Russell/Marina/Gregory Manor Hotel

[Samantha]

{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}It was impossible, Russell McBride knew, to walk through the lobby of the Gregory Manor Hotel without catching at least a single glimpse of yourself in one of the many gold-framed mirrors that hung on the walls of such a grand foyer. In fact, Russell himself knew quite well that the arrangement of the mirrors—one on each wall at least—would provide a perfect 360-degree view of himself and his uniform: his foolish, cheap-looking, mandatory uniform, cap and all. One would think, for as upscale a hotel as the Gregory Manor was, that the management would at least spring for some black dress shirts and silks ties for their valets. But, no; that was certainly not the case.

Instead, Russell was stuck wearing a uniform that looked like it were made for a blackjack dealer rather than a man who parked luxury cars all day long. As he moved toward the front doors of the hotel, he desperately tugged on the lapels of his jacket, wishing that they weren't so obviously black while the rest of the jacket was so obviously cherry-red. As he passed by the front desk, he was lectured by the day manager for forgetting to put on his cap.

He unfolded it from his back pocket and set it atop his head, barely bristling as he continued by. It went like this every morning.

At least the tips were good, he reminded himself, which was followed shortly by the sobering thought: if you don't mind that you're basically a doormat of the spoiled and wealthy.

He pushed through the front doors, met by the bright morning sunlight and the crisp smell of mountain air. This was the part of the job that made it all bearable, the fact that he got to spend eight hours a day outside, away from the cacophony of downtown Lake Owensway, away from the hoards of college-aged people that seemed to live in his building, away—almost, not quite—from Lake Owensway itself.

He fastened the strap of his cap beneath his chin, brushed the overgrown hair from his eyes, and walked to the end of the awning to see what the morning traffic would be like.

[Cayla]

{name:Marina Morris#|#picture:3}Marina worked her way up the mountain with her VW convertible. The only thing that made her nervous on this mountain was her fear of falling down backwards down the mountain. It only happened once during the early 1900's. Marina shuttered at the thought. That will not happen to me.

Marina pulled her car up to the main entrance where she was expecting her old valet parking man, Gary, to be waiting. Gary is old, so Marina figured he must be inside and away from the sun. Marina stretched her legs out of the car and made her way to the trunk where she managed to scoop up all 18 shopping bags on her own. It was not the first time Marina had to carry her own bags. When she went shopping with her mother as a child, her mother used Marina as a personal coat rack.

Marina pushed the creaky revolving door open with her butt. The car keys and shopping bags jingle as they got smashed through the narrow door frame. Marina managed to set down her shopping bags on the old dusty carpet in the main lobby. She walked over to see which valet could take her car around the back to get parked. She took off her Coco Chanel sunglasses she was wearing and placed the on her head.

She rang the bell for service, but noticed one of the valet glancing at himself in the various mirrors. It wasn't uncommon to see a hotel employee to be slacking of. The hotel never really got too much service. Marina was surprised, Gary was not there. It was a young man with deep blue eyes and short shaggy brown hair and freckles. He couldn't have been much older than Marina.

"Where's Gary ? It's unlike him to show up for work. But, hey. If you can park my car in under five minutes, I'll give you a 50 dollar tip? Understand? I don't care if there are scratches, just park it. " Marina smirked. She had her new car bought with her parents money and if it was scratched, would her parents care?

"if it takes you more than 5 minutes, and no scratches, you can have a ten dollar tip."

[Samantha]

{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}From the lobby, Russell saw whom it was that would be his first client of the morning. The young woman was approaching the front doors of the hotel, carrying in her arms—how many was that? He began to count with his eyes—eighteen shopping bags, all sporting the logos of various designer name brands. He actually had to remind himself that the day manager was nearby to keep from scoffing aloud.

She entered the hotel and dropped her armload of bags on the floor. She lifted the sunglasses from her eyes, revealing a face that was of vague familiarity to Russell. He recognized her. He didn't know her by name, but he knew that she was one of the hotel's permanent residents, and he had seen her around before.

Permanent residents. He hated them. As a valet, he was often the target of much patronization. It was as though he was believed to lack significant brain cells rather than significant bank. He was used to these demeaning comments, however, and he had a way of dealing with them. But by the time that a guest realized that all of the change was missing from the cup holder of his car, he was usually long checked out and all the way down the bottom of the mountain. He'd never see Russell again, and Russell would never again see him.

Permanent residents were different, though. Russell had to see them every day of his life, so he couldn't steal their loose change—couldn't take naps in the back seats of their cars, couldn't intentionally screw with the positions of their mirrors and seats. He had to forever grin and bear it—and that meant forever schmoozing and kissing ass.

The woman rang the bell. He walked over to her, prepared to ask her how her day was thus far proceeding, but not before she opened her mouth and dangled a fifty-dollar bill in front of his nose.

Russell, by his own personal policy, usually refrained from getting into it with hotel guests. He couldn't afford to lose his job. But there was something about this woman—the way that she said Understand? and the way that she smirked at him—that really triggered him.

"Five minutes?" he cracked. "If you think that it will take me five minutes to park Barbie's convertible, then you've let Gary park your car one too many times. That old geezer should've had his license suspended fifteen years ago, right when his eyesight first started going." He held out his hand for her keys, waving his fingers as he waggled his eyebrows. "Don't underestimate the young and robust, princess. What will you give me if I can do it in two?"

[Cayla]

{name:Marina Morris#|#picture:3}"Two minutes? " Marina was shocked to hear his smart mouthed comeback. Oh this meant war.

Marina was about to speak, but then paused. What would her parents think if she gave away her car as the tip? She grinned at the idea.

"Mr... " She squinted at the man's name tag. She began to speak again.

"Mr. Russell, if you manage to park my car in two minutes or less, you can have Barbie's car and the fifty." She saw the glare in his eyes turn from annoyed to slightly pleased. She could tell he was going to take the challenge.

She dropped the pink fuzzy keys into his hand. She saw him turn away as he tugged at part of his suit. He got into the car. Marina pointed at her watch to notify him that the clock was ticking. He sped away without looking who was near him.

Marina stood in the door frame and began to pick up a few bags. A bellhop named Buddy came with a luggage cart for her eighteen shopping bags from miscellaneous stores. She hardly remembered what she bought from each store. She would look through them later. She walked over to the elevator as Buddy pushed the button.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Russell sprint into the lobby. She looked down at her watch. One minute and thirty two seconds. Must be a world record.

She handed him the crumpled bill which he stuffed in his pocket. "There's more where that came from." She said with a smile.

She was interested to talk to Russell more and have a friend, but she knew he probably didn't. He walked back outside.

"Ms. Morris? Are you coming? " Buddy was holding the elevator.

"No, thanks Buddy. Just place the bags in my penthouse. I can sort through them later. Right now I have some vehicle shopping to do." Marina stepped outside and stood next to Russell.

"When's your next break? I don't have my car and I need someone to drive me to town and buy a car. " She saw looked up at Russell who was thinking about the idea.

Marina was slightly offended, but said" I'll pay you fifty bucks. "

[Samantha]

{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}Russell leaned back against the side of the building, absent-mindedly bouncing his heel off of the wall as he thought. His arms were crossed over his chest, eyes scanning the face of the woman who was looking up at him, awaiting his answer. The car keys—pink and fuzzy—were folded up in the palm of his right hand.

He didn't like when other people challenged him. He didn't like to lose. He'd said that he could do it, and that was why he'd done it: to prove that he could. God, this woman really knew how to sober a man, didn't she? She really knew how to suck all of the fun out of a well-meaning challenge.

The fact that she'd offered up her car had surprised him. Had shocked him, actually. What had he been expecting? Perhaps for her to offer him a bit more money, but that's it. Nothing more than a hundred bucks. Maybe he'd have asked her to buy him a drink at the hotel lounge instead. And if he had lost? Well, maybe he'd have carried her bags around for her—been her personal pack mule for the day or something. He certainly didn't want her car. He couldn't take her car.

"I'll pass," he said to her, and opened his palm. The keys fell to the ground beneath his feet. "You see, princess, maybe the men in your world are easily impressed by a woman who can throw about her money with the ease of a baton-twirler tossing her stick, but out here in the real world, men aren't endeared by charitable handouts. Don't let this organ-grinder's outfit fool you: I do have my dignity, and I really don't need fifty dollars that badly."

[Cayla]

{name:Marina Morris#|#picture:3}"Well alright then," said Marina as she shoved the extra wad of cash back in her purse.

She backed away slowly and thought about what she was going to say, which never happened often and said, "Well, if you are looking for a new uniform or raise, just let me know. I'm your gal."

"I don't get many visitors either, Penthouse 3B." Marina spun around on her heels and made her way toward the elevator. Great. Now he thinks I'm a major snob and a loner.

She slid her hotel key into the elevator and pressed 3B. Marina leaned back in the elevator and listened to the elevator music. It made her uneasy. She made her way down the gloomy hallway where she reached her room and opened the door. One of the house maids where vacuuming and stopped when Marina reached the door.

" Oh go ahead, continue. " said Marina. Marina's room was unlike any other in the hotel. Bright and refurbished with the upholstery not falling off the chairs. Her room was covered in plush pink pillows and had a closet the size of a dining room. Marina's room had all the working amenities from hot tubs to air conditioning.

Marina stepped over to her small foyer where she could look down and see over the mountain. She saw him a young couple drive up in a limo. Newlyweds? She said to herself. That was new. Marina marched her way down the hallway back down the elevator where she began to crave some cake.

She pressed floor one and the elevator doors closed and it made its way down. She could hear the awful choice of music as well. Right as she reached the 1st floor, Marina saw the lights flash and then the elevator was stuck. Why didn't I take the stairs?

Marina's first reaction was start to panic, but she stopped and took out her phone to call the main lobby. Buddy the bellhop picked up the phone.

"Hey Buddy," She said. "Oh yeah I am fine. Just stuck in the elevator! Get the stupid mechanic and get me out of the here!"

Marina tried to be calm. "When will he be coming? On break? Oh god," She hung up her cell phone and paced around the elevator. She tried to think of a way to escape. She pounded on the door and attempted to pry it open.

She sat down towards the back of the elevator and wrapped her hands around her knees.

[Samantha]

{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}Russell, his head tucked down against his chest, watched the woman back away out of the corner of his eye. Before turning away, she said something about how she never received any visitors, and he instantly felt his stomach plummet. Perhaps he shouldn't have snapped at her in the way that he had. In truth, nobody was knocking down his apartment door, either (and to be completely honest, the last person that had come knocking had turned out to be not for him but for his seventy-seven-year-old grandfather).

He let his eyes fall to the ground, where he caught sight of the pink car keys. "Hey—" he called aloud. He bent down to retrieve them. "You forgot your—"

But she was already gone. He followed her back inside of the hotel and spotted her across the lobby, getting into an elevator. He lifted his hand, but before he could do or say anything, the elevator doors closed between them.

At the front desk, the day manager was calling his name. Russell turned and gave the man an empty look, to which he was instructed to get back to work—now. Russell looked dispassionately outside at the black SUV that had just pulled up at the end of the awning, and then promptly informed the day manager that he would be taking his break now.

As he walked toward the hotel lounge, he slipped the pink car keys into his pocket.

The lounge was off limits to employees during work hours, and Russell knew this. But where his boss said I forbid, Russell often heard I highly suggest. He and the barkeep had actually become quite chummy due to these little "work breaks." Thus was why, when Russell pulled out a stool at nine-thirty in the morning and asked for his usual—an Old Fashioned—the barkeep just smiled and dropped the drink down in front of him a swift minute later.

"Can I have an extra cherry, my good man?" Russell asked.

The barkeep gave him another maraschino cherry.

"And a napkin please?"

The barkeep slid a napkin across the bar to him.

Russell thanked the man and fished in his pocket for a pen. On the corner of the napkin, he scribbled down the number 3 and the letter B. He folded the napkin and slid it into the breast pocket of his jacket. He didn't want to forget.

When he'd finished up his drink and paid his tab, he went back out into the lobby. But instead of returning to his post out in front of the hotel, he instead went over to the elevator dock and pressed the call button. He waited a moment—nothing—and pressed it again.

"Does anything ever work in this damn hotel?" he remarked offhandedly to a bellhop who happened to be passing by.

He was about to turn away—surely it was a sign that he'd better returned to his post before he got himself fired—when he heard a pounding sound coming from within the elevator. It stopped, and just when he had himself convinced that he'd been hearing things, it started again.

He leaned in toward the door and called, "Is someone in there?"

[Cayla]

{name:Marina Morris #|#picture:3}What to Marina felt like hours, was only about ten minutes. Marina sat at the back of the elevator still pounding on the walls, but at this point with less intensity.

The elevator music started to fade into Marina's thoughts. She couldn't help but admit she was a bit more tense than normal. She wasn't a big fan of confined spaces. Especially by herself. Marina picked herself up onto her feet and could swear she could hear people bustling by.

She heard a voice in the distance and tried to make out what they had said. "... Someone in the..."

"Yes! Hello! I'm so trapped in this elevator! Get someone who can help!" she said loud enough where someone should have noticed.

She jammed her portfolio modeling 'business card' through the door so the person could tell who they were.

If she had a friend, Marina would be texting them at a moment like this, but she just stared at her phone glumly. She tried to imagine what was happening outside the elevator, but she couldn't help but think the employees were just filing their nails or watching sports in the lounge.

She began panicking and asking herself stupid questions. Would she ever feel the sun on her bare skin again, or will she die alone, unmarried, a virgin from being stuck in here. She felt she was never going to enjoy her favorite meal of shrimp scampi and alfredo pasta ever again.

Luckily her mind scattered and she ended up looking at pictures of kittens on her iPhone. Thank goodness for wifi.

[Samantha]

{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}Russell was standing with his ear pressed against the crack of the elevator door when he felt something poke him in the chest. He stepped back, and a small piece of paper fluttered to the ground. He picked it up, flipping it over in his hand.

Marina Morris, he read.

Oh, how alliterative.

He continued: Twenty-four. Five-foot three. Turquoise-blue eyes.

His skipped down to bottom corner of the card where a small headshot photograph was located. Upon seeing the woman's face, he rolled his eyes. Of course she was a model. With his luck, she'd also turn out to be an expert horseback-rider and a connoisseur of vegan detox diets.

God, he disliked rich people.

"Hold on," he said, leaning in. "I'm going to go find someone who can let you out."

He started toward the front desk, where the day manager was on the phone. Russell inquired about the handyman, to which he was told that the handyman was currently on break.

"On break?" Russell asked, disgusted. "Don't you know that there's a woman trapped in the elevator over there? Ms. Marina Morris," he said, flicking her card at him. "One of your permanent residents. You know—one of those residents that you jump through hoops to keep happy? Well, I'm sure she's happy now."

As he turned away, he heard the manager mutter that he was well aware of the situation, and that he had already called for another handyman. He also knew, the day manager added, that there was a line of cars waiting to be parked out in front of the hotel.

There was a door to the right of the front desk that Russell entered through. This was the employee section of the hotel, where the staff lockers and managers' offices were located. At the end of the hallway was a storage closet. After a bit of searching, Russell managed to find a toolbox. Opening it up proved less fruitful than he would have liked—no crowbar—but he did find a hammer.

He returned to the lobby and, with the day manager following on his heels, approached the elevator dock. He took off his jacket and hat, shoving them at the man who kept telling him to "be careful, be very careful—okay?"

He spun the hammer around and stuck the curved end of the nail-puller between the two doors of the elevator. Using his body as leverage, he managed to pry the outer doors open by himself. A bellhop, abandoning his luggage cart, rushed over to help with the inner doors. The two men, one focusing on each door, grunted aloud and yanked. Meanwhile, the manager stood off to the side, gripping Russell's cap nervously and shouting at them to be careful.

Finally the inner doors gave way, too.

"Marina?" Russell said, dropping the hammer on the floor. He stepped inside of the elevator.

[Cayla]

{name:Marina Morris #|#picture:3}Marina saw the doors of the elevator give way as she lifted her head from her phone. She raced out into the lobby hallway and put her phone in her pocket. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!" she said while performing what could only be described as a 'potty dance'.

She turned around to look at her saviors. She embraced Russell into a hug, but instead of feeling a rough material between her face and his chest, was a thin undershirt made of cotton. If she placed her ear just right, she could hear his heart beating. She could tell Russell worked out, just by the ripples of his shirt.

Marina backed up after realizing how awkward she had just made the situation. She shook his hand and gave a genuine, "Thanks."

She gave him a shy smile and turned to face both Russell, the bellhop, and the man holding Russell's uniform.

"How...." She stopped talking and pulled the crumpled fifty in her pocket and handed it to the bellhop. The bellhop proceeded to his normal job with a skip in his step.

Marina turned to the manager. "Give me 5 minutes and he will be back to work. I will pay to have the elevator fixed and if the waiting guests are unhappy, offer them a free meal of any kind from the dining hall. It's on me," she said without hesitation.

She gave the manager a look that said: "Back off or I'll fire you."

She then pointed at the other capable valets that could have finished the job instead of sitting around.

She looked back at Russell and said, "How can I repay you?"

But before he could answer Marina had already stopped him, given him her purse and rushed into the ladies room.

"Be right back! I really have to go to the bathroom!" she said.

A little while later Marina came back and asked, "have an idea what you would like as your payment?"

[Samantha]

{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}Russell hadn't even gotten out of the elevator before a pair of arms caught him around the neck, pulling him into an embrace. Marina, standing a half-foot shorter than him, was on her tip-toes, face buried against his chest. For a moment, he stood completely still with his arms suspended in the air, mouth parted in surprise.

She smelled liked hair product and perfume. Her small body fit well against his. At last, he brought his arms around her back, and they stood hugging for what was—apparent to him—a moment too long. She broke away first, stepping back and thrusting her hand out at him.

They shook hands amicably, if but a little embarrassedly. As she spoke with his manager, he fiddled with the broken doors of the elevators, running his hand along the loose metal. At this point, he wasn't sure what to think of Marina. On the one hand, he still thought, as he had upon meeting her, that she would benefit greatly from one night—one good shagging—with a man of his humble status: that she needed to be knocked down a few pegs.

On the other hand, he could still distinctly feel the shape of her body against his, and he had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

She turned to him and asked how he wanted to be repaid.

He'd barely gotten the chance to respond before he suddenly found himself holding her purse. His stomach plummeted again. For God's sake, he didn't want her money! What would it take for her to understand that? He could take care of himself, both financially and otherwise. He certainly didn't need some stuck-up, pampered, and overly made-up little princess to swoop in and—

He felt his face flush when she began to turn away, headed for the ladies' room.

"I don't hold purses!" he yelled after her, but she had already disappeared around the corner.

He turned to face the day manager, who was sniggering at him quietly.

"I am a man," Russell said firmly, snatching back his jacket and cap. He slipped each of his arms into the sleeves and fastened the clasp of the cap beneath his chin. In his pockets, his hands closed around the fuzzy pink keys.

When she returned, she asked once again about repayment.

"Maybe," he said with a shrug, "we should call it even. Consider it my repayment to you for making fun of your car earlier, and for calling you 'princess.' How about it?" He reached into his pocket for her car keys and tossed them to her.

At the same time, his fingers also skimmed over the original fifty-dollar bill that she'd given him for parking her car. "But you know," he spoke up, glancing at her fleetingly before looking down at his hands, "I did get a really nice tip earlier this morning, and I'd probably just blow it drinking by myself or something. Perhaps you'd like to do something with me sometime instead?"

[Cayla]

{name:Marina Morris#|#picture:3}"Even?" She asked. Marina stared blankly at Russell. He went from challenging her to wanting to be even. Something was up. Guys don't get even for nothing.

But, he mentioned it was for calling her 'princess' and making fun of her 'barbie car', Marina had been called worse. Much worse. Girls from her social class that mocked and hated her had always called her mean names.

Princess felt like a pet name from a friend. It didn't hurt, and it didn't matter to Marina whether Russell had truly meant to be friendly about it or not. He just was....grumpy.

"But you know," she heard Russel say, "I did get a really nice tip earlier this morning, and I'd probably just blow it drinking by myself or something. Perhaps you'd like to do something with me sometime instead?"

"Actually, I don't mind being called 'Princess'," Marina said using her forefingers as quotations, "I've never really had a relatively nice nickname for me before."

Then Marina abruptly stopped talking after her brain had processed what Russell had just said. Hang out? Like a date? Her heart began pounding faster. Marina gripped her purse a bit tighter once Russell had given it back. She could feel herself blushing a bit. Her face felt hot.

She hadn't ever been on a regular date before. Just ones set up with 'proper' boys whom her parents had set her up with since age sixteen. They were all dull with zero personality. Each of them could barely keep a conversation unless it involved politics or any pointless hobbies for the rich.

She counted dates on her fingers of dates she had gone on in the past - horseback riding, dinner at a ball dedicated to her parents, Kentucky Derby, and she was stuck with absent-minded heirs every time. She never picked who she dated. 3 stupid dates.

Marina envisioned her version of a normal date: Going to a bowling ally that lit up like a lava lamp, smelt like rotting eggs, and sounding like pendulums crashing together, but much louder. She had never gone bowling.

She smiled. "Sure, Russell. I would love to go on a da...," Marina coughed, "I would love to hang out with you sometime. Any ideas?"

[Samantha]

{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}She had been about to say date. He'd heard it on the tip of her tongue, just before she'd covered it with a cough. It scared him to hear the word uttered aloud. He wasn't the type of man who asked women out on dates; he didn't know which type of chocolate was the good type or where to buy the pretty flowers. He was, quite contrarily, the man who slept with a woman within hours of knowing her—who called for the first couple of days, maybe even for the first couple of weeks, but who ultimately gave up trying.

His grandfather, who often cooked breakfast for the woman that he brought home, thought lowly of his dating habits. These women, he said, were not catches: they weren't girlfriends, they weren't wives. If only Russell would work a little bit harder—if only he'd be willing to look in the right places—then maybe he'd be able to sustain a mature and meaningful relationship.

But Russell didn't want to have to work hard; he didn't care to put that much effort into a relationship, not when it wouldn't matter in the end, anyway—because in the end, he would always return to the grandfather that needed him and the apartment that they shared. In the end, there wasn't room for a girlfriend or a wife in his life.

So why was he breaking all of his rules now—for a girl that he'd just met, one whom he wasn't even sure that he could stand on a basic level?

Maybe it was her innocence or he way that she opened up to him. She didn't get many visitors, she'd told him; she wasn't called by any endearing nicknames. Or maybe it was just the fact that it had been a really, really long time that he'd spent any significant amount of time with a member of the opposite sex.

"I don't know," Russell said lowly, suddenly wondering if he hadn't made a bad move in asking her to hang out. He tried to think: if he didn't spend so much of his free time in rundown bookstores and dingy little bars, and if he had more friends than his current count of nada, where would he spend his free time?

He thought then of the napkin from the lounge, the one on which he'd written her room number. "Are you going to be home later tonight?" he asked. "I get off work at four; maybe I could pay you a visit or something? You said that you don't get a lot of those. I suppose that I can just look for the room with the cobwebs on the bell, right?"

[Cayla]

{name:Marina Morris#|#picture:3}"Sure silly!" Marina said elbowing him in the stomach, "You are welcome anytime."

She thought about giving him her room key, but then completely stopped herself. Don't be creepy. Plus, you just met the guy. She reminded herself that most guys wanted one thing, but she prayed it wasn't like that with him.

She wondered what Russell liked to do in his spare time and was excited to get to know him better. He obviously a drinks a lot, so she made a mental note to not have any around.

She hoped he liked swimming. Marina loved to swim. It was the only thing that kept her grounded as a child. It was like her own personal realm to block out all the sounds of her life. She pictured Russel in his swim trunks and his perfectly sculpted abs.

"So, I will see you at four then?" Marina asked embracing Russell into a warm hard. She forced herself not to nuzzle up against his warm, muscular body. Marina walked away past the elevator and took the stairs.

After she got back into her room, the house maid was gone. Marina set her Coco Chanel purse on her black couch of her living room. She surveyed the room, checking to make sure the maid cleaned every nook and cranny. She dragged her finger along the flat surface looking for dust. She also checked her safe to make sure all her valuables were locked up in her correct places.

Marina always checked the room after a maid was done cleaning. One thing she learned from her parents was; 'Don't trust anyone' . It was hard for Marina to find this out the hard way. She let many people into her life just to find out they came for the money or sex. Not that they ever got what they wanted.

Marina was a hard bargain. A barrier easy to break down once, but never twice. She decided what to do before Russell arrived. She flipped through a couple channels and turned off the television.

Marina went to her foyer to do what she does best. People watch. She could watch all of the customers and see the valet park their cars. Why haven't I ever noticed Russell before?

She looked back inside at her wall clock and it read - 3:57 PM. Marina walked back inside to do a quick fix of her hair and makeup, using a dash of extra cover-up here, and a spritz of hairspray there. She flattened out her silky green top with her fingers and adjusted her hair clip.

She looked down at her clothes and wondered if she need be more formal or casual. She shrugged and walked back into her living room and opened up a magazine. She wanted to looked nonchalant and act like she wasn't waiting for him. Yet she was.

[Samantha]

{name:Russell McBride#|#picture:2}Never had Russell's sirs and ma'ams been offered so sincerely. Maybe it was the midmorning cocktail, maybe it was Marina, but the rest of his day progressed in what was a painless if not pleasant manner. Because for once his mind was occupied not by what it was the he was doing at work, but rather by what it was that he was going to be doing after work.

When his shift was over, he headed to the employee locker room where he retrieved his keys and wallet. He wished that he had had a change of clothing—something a bit less obnoxious than what he was currently wearing—but he had worn his uniform into work that morning. He removed his cap, jacket, and bowtie and then raided a maid cart for a mouthwash sample, heading at last to the men's bathroom.

Much better, he thought wryly as he gargled and spat. Now—in his dress shoes, black slacks, and collared shirt—he looked less like a parking valet and more like a busboy.

Fantastic.

In the lobby, he had a deskman call up to Marina, for he knew that the elevator doors wouldn't open on the twelfth floor unless she or another penthouse resident permitted it. When it came to the hierarchy of employment at the Gregory Manor Hotel, his position ranked lowly on the totem pole. So while he could secure as many mini mouthwashes and shampoos as his heart desired, he had absolutely no way of getting his hands on a spare passkey short of stealing one. That perk—the perk of passkeys—was one enjoyed in exclusivity by the bellhops and housekeepers.

The deskman sent him on up. As the elevator rose, so did tighten the knot in his stomach. Again he was overcome by the feeling that he was completely out of his element. What was he, Russell McBride, doing at a woman's apartment in the middle of the day? Did he really think that he knew enough about dating to be giving it a spur-of-the-moment go like this?

It was absurd. It was absolutely asinine.

But before he could successfully talk himself out of the date—or whatever the hell that it was—the elevator dinged for the twelfth floor. He stepped out into the hallway and approached her door, 3B. He raised a hand and rapped on the delicately-carved wood with his knuckle.

When it swung open at last, he smiled with a ducked head and said simply: "Hey there."