Page 3 of Cruel Dynasty

“May I help you?” she asked.

“Serina,” he said, reading her gold plated name tag. “I need a room, preferably the penthouse suite, and some items delivered to it as soon as possible.”

She chewed her lower lip, glancing toward the front desk. “I don’t actually handle rooms.”

It was a testament to the authority that radiated off him that she wasn’t laughing at his request. Instead, she seemed to be nervously figuring out how to help instead.

“But you can get someone who can. Please tell the manager on duty that Spencer Byrd needs to speak with them.”

The size of her eyes doubled as she recognized the name. Bobbing her head, she chirped, “Let me find him.”

I couldn’t help staring at the people coming and going from the lobby as we waited. I’d been around rich people since I came to London as Kerrigan, but for the first time I felt a perceptible shift in how I felt. After the initial thrill of stepping inside the extravagant hotel, I’d been surprised at how ordinary everyone looked. I forced myself to study them harder. They weren't ordinary at all. They weren’t like me. They were like Kerrigan. A woman lingering near the entrance to the attached bar wore a fur cape around her shoulders despite the sultry summer evening. A few men wearing tuxedos talked animatedly near the elegant sofas in the lounge. Clearly, they had just come from some kind of event. Everywhere I looked there were small hints at the fabulous and luxurious lives the people staying here lived. From diamonds dripping down necks to Louis Vuitton trunks being wheeled toward the lifts, I was in Kerrigan’s world, not mine. But for the first time, I found myself oddly comfortable about it.

I suspected that had to do with the man at my side and not any change within me. I was still Kate. A shitty waitress. Alone in the world. Desperate to get away from my own mistakes.

Serina returned with a man in a blue-pinstriped suit. His blonde hair was gelled neatly at the sides and dark eyes studied us with interest that bordered on contempt.

“Mr. Byrd, Serina tells me that you’re looking for a suite this evening,” he said in an American accent that caught me off guard. He didn’t like being called to deal with a customer, and perhaps, owing to his being American, Spencer’s name didn’t hold the same gravitas it had with the concierge. “This is peak season for the Westminster Royal, so naturally we are completely booked. We have a party arriving—”

“Who are you?” Spencer cut him off.

The young man flinched, visibly annoyed, but kept his composure. “I’m Cyrus Eaton, the new manager.”

My eyes darted to a brochure waiting in a gilded holder on the concierge’s podium. They were turned to the side to keep from falling, which helped me read the logo printed at the bottom of the paper.

An Eaton Hotel.

So much for my time in a five-star hotel. If he was an owner and he was unwilling to help us then we probably needed to look elsewhere. I tugged at Spencer’s arm. “We can find somewhere else.”

“The car is already in valet,” Spencer said, not budging. He turned back to Cyrus, who was waiting for a reply still. “I’d like to speak to Lord Eaton.”

There was something undeniably hot about the confidence he exuded as he spoke. Spencer walked as if he owned the world. But he wasn’t dealing with a desk clerk, he was dealing with someone who had to be very high up in the ranks here. That didn’t phase him one bit.

“My grandfather has retired for the evening,” Cyrus said. “Perhaps, if you come back tom—”

“He’ll want to speak with me tonight,” Spencer interrupted. He leveled a meaningful glance at Cyrus, who looked torn between continuing their pissing contest and giving in to the request.

Something sparked in his dark eyes and then cooled, finally he agreed. “I will call up to him. If he is unavailable—”

“He won’t be.” Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets.

Cyrus Eaton strode away, taking his time and pausing at the desk as he went. He was sending a message that while he would do Spencer’s bidding, he was still in charge. If only he could prove it. Spencer snorted as the manager finally disappeared into his private office.

“What a little man.” Disdain oozed through his words.

Did he think that because Cyrus had condescended to him or because Cyrus had acquiesced? I couldn’t say. “Do you stay here often?”

“No. There’s not a point, since I have my flat,” he said casually.

Of course, Spencer didn’t need to stay in a hotel when he lived nearby. We were here because of me. No, we were here because of Holden.

“However, my grandfather knows Lord Eaton. If that wanker is who I think, his grandfather will promptly put him in place.” He drew a deep breath and shifted to face me. “What do you need for the evening?”

“You,” I answered instinctively.

“Done.” His lips twitched and he bent to give me an appreciative kiss. “I rather meant personal care items. A favorite toothpaste? Lotion? Face cream? Nightgown? I want you to be as comfortable as you would be at your own home.”

“That’s not necessary.” I shook my head. “I’m sure they have things I can use in the room.”