“What’s ouch?” I ask, and sit on the bed, discovering the broken spring.
Nice job, kid. I groan and run a hand through my hair. “I need to call guest services.”
“Why?” Clare asks, following me into the living room. Her heels are on, and she looks dynamite. It takes everything for me not to back her up against the wall and shove my tongue down her throat.
One glance at her, and I’m rock hard.
“Amelia broke one of the springs in the mattress. Neither of you can sleep on there.”
“I can take the sofa. I’m sure it unfolds into a bed.”
“A lumpy uncomfortable one that will be worse than the broken spring. Let me just call downstairs,” I say, and reach for the hotel room phone.
“Don’t be ridiculous. She’ll just break another bed if you bring it in.”
“No, she won’t,” I state, glaring at Amelia. I’m waiting for guest services to pick up, but it keeps ringing endlessly. They’re either incredibly busy or ignoring my call. I’m not happy about either option.
Amelia sits on the king bed, smiling innocently like she didn’t just destroy hotel furniture.
“Seriously, Levi.” The way Clare says my name squeezes at my heart and my cock simultaneously. How the hell does she do that? “You’re here on business. Don’t worry about the bed. The couch is fine.”
“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” I growl, and slam the phone down when they don’t answer. “We’ll go downstairs, and I’ll complain.”
“Please don’t do that,” Clare says. “The hotel is so nice, and it isn’t their fault the mattress broke. I’m fine with the couch.”
“Fine doesn’t cut it.” How can she agree to sleep on a lumpy folded mattress when she deserves better?
We head downstairs, and I insist on speaking with guest services. We’re informed that because of a wedding and convention, the hotel is already overbooked, and there are no additional rollaway beds or rooms.
“Fuck!” I curse, forgetting my daughter is right at my side.
Clare’s eyes widen, and she grabs Amelia’s hand, pulling her away from the front desk.
“Do you mean to tell me that you don’t have any other mattresses that can be brought in? I’m in the penthouse suite.” I won’t name-drop, but I might as well in this instance.
“I’m sorry, sir. I can assure you that I’ve checked and rechecked the system. If you’d like, I can put in a request, and if anyone checks out early, I can make sure that you are given priority.”
I grumble, unsatisfied, and walk away from guest services. “Well, that was unsuccessful,” I mutter.
Clare is carrying Amelia, my daughter’s head resting on her chest. “Are you getting sleepy?” I ask, rubbing Amelia’s back and taking her from Clare’s arms. “Don’t fall asleep just yet. We have to get dinner.”
“Any luck with the bed situation?” Clare asks.
“No. I can’t believe they’re unwilling to fix the issue,” I say. We head outside, walking to one of the restaurants nearby. There were several not far from the hotel.
“And how would you suggest they fix it? Go and buy another mattress just for you?” she snaps. “The poor guy is barely old enough to drink, and you’re taking your frustration out on him. You don’t have to be such a billionaire grumphole.”
Grumphole. Is that what she thinks of me? I was trying to do her a favor. Doesn’t she see that?
She grimaces. “Sorry, my tongue got the better of me,” Clare says. “I don’t mind taking the couch. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal, and you won’t.”
“Are you going to take it?” she quips, wondering what I mean.
“No, you’ll share my bed.”
The silence is deafening. I’m waiting for her to tell me that she can’t do that. It’s unprofessional or a million other excuses to reject the offer.