We’re so pleased to have author PD Singer stopping by today on the tour for her brand new novel, Concierge Service, from Rocky Ridge Books. Pam is sharing a snippet from the book with us today, and there’s also a giveaway so be sure to check out those details below.
Concierge Service is another of my “random encounter with non-fiction” novels. Insider exposes of industries are like catnip to me. Heads in Beds (Jacob Tomsky) got me started on hospitality, followed by other eye-openers like Hotel Babylon. The more expensive the hotel, the weirder things get.
My own experience with concierges is limited. Apparently my imagination is also limited, because all I ever asked for were restaurant recommendations and theater tickets. I had no idea I could ask the person at the desk to arrange a lingerie party, have a swanky department store courier over a pair of thousand dollar sandals, or take my dog to be groomed. This may be partially because I do not have a dog, but mostly because I don’t drop that kind of money on sandals, or on hotel rooms.
In fact, much of what I was learning couldn’t go into the story, because I couldn’t make it sound believable. Because the rich are just like you and me, except they have more money. And occasionally, fewer filters.
Joshua Hannes is used to arranging things for the wealthy guests at the Vivaldi Hotel, and the excerpt below highlights why sometimes it’s the simple requests that are the hardest.
About the Book
Title: Concierge Service
Author: P.D. Singer
Publisher: Rocky Ridge Books
Release Date: September 20, 2018
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Genre: Romance, Contemporary, billionaire
Add to Goodreads
Blurb: Joshua Hannes, the concierge of the Vivaldi Central Park Hotel prides himself on fulfilling every impossible request. Tickets to a sold-out show? A purple dye job for a purse dog? A last-minute table at a premier hotspot? No problem.
But the devastatingly handsome penthouse guest wants what?
Self-made billionaire Craig Ridley’s in New York on business, but at the end of the day, he wants to relax with someone interesting. The concierge should be able to supply a friendly face. Just for a little conversation. Dinner and a card game. Not sex with a man he doesn’t know or respect.
Craig didn’t expect the concierge to personally volunteer. Nor to be the man Craig hadn’t known he needed.
A billion reasons why they shouldn’t be together. A billion and one reasons why they should.
A smoldering standalone romance with an HEA.
Buy Concierge Service: Amazon | Kobo | Barnes & Noble
“Which room are you putting Craig Ridley in?” Joshua asked Tyler.
“Don’t know yet.” Tyler let a forelock of curls swing over his eyes. He turned to the counter, suddenly interested in the alignment of pens against keyboard.
“Don’t give me that.” Joshua aimed a gimlet glare at the front desk agent. “Where are you putting him?”
“I really don’t know.” The glare was mostly lost on the redhead, although the laser force should have the tips of his ringlets smoking. “We’re oversold.”
“Damn it, are you going to have to send him over to the Marcel?” Visions of cold beef and shaken red wine danced before Joshua’s eyes. “The guy’s tired, hungry, and expecting our best, which he is paying lavishly for.”
“I know.” Tyler rearranged the pens horizontally. “But the only room left is the Central Park Suite, and he reserved a standard king.”
“Then put him in the Central Park Suite.” Was this blindingly obvious only to Joshua? “Would you rather upgrade him or send him away unhappy? Never to return?”
“Upgrade him, but…” Tyler peeked out from behind his curls. “We’re talking a two-bedroom penthouse suite versus a run of the house king. That’s a pretty big upgrade.”
Time was ticking, and Tyler argued? “You can make or lose a client for life with this.”
“I know, but…”
Joshua leaned close to Tyler’s ear. “How about you make up your mind and I won’t tell the general manager who’s been soothing his pain with the Grey Goose miniatures the minibar guy’s always coming up short on?”
“Damn it, Josh!” Tyler blurted. “You’re asking me to authorize a two thousand dollar a night upgrade.”
“I know. But I also know nobody else has that suite booked until the end of the month, and if it goes unsold this week, you can’t ever go back and sell it to someone else.” Joshua leaned forward, one eye on the red and gray livery of a bellman visible through the smoked glass picture windows, headed to the front door. He balanced a red thermal pack like a pizza in one hand and dangled a white plastic bag from the other. Joshua had to have a table to lay out dinner. “How about you upgrade him, I say nothing to Grant, and you can take your problem boyfriend to breakfast at Spoons?”
“Whoa, you mean that?” Tyler blinked. “We’ve never been able to get in that joint!”
Probably not. Tyler and Problem Boyfriend either didn’t stop fighting early enough or get out of bed early enough to eat trendy waffles. “Sure. I have an invite, you’re going to go in my place, if you put Ridley in the suite, right now, because I need to go organize their dinner.” Joshua leaned in again, gripping Tyler’s elbow. “Got me?”
“Gotcha!” Tyler started tapping on his keyboard.
Good, because if Joshua wasn’t mistaken, the power couple in business suits emerging from the limo right in front of the hotel were the tired, hungry people whose dinner he had to intercept. He snagged a master key card from Tyler’s drawer and bolted. Wouldn’t do to be caught with service half done!
“Thanks!” Joshua pounced on Henry, lounging at the concierge desk, trying to shoot the breeze with an unimpressed Lauren, who probably didn’t really have anyone on the other end of that phone call. Joshua had his own reasons for not talking to the slimeball. Lauren had told him to fuck off just as vividly.
“Heya, Josh.” Henry smirked. “Got a call for a handsome young man such as yourself.”
“Not happening,” Joshua snapped, too low to be heard by anyone not standing at the desk. “Fuck off,” he meant but it didn’t do to antagonize a bellman. They had too many ways of getting even. If Henry suggested adding Joshua to his stable of “extra pillows” one more time, it might be time to test the industrial trash compactor in the back alley.
Not that he wanted to repay the insult with a tip, but Henry had fetched, and there was a method to the way the staff worked. Joshua stuffed a ten-dollar bill into Henry’s hand, snatched the thermal pack and bag, and blew through the lobby to the elevator, which, please, Lord, don’t make it stop on every single floor this time.
Maybe Tyler would feel beholden enough for the gratis meal to take a few extra minutes to describe all the amenities that came with the unexpected upgrade. Or maybe he’d be pissy enough to skip mentioning some of the nicer perks that plumped the suite’s price into the stratosphere.
Like the chauffeured Rolls Royce. Joshua needed to find out, before he promised anything contradictory, because Tyler might decide keeping the Rolls off the table would soothe the GM into smiling about selling the suite for the price of a king. Joshua would have to soothe the GM himself, maybe with a couple of those Davidoff Perfectos he’d picked up for less than $80 a cigar. There was a reason he’d bought more than he’d acquired for the hotel humidor. Never knew when you’d need a favor.
If he didn’t have the towel animal folded before the Ridleys came upstairs… His pride required something more complicated than a snake. Joshua balanced his phone on the thermal pack, poking up a YouTube video demonstrating something simple. He spent the fifty-three-floor ride studying how to assemble an elephant from a bath towel and a hand towel—how hard could this be?
Better be as easy as the demo made it look—Joshua was running out of time. He laid the table in the dining area, leaving the food packaged lest the short ribs go cold, and dove into the bathroom. A guy could get lost in here between the mirrors endlessly reflecting the warm, golden-veined Italian marble that seemed to cover everything but the ceiling. He seized the towels and set to work rolling an elephant in the master bedroom.
Well, okay, Dumbo needed a squint to come alive, but it was an elephant, it was mostly symmetrical. This suite had two bedrooms. Not that he expected a couple who’d booked a king to use them both, but a job well done beat the hell out of a job half done. The second elephant went faster. Joshua let himself out of the suite, the only unit on the entire floor, just in time to meet the couple at the elevator. Henry followed with a cart of luggage. Two good quality black cases, hardly enough for two people for a week.
Joshua nodded politely. “Dinner with elephants, sir. Madame.”
Madame barely glanced his way, and only because the furniture talked.
“Thank you.” Craig Ridley—who else could it be with that smooth, deep voice? Oh man, a face and body to match, early to mid-thirties, with a dress sense to kill for—nodded in return, reaching to shake Joshua’s hand. The crinkle of bills rustled against his palm, to be ignored even after the elevator closed its burnished bronze doors around him.
Joshua hated to even look at his tip, because nothing Craig Ridley or his unfairly female companion could give him would ever make up for the monstrous iniquity of Craig not being gay.
***(Don’t worry, Craig’s companion is a problem, but not his wife. I have to tease the heck out of Joshua. It’s what he gets for making assumptions.)
About the Author
P.D. Singer lives in Colorado with her slightly bemused husband, one tall young man, half a case of empty nest syndrome, and thirteen pounds of cats. She’s a big believer in research, first-hand if possible, so the reader can be quite certain Pam has skied down a mountain face-first, been stepped on by rodeo horses, acquired a potato burn or two, and will never, ever, write a novel that includes sky-diving.
When not writing, playing her fiddle, or skiing, she can be found with a book in hand. Follow the adventures at Pam’s website, her Facebook page, Twitter, or drop her eMail.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Hosted by IndiGo Marketing