better. Closer inspection reveals that while he's definitely more flushed than normal, he holds himself with that usual confidence and sureness. Telling the truth, then. "Hmm," she says. "Office party?"
"Nah. Sirius and I just went to a pub afterwards since work ended early."
"Oh? And where is Sirius?"
He shrugs, smirking. "Probably with the bird who dragged him out of there."
"Ah." She swallows, and though she knows she shouldn't, the words spill out before she can hold them back. "And, um, what about you? Didn't find anyone of interest?"
"I did." James leans closer, forearms folded atop the counter. The bitter wave of sludge sloshing in her stomach makes a sudden transformation into something blazing and not entirely unpleasant when she notices the way he looks at her, right then. "So, I've come here to try my luck with her."
Lily's breath sticks against the walls of her throat. "Really now."
"Really."
"Well. Good luck to you, I suppose."
The smirk tilts, lethally sharp. "Thank you. I could really do with your well-wishes, in particular."
Feeling something inside her chest swell dangerously at the sight of him right then, she clears her throat, fingertips gripping onto the shelves carved inside the desk. "Do you want dinner? I can have them bring something up for you."
"I would like dinner, actually." He pushes his slipping glasses over the bridge of his nose, and she watches the movement of his thumb gliding over his skin with fascination, for no apparent reason. The lightest of freckles dust over his face, she realizes with a flutter of surprise. "But I also want you to be the one to bring it up. Tipsy I may be, Evans, but not entirely gone to forget about our deal."
"Never thought you would be," she says honestly, rolling her eyes. "What would you like to have?"
It's been not three minutes since James leaves the reception and goes upstairs—a time interval too short for her to even give a call to place his dinner order—before she feels her cell phone buzz inside the pocket of her trousers. Frowning a little in confusion, since rarely anyone ever calls her so late at night, knowing that she'd be at work, Lily pulls the mobile out and blinks rapidly at the screen before accepting the call.
"Okay, you have to give me more time than that to bring up your food, James."
"No, no, that's not it. I—uh—"
"Yes?"
"I think I've lost my room key."
She runs her tongue over her teeth, forefinger repeatedly drawing circles over the counter. Is he lying? Is this an excuse to get her to go upstairs? But no—he doesn't need to do that—she was going to take up the food anyway. "Are you sure? Have you checked everywhere?"
"Yeah, I—" and his breath fans heavily against the phone here. "I think I might have dropped it somewhere, or left it in the office. I'm sorry."
"James," she chuckles. "You don't need to apologize. Hang on, I'll be right up with a spare key."
"Cheers, Evans."
A few minutes later, after she's finally placed his dinner order with Room Service, Lily makes her way up the elevator with a spare key card in hand. She realizes he's not joking as soon as she steps foot onto the second-floor hallway.
Even with the distance that stretches between them, it's quite easy to spot the disgruntled look on James's face as he stands outside—presumably—209's door. His eyes are latched onto the screen of his phone as he taps out something with intense concentration, and Lily's heart gives a pathetic little lurch when she nears him and notices how wonderfully his rolled sleeves hug his forearms, how carelessly the mess of his hair flops onto his forehead. When he senses her arrival, he looks up with a stupidly happy, lopsided smile, slipping the phone into his pocket. "Hey."
"Congratulations." Lily tips her head. "You've now checked on the most important box of being a long-time guest of the hotel."
"And what's that?" he asks, turning sideways and leaning his shoulder against the wall beside the room. She finds herself thoroughly distracted by the stretch of his shirt over his chest for a moment, but manages to eventually unglue her feet as she steps closer, turns to face the door.
"Losing or misplacing your key card, obviously."
"I really am… sorry about that," he whispers, and her fingers, steady and sure so far in, suddenly stutter in their movement when she feels him shift, near enough that the heat of him brushes over her back and neck even if his skin doesn't. She sucks in a silent breath through parted lips, tries to refocus on slotting the card into the holder.
"I told you it's alright. A pretty common thing to happen here, really."
"Still," he says, and then—a kiss of a touch against the back of her arm; a feather-light caress of warmth from his fingers slipping down her elbow. She knows, from this close, he must feel the shiver that tingles up her spine at the contact, knows he must see the way her grip on the key card almost slips with her soft gasp. "I don't want to trouble you."
Despite the nervousness coursing through her veins, those words send a huff of soft laughter slipping out of her. "Right." The card finally enters the slot, makes a satisfying clicking sound that signals the unlocking of the room. "How could you ever trouble me?"
After she opens the door and pulls out the card, Lily turns back around to give it to James. But, she finds out immediately, he's barely left any space between them to do so, and her hand gently knocks into his abdomen during the movement.
"Shit, sorry." Her gaze flies up, catches how he stares down at her with an intense expression on his face, mouth softly parted. Almost beyond conscious thought, she feels herself hold out the key card to him with unsteady fingers. "Here. Try not to lose this one."
"Thanks," he says, in a tone so low that she can practically hear the vibrations hum inside his chest. But before she can do the sensible thing by nodding politely and leaving the room and all of this buzzing tension behind without another look back, James slips his hand around her wrist, ignoring the key she offers entirely, and pulls her closer, right up against his front. And the breath that rattles past her mouth this time falls sharp and unrestrained. "Lily…"
His heart pounds under her arm, the one he's got pinned against his chest. "James, you… you're drunk."
"I'm not," he insists, and fuck—is his head lowering, or is she leaning up? "But even if I was, trust me, I want this just as badly when I'm stone-cold sober."
"This," she sighs.
"You."
There's burning certainty in the knowledge this time: He's about to kiss her.
She senses it and knows it when he's close enough that she's fighting the urge to slip her eyelids shut, when she can almost taste the air that leaves his lungs, can see just how far the rims of his pupils have dilated. Lily knows this, even finds her fingers tracing along his collarbone, her head tilted back for him, but she doesn't really realize it. Not until…
Not until her eyes, by some dreadfully inopportune, or perhaps truly opportune force, lands on the camera stuck to the ceiling behind James's head, just a bit to the left. Angled far enough to hide her from view, inside the threshold of the room, but not enough for her to miss it.
And the sight of it—it's akin to being doused in bone-freezing water.
With a choked-out sound of distress, she stumbles away from him, feet twisting hurriedly so that she's out of his room and back in the corridor, chest heaving hard. In contrast to the race of her bloodstream, James's shift from dazed to confused when he turns around to face her feels almost sluggish.
"Lily, what—I'm—Are you alright?"
"No." She looks at him, eyes wide, and hates how much she still wants him, even knowing the extent to which she's already compromised herself. "No, we—we can't do this."
He lets the words soak in silence for a handful of seconds. And then, something steady and calm seems to seep into his gaze. "Why not?"
"Goddamnit, James! Because I just can't, alright? I work here, I—"
"I know that." And he sounds wretched, lips pinching when he notices the way her spine has curled into itself, the way she rubs trembling fingers over her face. "Okay. Okay, relax. Just breathe. Talk to me."
"I'm sorry," Lily whispers, feeling something warm and wet pooling inside her eyes. "I shouldn't have—I shouldn't—"
"You didn't do anything, Evans. Nothing happened." A hand cards through his hair, dark brows stitching in a frown as he sighs heavily. "And I didn't mean to sound so entitled. I'll stay away, if you want. I won't force anything on you—fuck, of course, I won't—and I'm the one who's sorry if that's—"
"No," she cuts him off, almost sharply. Her cheeks burn with the confession that's not yet dropped, but one she knows she has to give him for the sake of honesty. "I never thought you'd do that. It's never been that way. I… I fancy you, James. Far more than I should."
"You—" He swallows thickly, face slackening, first with surprise—though why, she doesn't know, because she's been terrible in hiding her emotions—and then with happiness so bright it almost blinds her. Almost, because in reality, it simply hurts. James takes a step forward. "That's—"
She can't let him talk. "But there's nothing to be done about it, okay? I won't." That stops him effectively, and she softens her tone. "This job is very important to me. I enjoy what I do. And you'll—you'll leave in a few weeks anyway, and none of it will affect you. Not like it'll affect me."
He scoffs, the sound bitter to her ears. It's such a foreign sound to hear from him that she almost flinches. "You don't know that. Don't just say things like—"
"You're the son of the owner, James! They'll hardly even bat an eye, no matter who you shag or flirt with. But me—I could lose my job, I could lose my credibility as a professional—"
"Lily, I've told you before that I'm not going to let that happen, and I meant it." Aggravation twists over his face. "I don't know why you think I'm some kind of arsehole who'd do that to you, or place the blame on you, and that honestly fucking sucks, but I won't! I promise if I just talk to them—"
Lily hugs her arms around her stomach, walks backwards until she hits the wall of the corridor. "I don't want that! Don't you get it? I don't want to be the person in that position at all. I don't want my colleagues or my manager to look at me differently."
Tension still plays out so glaringly over the planes of his face that she thinks he'll push back against what she says without a moment's consideration. But James considers; he considers for several long seconds, hazel eyes jumping between hers, the drunken glaze in them long since wiped out. Eventually, a heavy exhale falls. "I can leave, you know. If that's what you want. Sirius and I can leave tomorrow and find somewhere else to stay. I just don't want you to be so miserable—"
"No, that's not—" Guilt churns thickly in her stomach. She shakes her head. "That's not what I want at all! Not only will that raise a lot of questions, but also you shouldn't have to move because of me, James, let alone drag Sirius with you." He still looks torn, unconvinced. "Stay. Please."
"Then where do we go from here?" He huffs helplessly. "Do you want me to just pretend you don't exist? That I don't feel… because I can't do that, Lily."
"No, I—I don't want that either." She bites her lip, looks at him with open hope. "Can we just try… being friends?"
"Friends?" He smiles ruefully.
The hope expands. "And why not? I'm a superb mate to have, you know!"
Another sigh; a tip of his chin. Tormenting silence.
And then, after an eternity, James nods.
"Okay."
A/N - We're in the thick of it now!