Brant’s itinerary was specific.
Sushi bar by the pool at eight thirty, followed by dessert in his room at ten, with turn-down service at ten thirty.
Cole had thought of everything.
He was surprised the man didn’t add in bathroom breaks. On one hand, his attention to detail was impressive. On the other, Brant was never good at following directions. Besides, how the hell was he supposed to assess the resort if every staff member knew where he was at all times?
The food in the main lobby restaurant had smelled incredible. His stomach growled when a waiter passed with a tray bearing filet mignon and the biggest bread basket he’d ever seen, so he made a small detour.
And nearly ran into a passing waiter.
It didn’t matter that it was most likely Brant’s fault—the waiter didn’t even apologize. He wrote the guy up immediately, threatened him, and then asked to be seated at the best table.
Once seated, he cracked his neck. Guilt gnawed, the same guilt that told him it was unfair to take out his anger and frustration on the staff. Hell, he was just doing his job, making them better. At this rate he’d need another massage in order to deal with the stress.
But not with the same masseuse.
Although his muscles did feel looser, even if his pants felt tight. Damn it.
“Brant.” Cole approached the table, fists clenched, face grim. “What are you doing here?”
Cole bothered him. Maybe it was the cocky stance he seemed to always take in front of Brant, as if they were part of a pissing match he never even asked to participate in. And Cole seemed constantly…angry. Nothing like calling the kettle black.
“Eating.” Brant stared him down then returned his attention to the menu. “What’s the special?”
“I’ll send the waiter right over.”
“I’m asking you.” He was being a jackass, but Cole needed a reminder that regardless of whatever problem he had with him, Brant was still his boss, and he deserved his respect.
“I believe the special is a pan-seared rib eye with pineapple glaze set over a bed of asparagus and scallops…” He paused then added, “Sir.” Though that sounded more of an insult than anything.
Brant snapped his menu shut and handed it to Brant. “You’ll let my waiter know?”
Cole’s eye twitched, his teeth clenched, and then he nodded once as he took the menu. “Did you need anything else, Brant?”
“The massage was great.” He changed the subject. “She was very…thorough.”
Cole exhaled, his face softened. “Good, she’s…the best we have.”
“Really?”
Cole’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, why?”
Brant smiled politely. “Her room was a mess. I wrote her up, and if she doesn’t start taking care of her work area I’ll be asking her to leave. In fact I’ve found a few areas where you’ve been”—he shrugged—“lenient. I’ll be sure to give you my notes later.”
Cole grit his teeth together.
Brant had to give him credit—he was angry but he wasn’t lashing out.
Brant smiled politely and handed the menu to Cole. “You know, a few times I thought she was going to kill me.”
A smug grin flashed across Cole’s features. “Oh, I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“Well, I made it out alive.”
“Yup.” Was it Brant’s imagination or did Cole look disappointed? “If that’s all?” He started to walk away.
Brant waited until Cole was a few feet from the table before he called out to him. “Actually, there was one more thing.”
Fact: Being an asshole was way more fun sober.
“Yes?” Cole clenched the menu so hard his knuckles turned white.
Brant unfolded his itinerary for the day. “Twenty-four-seven service, right?”
“Right.” Cole’s eyes narrowed.
“I noticed that guests can request an in-room massage with turn-down service?”
“If we have enough time to plan for it, yes.”
“Great. I’d like that.”
“Okay.” Cole pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll just take a look at the schedule.”
“Tomorrow night.”
Cole’s fingers paused over the phone. “Actually, you’ll notice that the masquerade-themed cocktail party is tomorrow night. We’ll have every staff member working there.”
Brant shrugged. “So you’re saying you can’t make it happen?”
Cole’s jaw clenched until a muscle flexed and popped on the right side of his face. “I’ll make it happen.”
“Thank you, Cole.”
“Will that be everything?”
“Yup.”
“You sure?”
“Of course.”
“Positive?”
“You can go now. It’s not like I need you to fluff my pillows.”
Cole nodded once and walked off.
With a shaky hand, Brant motioned for a waiter. Any waiter. Somehow the minute Cole had left, the scent of Nikki had returned.
Son of a bitch.
He needed to either get drunk or get laid.
“Yes, sir?”
“Whiskey.” All of it. “Two fingers, splash of water.”
“Any preference for—”
“Fast. I want it fast,” Brant said in a condescending tone, all the while feeling trapped, angry, that even though he was still running, the pain refused to go away.
Numb. He needed to be numb again.
Because even though he had a job to do, he was pretty sure if he kept smelling her everywhere he went in this damn hotel, he was going to do something stupid.