Othello Station Read online

  I move a little closer, slipping my hands into my pant pockets. Businessmen hustle past me, while Mira’s co-workers check people out and answer phones at the desk. The full buffet breakfast that is included with our room rate is being served in the kitchen area on the other side of the lobby. People congregate there, filling their plates with pancakes, fruit, and sausage, while discussing their plans for the day. A strong coffee aroma permeates the space, alerting me to my need for caffeine.

  Like a total creeper, I move to the shadows, stepping around the corner to another sitting area, where a fireplace and television frame the space. Coffee will just have to wait. I get the perfect view of Mira as she executes her mission from this spot. It conceals me just enough, so I can enjoy the show without blatantly spying.

  She continues to fiddle with the tulips. She moves the vase again. Once, twice, three times. Her head tilts to the side and she studies the purple flowers. Her arms cross and she huffs in frustration, mumbling something to herself. She finally gives up and goes back to adjusting the chairs. I thought they were just fine a few seconds ago, but what the fuck do I know? Chicks are weird.

  Mira is exceptionally weird.

  She moves one of the armchairs a hair to the right, then swivels the end table to match its stance, stepping back to admire her work, an artist weighing the value of her creation.

  “Oh! Mira!” A sweet, mousy voice pops from behind her, and a tall, waif of a girl flits toward her from the front desk with a bottle of cleaning solution and a rag. “Can you wipe those tables down? You know how Roberta gets if the glass tops aren’t sparkling.”

  “Sure, no problem, Carina!” Mira’s enthusiastic hands reach for the cleaning supplies.

  “You’re the best. Thank you so much.”

  “Of course. Roberta and Briggita.” She shakes her head playfully and her co-worker laughs as she dashes back to the desk to answer another phone call. “How did we wind up with the most finicky, demanding managers again?”

  “Guess we’re just special like that,” the girl giggles. Her voice jumps an octave as she delivers her well-rehearsed spiel to the customer on the other end of the phone line.

  “I heard that,” a short, feisty blonde sings as she breezes past Mira through the lobby, “and you can bet I’ll be telling Roberta alllll about it later this afternoon.” She winks at Mira with a smart-ass smile and they both exchange a look, then laugh. These girls have way too much fun at work. Whatever happened to bitching and griping? Did that shit go out of style and I missed the memo? Work sucks. Who wants to report to The Man five days a week and punch in at a time clock? Moreover, who enjoys doing it? Who likes to clean and arrange furniture for snooty, picky, grumpy hotel customers? Mira, apparently. That’s who.

  Yup. Exceptionally weird.

  The scowl that’s etched itself on my face as I contemplate all this is disrupted the moment Mira discovers me hiding in the corner, like a lonely, shy kid on the playground. I’m neither of those things, I think. But as Mira approaches me, cleaning supplies in hand, I suddenly feel vulnerable. Busted. Like the cool kids found my hiding spot and my secret’s out. I shift uncomfortably, lifting my chin a bit. I look down at her, making it a priority to maintain eye contact. Must play it cool. Must play it—

  “What are you doing over here, Loser?” Mira giggles and raises a brow.

  Shit.

  “So. You are a stalker after all, huh.”

  I lazily gesture to the chairs and tables behind her. “I was just admiring your handiwork, there.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yup. You missed a spot on the left end table. The glass is all splotchy. And the chair next to it is crooked.”

  Mira’s face turns deadly serious. She spins around to glance over at the furniture, and her hands fly to her hips. “What? I wiped it down twice. It’s spotless! And the chair is absolutely perfect. You must be seeing things.”

  “Nope. Definitely looks terrible. And those tulips?” My face scrunches up as I shake my head. “Really bad. That vase needs a half a dozen more, at the very least.”

  “The tulips are flawless! There are twelve, exactly. It’s our hotel standard. Never any more or any less than twelve stems in the vase! It guarantees a visual masterpiece.”

  I look at her dryly.

  “You’re just trying to roil me up.” She crosses her arms like a petulant child. “It’s not working. I refuse to touch a single thing over there. It’s all exactly as it should be.”

  “Suit yourself.” I roll a shoulder. “But as a valued guest, shouldn’t I have some say on the matter? Doesn’t my opinion count?”

  “Not unless you fill out our survey.”

  “I have to fill out a survey?”

  “It’s the only way your opinion will matter.” She taps her foot on the swanky tile.

  “It matters right now. I’m telling you, that looks like shit.” She keeps tapping her foot. Her lips purse and the veins in her neck pop as she struggles to restrain herself from walking back over there. “Go on, you know you’ll just mess with it again the second I walk away.”

  “No. You’re not winning this one.”

  “I always win.”

  “Always?” She suddenly drops her arms and strolls forward with an easy gait. The confidence is jarring. This is not the Mira I know. She’s got ammo, and she’s about to use it. Her eyes roll down to my left hand. “How’s that boo-boo holding up, huh?”

  “Fine.” My shoulders turn tight.

  “I recall you getting into a fight with a sharp object last night and nearly bleeding out in my kitchen.”

  “So?”

  She brushes against me and lightly flicks my bandage. “The knife won that one, my friend.”

  “That carrot jumped off the cutting board. It had it out for me.”

  “Uh huh.” She bumps my hip and sails past me to the other sitting area. “I have to get back to work. See you at noon?”

  “You still haven’t told me what happens at noon.”

  “I’m going to doctor you up.” She nods to my hand. “You gonna be around?”

  “Where else would I be?”

  “I don’t know, you tell me. I still don’t understand what you’re doing here in the first place.”

  “That makes two of us,” I mumble, starting for the breakfast area. “I’ll be in my room at noon.” I shudder at the thought of anyone doctoring any part of me. But if someone’s going to do it, I’d much rather Mira than having to step foot into an actual clinic. What exactly does she intend to do? Visions of Mira in a naughty nurse uniform strike like lightning as I stroll to the coffee station. I need to nix those thoughts fast, before I lose my shit and drag her to the nearest broom closet.

  I discreetly adjust my groin before moving in for coffee. Mira’s voice lingers behind me. She’s back at the front desk, helping her co-workers answer phones. I load a cup up with fresh, black coffee and wander over to the buffet. Every few seconds, my gaze rolls to the desk to watch her. She’s striking. Really goddamn striking. A siren. And so unaware of her effect. How did I dismiss her so easily at first sight? She’s a gem.

  And I need to fucking have her.

  I top off my coffee and grab some fresh fruit and a bagel, then take a seat at the breakfast bar. There are way too many people in this lobby for my liking. Too much talking, too many smiles, too much laughter. Too much everything. But I like the noise. I like the distraction. I had enough quiet in the cab on the way here. Enough time to think. I’ve been doing way too much of that lately—thinking. That’s what got me in trouble. That’s what landed me here, at this damn hotel, in the first place.

  “Can I get you anything else, Sir?” A polite voice comes at me from the other side of the counter. One of Mira’s co-workers, another short, Latina girl with catwalk model hair. She follows my gaze over her shoulder, which is still stuck on Mira. She flashes a coy smile. “Ah, got it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I got it,” she repeats, swishing a perfec
tly manicured hand in the air. “You have everything you need, right at this counter.”

  “You got…what, exactly?” My frown deepens. It should turn her off, send her scurrying away. I really wish it would, so I could go back to admiring Mira, but instead she stays, as does that knowing smile on her face.

  She leans over and rests her chin on her hand. Her bright, glossy lips quirk. “You’ve been watching her since you walked in this morning.” Red heat threatens to flush my face, but I beat it into submission. No way is this little twit going to blow my cover. Or call me out on it, for that matter.

  Even if she’s right.

  I glare at her, then drop my eyes to her name tag. “Jessica. Don’t you have work to do or something?”

  She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Men,” she mumbles as she pushes herself off the counter to return to the desk. “If you need anything else, just let us know, Sir,” she adds, calling over her shoulder as she saunters off. How does Mira stand working with these chicks? They’re either sassy, nosey, or downright happy. It’s goddamn annoying.

  The little one named Jessica resumes her position at one of the computers, whispering something to Mira. They both glance at me, and the tall, mousy one from earlier—what the hell was her name? Carina or something?—joins them. They huddle together like a little flock, whispering and giggling like school girls. As if there isn’t enough girl power shit unfolding here, the other saucy, Latina girl from the other day joins the three of them. They all look in my direction—again—and then quickly break apart. Latina Number One clears her throat, while Latina Number Two heads for the phone to silence its obnoxious ringing. Carina flits around the desk and toward the breakfast bar, quickly wiping down the countertop. She avoids eye contact with me, keeping her head down as she cleans.

  Mira stares straight ahead to greet customers as they come in.

  Well, forget this shit. I stand, ready to return to my room. I need a hot shower and need to take my vitamins ASAP. I suppose I should get started on the next album cover project, too, but my focus is all off this morning. Has been since I checked in at this hotel. Maybe I should give the band a call and ask for an extension.

  I groan and storm off, sailing past the girls as I make my way around the front desk. They don’t look up, don’t speak, just go about their business as I round the corner. The elevators are a welcome sight. I don’t know where they’re taking me, really. Yeah, back to my room. But once I get back to my room, what’s really waiting for me? A whole lot of nothing. Just like what awaits me back at my apartment. Just like Othello Station. There might be furniture there. Memories. But it’s all a dead end. Moreover, it’s a landmine. And I’m all about avoiding landmines, thank you very much.

  The hotel room is cold and dark when I return. I slide the curtains open to let some dim light in. It’s actually raining today. Not the typical Northwestern misty rain, but an actual downpour. Droplets cascade down the windows and the Space Needle haunts the backdrop like an ominous spirit, hovering in the shadows. I pour myself a glass of water and hurry to the desk to begin the vitamin regimen. I also need to go for my run today, before I get too knee deep in the next album project.

  I eye my watch, then my bandaged hand.

  The run will have to wait, which is a shame considering my muscles are aching with the need for exercise. That paired with my mind’s desperate need for a burst of endorphins is making me all sorts of antsy. In seconds, I begin to feel like a trapped animal. The hotel walls are suffocating, and the ceiling lowers itself over me, closing in. I begrudgingly rip my clothes off and move to the bathroom for a shower, letting the hot water scorch my skin. I even get the nerve up to remove the bandage and clean the wound. The string of inventive curses that spills from my mouth would make nuns cry.

  A knock on the door causes me to still when I step out of the shower. “Just a second,” I yell, running the towel over my damp hair. I quickly throw on a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt before answering. “Oh. Hi?” I look at Mira, then her co-worker Carina, who stand side by side. My brow scrunches in confusion.

  “I know,” Mira says, “it’s way earlier than noon. But we talked our boss into letting us take our breaks early today.”

  “We?” My eyes bounce between the two of them.

  “Yeah, this is my friend, Carina.” Mira gestures to us in introduction. “Carina, this is Grant.”

  Carina stands there like a shy child, her hands folded primly in front of her. They’re holding a plastic case of some sort. She smiles kindly and a faint wave of pink spreads over her pale cheeks. She’s a fair maiden, something straight out of a Disney movie. One of those princesses. The good, pure kind. Her eyes reveal her innocence. Sort of like Mira’s.

  “Hey, Grant” she says, voice meek yet friendly. “Nice to meet you.”

  I don’t care how nice she is, or how nice she thinks this little meeting is. It’s early, I haven’t had a chance to shave, my hand hurts like a son of a bitch, and now that Mira’s standing here at my door, all I really want is to be alone with her. Get my hands on her. Clear the air about the argument that went down this morning at her place. Have the chance to fucking sleep—actually sleep—with her again, just so I can wake up to find her curled against me like I did this morning.

  “She’s here to stitch you up,” Mira says matter-of-factly. She points to the case in Carina’s hands. “Can we come in? We only have an hour.”

  I step aside, stuttering. “Ok, sure, but…wait—what?”

  “Carina’s going to nursing school. She can fix you up, no problem.”

  Carina follows Mira inside, eyeing the room. Her gaze lingers for a moment on my vitamin stash on the desk. “Yep, I’ve done this a hundred times. It won’t take long and I’ll be as gentle as I can, I promise.”

  I clear my throat and step in front of the desk in a poor attempt to conceal some of my belongings. It’s too late. She’s already seen them. Thankfully, they both brush off the observation and jump back to the task at hand.

  Mira juts her chin toward the edge of the bed. “There. Have a seat.” She rolls the desk chair to the edge of the bed for Carina, sitting down to join us. Carina washes her hands and then settles into the black leather seat, popping open her plastic case. First comes the gloves, then all of the medical supply shit that typically freaks me the hell out. Seeing it in her hands, though, while in Mira’s presence, in this hotel room, calms me down.

  Carina’s quiet at first, focused and in the zone. She dabs my wound lightly with a cotton swab. The antiseptic stings, but I suck it up and let her go about her business. As soon as she begins the procedure, though, it’s like one of those medical drama TV shows, where the surgeons are cutting people open and chatting about their yoga classes and daughters’ proms. “So, Mira says you’re a graphic designer of some sort? You know, you look just like one of my favorite book characters. This male lead in this dark romance. His name’s Zach, and he’s this business tycoon who—”

  “Carina,” Mira warns, a smile curling her lips. “Haven’t we talked about this?”

  “Talked about what?” I grumble, glancing up at them.

  Carina laughs, steadying her hands to focus on my wound. “I tend to go on tangents about books. Mira keeps me in check.”

  “Tangents?” Mira snorts. “That’s what you call them? That’s an understatement.”

  “Hey! These characters are real to me. These stories are real. I can’t help myself!”

  “No, Miss Carina. It’s all fiction, remember? There are no real life Jesse Wards wandering around.”

  “Thank God,” she sighs. “Jesse Ward is pyscho.”

  “Hey! Jesse Ward is the best book boyfriend of them all. Watch your mouth.”

  Carina’s eyes roll up to meet mine. “See? She’s just as bad as me, she just hides it.”

  “I am not.”

  “You’re right. Your geekdom outweighs mine, by far. You’re a groupie on top of a book nerd.” Carina pokes at my finger and it causes me to
flinch, but I’m absorbed in what’s happening here. I’m learning something I didn’t know about Mira, and that’s suddenly much more interesting than paying attention to my mangled finger.

  “That is a flat-out lie.” Mira pinches Carina’s shoulder, wiggling away from her.

  “Ow! Do you want me to make this man’s cut worse or better?”

  “Don’t tempt her,” I say. “Wait.” Something suddenly dawns on me. “Did you just say I look just like one of your favorite book characters?”

  Carina bites her lip in concentration, eyes glued to my hand. “Mmhhmm. Why?”

  “How do you know what these fictional characters look like if they’re….fictional?”

  “You design album covers, right?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Well, so you understand. You imagine them. I don’t know, it’s like you get this visual or something.”

  “Don’t mind her,” Mira jokes. “Carina operates in Romance Novel Land pretty much twenty-four hours a day. The real world doesn’t apply, except when she’s in school.”

  “Or working at this place,” she groans. “It’s true, though. My marriage is coming to an end. Living vicariously through my books makes real life so much more bearable. And it gives me hope that I can still have my own happily-ever-after someday. Fiction is my happy place.”

  “You’re married?”

  “Yup. Married young. While I was still stupid.” She sighs. “The crazy things we do for love, right?”

  I huff and shift on the edge of the bed. Like I would know anything about either of those things. Marriage and love? Talk about foreign concepts. “So, Mira’s a groupie, huh?” I lift my eyes to hers. She’s made herself cozy on the bed, lying flat on her stomach, her head propped on folded arms.

  “Don’t listen to her. I am not a groupie. I just like live music.”

  “Yes, you are,” Carina says quickly. “You follow local indie bands around and hang out with them after their shows. It’s okay, though. You put up with my guilty pleasure, and I put up with yours.” She giggles and shakes her head, reaching for another cotton ball from her medical supply case. She swipes some blood from my finger and goes back to working the stitches. Her precise, attentive movements and gentle touch are impressive. This girl’s going to make a good nurse.