He was tired. Scratch that, he was knackered. Every cell in his body was saturated with exhaustion. When he remembered why, a throb of pain made him close his eyes, fighting off the grief and emptiness he’d been left with, now there were no more days of shooting to keep him occupied.
He’d met Lilah Morgan, newly promoted Junior Partner at international law firm Wolfram and Heart, a little over two years ago. His own career had only just been taking off: he’d been signed on as the lead role in Slayers and Souls and the sharper Hollywood critics had tagged him as The Next Big Thing.
It had been predicted that the series would hit the ‘top ten’ list within a few years. Within six months, it had rocketed to number one, smashing the previous record along the way. To help promote the show he’d been attending an evening function, his first as a rising star, when he’d seen her.
Her lithe, curvy body was cased in crimson silk, her gleaming hair pulled into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She’d noticed him staring, breaking off from her conversation with an older man to shoot him a smouldering look from hypnotically narrow eyes. Blood-red nails trailed up the stem of her wine glass as she smirked, licked her lips and knocked back the glass of expensive wine in one swallow. He’d been hooked from then on.
Their relationship had been passionate and fiery; they’d argued constantly, every little disagreement inevitably ending in a wild, animalistic fuck in the first available place. Towards the end of the second season of the show, however, their usual jibes had turned into venomous barbs, the lightness gone back to whatever place it had come from.
Still, it had come as a terrible shock to him when they’d finished shooting the season finale a few hours earlier than expected, only to arrive at their flat to find her on her back with her legs spread, one of the extras screwing her on their bed. He’d left without a word, hitting one of the many bars LA had to offer and trying to drink himself into oblivion.
Xander, one of his co-stars and his best friend, had found him there. The deceptively boyish-looking young man had pulled him kicking and screaming back into reality, but, seeing the depth of his friend’s desperation, had arranged this little vacation. The hotel promised utter bliss, and he was secretly looking forward to being taken care of, rather than constantly having to look after others.
They arrived on Monday night in a suave black limousine, the tinted windows giving it a slightly cliché but fabulously Hollywood edge. The chauffeur, a California native currently going by the name Jay, leaped out and held open the door. Xander handed him a tip and he grinned, tipping his hat politely.
“A pleasure doing business with you!”
A porter lingering outside the door stepped forward as Spike bent to pick up his luggage. The youth’s voice was effortlessly courteous, despite the way his eyes widened in recognition as he gazed at the Brit’s pale face. “I’ll get those for you, sirs. Please, continue into the reception area. Do you have reservations?” At Xander’s nod, he continued. “Someone will be with you directly.”
They passed into a huge, hall-like room with a dark, hardwood floor. They were on their way to the reception desk when there was a gasp behind them. They turned in time to face a wide-eyed young man wearing too much cologne and scary amounts of hair gel. His voice was a bleat of awe.
“Dude, you’re Spike Giles! And Xander Harris! I can’t believe it, I love the show. Can I get your autographs? Are you staying here long? Pictures?”
From nowhere he produced a small, sleek digital camera and raised it, mouth still flapping. Seeing his friend’s scowl, Xander prepared to restrain him if necessary when a large, heavy hand descended on the fan’s shoulder. The two men looked up into a genially smiling face and sharp eyes so dark they looked almost black. The guard’s voice was friendly.
“Sorry, bro, it’s time you moved along. C’mon now, be a good boy.”
With a murmured apology to the actors, the strong fingers tightened their grip and the boy was propelled out the main entrance. Spike raised a brow at Xander, who shrugged. They turned back to the desk, coming face to face with a smiling receptionist who had crossed the hall and stood waiting patiently during the entire episode.
“Our sincerest apologies, sir. Your luggage has already been taken up. Here is the key-card to your suite; the overseer on your floor will answer any questions. Enjoy your stay!”
She directed them to the VIP elevator, where a bell-boy asked them their floor number. Xander answered and the doors slid closed with a hiss of hydraulic power. The ride up was smooth and quick, but both men were getting more tired by the minute. When they arrived at level twelve, they fumbled for a tip, but the boy just smiled and sent them off with a polite ‘I hope you enjoy your stay, sirs.’
Another porter stood silently outside their door, but he gave a nod of greeting when they saw him. Xander fumbled with the key-card for a moment before the light flipped to green and a soft beep heralded the lock disengaging. He reached out to push the door open when it swung back, revealing a stately butler dressed in an immaculate, crisp uniform.
He bowed them through the door, taking their coats and the cases handed to him from outside. Spike roused enough to thank him, Xander doing the same. Just as they turned to examine the suite, a musical, feminine voice greeted them. Spike looked up from his contemplation of the carpet (Looks comfy. Could probably sleep there…) to meet brilliant green eyes. He had to clamp his teeth together to stop his jaw dropping.
Not only was he facing the most luxurious suite he’d stayed in during his entire career, there was a line of faces smiling politely at him. On top of that, the most adorable little blonde was staring up at him with a welcoming smile on her full, glossy lips. He blinked, tempted to pinch himself but then deciding that he didn’t want to wake from this particular dream.
His eyes swept over the length of her body, some distant part of his brain taking note of the clipboard she carried, while the rest of him just gawped. She was petite but not too short, her soft curves emphasised by the elegant, well-cut suit she wore. Dark gold hair was pulled back into a neat but by no means stern bun, though a few strands had escaped to frame her pretty face. A slightly upturned nose made her human rather than celestially beautiful and her dazzling green eyes glittered with intelligence and curiosity.
After a moment of silence, Buffy collected herself. Trying to ignore the way Blue-Eyes was staring at her as though she was some kind of alien, she turned her attention to his dark-haired companion. He offered a smile, but she could see by his pale face and heavy-lidded eyes that he was tired. Turning back to the silent blonde, she dropped her hand back to her side, smoothing over the awkwardness with a smile.
“Good evening, gentlemen. Champagne?”
Willow dutifully stepped forward and Buffy removed the two delicate glasses, handing one to each of the men. She watched as they sipped, pleased to see their surprised expressions at the quality of the liquid. The moment they were finished she swept their glasses away, Willow offered them the chocolates and they were ushered further into the room.
Buffy, noticing how exhausted they both seemed, made a quick decision and scrapped the plans for the evening. Hopefully, the team would roll with the punches and not be too put out.
“I can see you’re tired, sirs. I can give you the tour of the suite in the morning, but I’ll show you to your rooms. Wesley will have taken your luggage through.” She gestured to the butler, who gave a nod and bowed slightly. “This way, if you please.” Turning to the butler, she gestured at the team and made shooing motions with her hands. He gave her the ghost of a smile and nodded.
The clients followed her through to their bedrooms, the doors facing each other across the hallway. She stopped outside the doors, pushing each open invitingly. Just before they vanished into their bedrooms, she cleared her throat. Seeing their eyes flick to her, she smiled politely.
“I am on call at all hours, of course. If you need anything, you can either use the telephones provided and dial asterisk, nine for my flat or come to my door. If you would ring the bell found outside there, I’ll be with you as soon as I can. Breakfast will be served at eight o’clock. Would you prefer to have it brought to you in bed, or eat at the table in the dining room?”
Both men gave a grunted ‘bed’. She smiled again, bid them goodnight and turned to leave. All the way to the door, she could feel blue eyes burning into her back.
Spike was woken the next morning by a soft knock on the door and a brisk voice. “Mr Giles? I have your breakfast.” The voice was British, and it made him smile wistfully before opening his eyes.
He groaned quietly, but sat up. “Just a minute.” His voice emerged as a morning growl, though he felt shockingly refreshed after the first night’s sound sleep in a while. The Hotel Elise had spared no expense, and the mattress and bedclothes were of the finest quality. Once he had organised himself into a sitting position and pulled on a t-shirt, he called, “Come in.”
The door opened to reveal the butler he dimly remembered from the night before, a silver tray balanced neatly on one black-clad arm, a small smile on his face. Wordlessly he set the tray down on the conveniently located bedside table and reached into the cupboard part of it. He whisked out a solid wooden board and attached two longer arms of wood, which Spike was amazed to see slotted into place in the bed’s headboard. The result was a sturdy table that spanned the width of the double bed and crossed over his lap at perfect eating height.
Impressed, he watched as steady hands laid out his breakfast. A plate containing two thick rashers of bacon, two sausages, two fried eggs and a hash brown was set in front of him, followed by a knife and fork and a napkin. The delicious aroma made his stomach growl and his eyes glaze over.
“Would you prefer tea or coffee, sir?”
“Coffee’s fine, ta.”
Upon hearing the accent in his guest’s voice, Wesley suppressed a smile. It was somewhat rougher than his own, but he was delighted to hear a fellow Englishman. He poured the coffee and set a bowl of sugar lumps and a small jug of milk down.
“Will there be anything else, sir?”
Spike looked down at the spread before him and up into the politely questioning face. Nothing sprang to mind, except… He cleared his throat and the butler, Wesley, he reminded himself, raised his eyebrows enquiringly.
“Yeah. The blonde woman, the one who met us. I din’t catch her name.”
There, that didn’t sound too much like I wanted to know for anything other than business purposes… The butler’s lips twitched and his eyes twinkled knowingly behind his glasses. Bollocks. Still, the smooth voice came out in a serious tone.
“Summers, sir. Miss Buffy Summers.”
Spike didn’t miss the slight emphasis the man put on the ‘Miss’, but it was so subtle he wondered if he’d been discovered after all. That polite voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Miss Summers has asked if you would meet her in the entrance hall at nine thirty, if you please sir. You can get out of the table through here. Enjoy your breakfast.”
The butler bowed, turned and strode from the room, closing the door softly behind him. Spike almost fell on the food, surprised at just how hungry he was. He discovered that the table had a section that was jointed, and Wesley had deliberately left it clear of food. He pushed and it swung open, giving him access to the rest of the room.
The en-suite bathroom was like a gift from Heaven, the huge bath calling to him with a siren’s song that was hard to resist. However, the thought of keeping the blonde angel waiting made him turn away and step into the equally enormous shower. He adjusted the temperature and groaned as the warm water slid over his body. He washed his hair quickly with the hotel shampoo (he hadn’t unpacked his own things yet) and dried off with the soft, fluffy towel hanging on a heated towel rail.
Dry, he dressed in simple clothes: A pair of tight black jeans and a plain black t-shirt. He decided against shoes, but quickly pulled on a pair of dark blue socks. He was surprised to see that his breakfast things had been cleared away and the table neatly stowed back in the cupboard, or so he assumed. Impressed again by the quality of service he hadn’t really expected, despite the establishment’s promises, he stepped out into the hall.
A moment later, Xander did the exact same thing. They eyed each other, then the dark-haired man grinned and clapped him on the back.
“Isn’t this just the coolest hotel you’ve ever been in? The butler, the breakfast in bed and those awesome table things. I think I’ll live here, when I land a leading role.”
Spike rolled his eyes; it was a common joke between him and Xander. The young man always complained that it should be him with the lead role and Spike playing the ‘devoted minion’. Everyone had learned that he was actually content with his current role, and wasn’t quite ready to play the lead in anything yet.
As they began to walk, Spike interrupted Xander’s rambling about how the place ‘totally rocked his socks’. “Mate, did you see the blonde last night? Y’know, Miss Summers.”
Xander grinned. “Oh yeah. Total hottie.”
Spike gave his trademark smirk. “Wouldn’t mind a bit of service from that department.”
He frowned at Xander’s suddenly nervous face, then turned and looked into green eyes narrowed with anger, though Buffy forced a cool smile onto her lips. Arrogant, egotistical pig! Her voice was soft and rigidly polite.
“Good morning, Mr Harris, Mr Giles. I trust the… service has been adequate so far?”
Spike swallowed.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
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