Sal Gabrini 3: Hard Love by Mallory Monroe

Author:Mallory Monroe [Monroe, Mallory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Austin Brook Publishing
Published: 2014-06-11T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

The best hotel in town turned out to be a Bed and Breakfast on a sloping hill on the edge of town. It also happened to be the only B & B in town. Sal drove his Maserati into the parking lot, and he and Gemma, with his hand on the small of her back, made their way inside. He wasn’t too keen on an intimate place like this, but he wasn’t putting Gemma up in anything less than the best. And this B & B was the best in town. He just had to show some restraint. When he fucked her, and he was going to fuck her, he knew he couldn’t go overboard. He wasn’t giving any of these nosy biddies a peep show at his lady’s expense. But first they had to secure the room, and from the way the old biddy behind the counter was behaving, that wasn’t a slam dunk either.

“A vacancy?” she asked again, as she looked through her guest book.

Sal stared at her as she nervously flipped the pages. Who still used guest books in this computer age anyway, he wondered?

“A vacancy?” she asked again.

“Yes, a vacancy,” Sal said again. He and Gemma exchanged a glance.

“I need to make sure we have a room available.” She was a white woman, early fifties, who, Sal and Gemma noticed, kept flipping through pages without really reading the pages. “I’m not quite sure if we have a room available. I’m not quite sure if---”

“If what?” Sal asked, and the woman looked up. “Who do you think you’re dealing with? You think we’re idiots? You know how many people are staying in this establishment and you know it off the top of your head. This isn’t exactly the Waldorf. This is a tiny-ass Bed and Breakfast in a tiny-ass town. Now cut the bullshit, lady. Do you have a vacancy or don’t you?”

Gemma normally would not have advised such a hard response, but this chick, in her opinion, deserved it. And besides, Gemma thought with a smile, this woman was no shrinking violet.

“You will watch your language, young man,” she said.

Sal was thirty-six years old. Being called a young man inwardly amused him.

“And my name is not Lady,” the woman continued. “My name is Maggie. Or Mags if you like.”

“Do you have a vacancy?” Sal asked her yet again.

“You’re a Sinatra,” she said. “Correct?”

“Incorrect.”

Then the woman smiled, as if she was relieved. “You’re not a Sinatra?”

“No. Hell no.”

“Why would you think he was a Sinatra?” Gemma wanted to know.

“The fancy dancy car. The bling.” She was looking at Sal’s Rolex and the gold chain around his neck. “The general flamboyance. I assumed he was one of them.”

“But what does it matter to you?” Sal asked. “Why should you care who I’m related to?”

“It doesn’t matter to me. But the owner of this establishment, as you called it, doesn’t want any Sinatras anywhere near this place. I know it’s unfair, I know it’s probably illegal too, but this is her place and I only work here.

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