More Than He Can Handle (7 page)

 

Cleveland arrived in New Orleans after a turbulent flight. He'd never prayed so much to land on solid ground. Flying didn't bother him, it was the crashing that got to him. As a firefighter, he'd cleaned up a plane crash at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport and there were no survivors. That day soured him on flying, since it was pilot error that caused the plane to skid off the runway and ram into a fuel truck.

“This is your captain speaking, we're making our final descent into the Crescent City. Please make sure that your seat and tray tables are in an upright and locked position. The weather here is a pleasant sixty-five degrees and the humidity is low,” the pilot said.

“Thank God,” Cleveland muttered as he fastened his seat belt.

Once everyone had deplaned, Cleveland headed for the baggage claim and looked for the car service that Louis said would be waiting for him. He pulled his reservation confirmation out of his back pocket. The French Garden Inn was in the heart of the French Quarter and Cleveland had always heard that that was where he needed to be to enjoy the festival.

Cleveland smiled as he saw a man dressed in a black suit with a few dozen strings of Mardi Gras beads around his neck holding a sign with his name on it. This was definitely the greeting he was expecting.

“I'm Mr. Alexander,” he said as he handed the man his garment bag.

“Yes, sir,” the driver said, reaching out for Cleveland's bag. “The car is right this way.”

Easing into the backseat of the car, Cleveland sank into the soft leather and closed his eyes. He was happy to be in the car and not in the air. Cleveland hadn't realized that he dozed off until the driver tapped him on the shoulder.

“Sir, we've arrived.”

Cleveland wiped the side of his mouth checking for drool. “Thanks,” he said as he stepped out of the car. He smoothed his tan slacks and absorbed the scene. People dressed in bright colors ran around the streets, women lifted their tops as men hanging out on the balconies of their hotel rooms tossed beads down to the street. Shaking his head, Cleveland realized that he was going to enjoy himself. As the driver took his bags to the door, a buxom blonde walked up to Cleveland and planted a wet kiss on his lips.

“You are so freaking hot!” she exclaimed as she took a strand of her beads from around her neck and placed them around his.

“Ah, thanks,” he said as he pushed her away.

“Wanna come to my hotel room?”

“Baby, I just got here, let me check in and I'll find you,” he said.

She waved her hand as if she knew that she wouldn't see Cleveland again. “Whatever,” she shot back as she skipped down the street.

He shook his head and laughed as he headed into the hotel. A crush of people stood near the desk trying to get checked in. Glancing around the room, Cleveland eyed the women, whose style of dress ranged from conservative to freaky. A woman dressed in a pair of shorts that looked like underwear winked at him.

Shaking his head, Cleveland didn't know what to think of all of these women who were just throwing themselves at him. It must have been the nature of the party. What he wouldn't give to have Freddie wanting him the way these strangers did. He knew that New Orleans was way too big to go chasing after her. And he wasn't going to. He came here to have fun and he wasn't going to . . .

“Welcome to the French Garden Inn,” Freddie said.

Cleveland locked eyes with her. “Freddie,” he stammered.

She inhaled sharply. “Enjoy your stay,” she said as if she had no idea who he was. Cleveland nodded and headed to the front desk. He'd let her play this game now, but knowing that she worked in the hotel meant he would see her again. Cleveland walked up to the front desk and checked in. As he took his room key from the curvy brunette, he nodded toward Freddie. “What does she do here?” he asked.

“Miss Barker? She owns the place,” she said. “You can't have a complaint already.”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I think she's doing a wonderful job. Make sure you tell her I said so,” he said.

She furrowed her brows and nodded. Cleveland figured that she wouldn't pass along the message, so he rushed up to his room and unpacked. Then he took a shower and changed into a pair of low slung blue jeans and a white button-down shirt that he left open to show off his sculpted chest. However, by the time he got downstairs, Freddie was gone.

 

 

No matter how prepared she thought she had been for Cleveland's arrival, seeing him did something to her.

Even though the lobby was still filled with people, Freddie retreated to her room. She had to pull herself together because after seeing him her knees went weak, her mouth went dry and her heart sped up. Yet, all she could say was “Enjoy your stay.” She flung herself on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. She knew that she couldn't ignore him; she lived in the hotel and she would run into him. Freddie called down to the front desk.

“Yes, Miss Barker?” the front desk clerk asked.

“Cleveland Alexander, what room is he in?”

She could hear Jewel typing the information into the computer. “He's in suite 7218.”

“What? Can you change his room?” Freddie exclaimed. Cleveland couldn't stay there, it was right across the hall from her suite.

“Miss Barker, we don't have any other rooms open. Is there a problem?”

“No, Jewel, I'm sorry I bothered you. I'll be down there in a little bit,” Freddie said.

“All right,” she replied, her voice filled with confusion. Freddie hung up the phone and groaned. How did this happen? Why hadn't she gone into the computer to see what room he'd been assigned when she saw that he had a reservation at her place? Sitting up, Freddie ran her hand over her face and decided that she couldn't put it off any longer, she had to go downstairs and help her staff. Besides, Cleveland was probably out enjoying the revelry of Mardi Gras. What man wouldn't be out roaming the streets and enjoying the sights and highlights of the festival? It had been years since Freddie had a chance to enjoy Mardi Gras. She would kill for a King Cake right about now and some pralines. With her stomach growling, Freddie left her room and headed downstairs. As the elevator opened, she ran, chest first, into Cleveland.

“Whoa,” he said, “are you all right?” Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around Freddie's waist.

“I'm fine,” she said as she pushed away from him. “Just a little distracted, it's busy here.”

“I can see that. I had no idea you owned this place,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “Well, if you'll excuse me.”

“Wait, do you think we can grab some dinner sometime this week?”

She stepped into the elevator as he stepped off. “I don't think so. I'm going to be so swamped that I'll barely have time to sleep.”

Before Cleveland could say another word, Freddie pressed the button and the elevator doors closed.

 

 

Standing in the hallway, Cleveland shook his head. Freddie was acting as if nothing had happened between them and he knew that she'd enjoyed their night together just as much as he had. He knew that before the week was over, they would have an instant replay of the night of Lillian's wedding and when he was done with her this time, she wouldn't forget or be able to get enough of what they were going to share. However, he wasn't going to sit in his hotel room and pine away for her. He was going to check out the scene on Bourbon Street and hope that when he returned Freddie would still be in the hotel. He headed downstairs and when he reached the front desk, where Freddie and her clerk were, he winked at Freddie, but didn't say a word.

Once on Bourbon Street, Cleveland was swept up in the big party. Big brass bands played in the middle of the street, restaurants seemed more like clubs, and there were people everywhere. The smell of Po-Boys and sweet King Cakes wafted in the air. He found it hard to believe that this was the same city devastated by Hurricane Katrina. Cleveland decided that like New Orleans, he was going to go after Freddie with a renewed spirit. Though she tried to act as if she wasn't affected by seeing him, he knew that she was. The heat between them was the same as it had been the night of Louis and Lillian's wedding. Now that he knew he'd be seeing her, since she worked in the hotel, Cleveland started formulating a plan for the seduction of Freddie Barker. Seduction was a skill that he was well versed in and Winfred Barker was going to find out that he didn't take no for an answer. Hungry and excited about the prospect of tasting Freddie again, he stopped a man passing by.

“Hey, excuse me, where can I get a great Po-Boy?” Cleveland asked.

The man smiled, then tugged at his beatnik beard. “Whatcha wanna do is take the street car to St. Charles and head on down Robert Street and hang a right on Ammunition Street. You gonna see Domilise's Po-Boys. That place is amazing, but don'cha ask for extra gravy, you'll never get it out of your shirt.”

Cleveland shook hands with the strange-looking man, thanked him and headed for the street car. The sights he saw caused him to wonder why it was taking so long for the Ninth Ward to be rebuilt when so many people were in town, dropping millions of dollars into the city's economy. If Katrina had ruined the French Quarter, he couldn't imagine that the state, the city and the federal government would've taken years to rebuild the place. The entire situation made him angry, helpless and distrustful of the people that were supposed to represent the citizens of New Orleans.

Days after Katrina, he and Darren had helped the city of Atlanta set up shelters for evacuees from New Orleans and they were also part of a convoy, sponsored by DVA, Jill's computer company, to take supplies to the victims who didn't have water, food or clean clothes for a full week after the levees broke. It was a harrowing experience, seeing the babies crying for help and parents standing around crying as well because they couldn't do anything to make their children feel better.

The street car came to a stop and Cleveland hopped off the trolley and walked to the restaurant. It was the kind of place that had grease stains on menus that were older than him. He knew the food was going to be good.

After ordering an oyster Po-Boy, dressed of course, he took his sandwich outside and soaked up the more subdued atmosphere. More families were walking around and unlike Bourbon Street, no one had to lift her shirt to get beads. He wondered if Freddie was still at the front desk and if he could catch her before she disappeared. But before he left, he was going to take her a Po-Boy. She had to eat some time.

 

 

Every time someone walked into the front door of the hotel, Freddie looked up and hoped it was Cleveland. She had a feeling of relief and disappointment each time it wasn't him. As much as she wanted to see him, she didn't want to. He stirred up a mess of trouble in her panties every time she saw him or heard his sexy baritone voice speak her name. Closing her eyes, she thought back to the motel room in Covington. The things they did that night opened her up to a different type of sexual satisfaction. It wasn't the champagne, it was the man that gave her multiple orgasms and made her feel as if . . .

“Miss Barker,” Jewel said, breaking into her thoughts. “Are we going to be able to take a break for dinner soon? We have most of the reservations in.”

“I'm sorry, I hadn't even thought about that. You go and get something to eat and I'll handle things here.”

“Do you want me to bring you something back?”

Freddie smiled at her hard-working desk clerk. “You know what, go ahead and take the rest of the day off since most of the reservations are taken care of. I really appreciate you, that was good work today.”

“Oh, thank you, Miss Barker,” Jewel said as she grabbed her purse and sweater from underneath the desk. “By the way, 7218 said that you're doing a great job.”

“I'll be sure to tell housekeeping to leave an extra mint on his pillow.” She rolled her eyes when Jewel wasn't looking at her. Just how in the hell was she going to control her thoughts of Cleveland when every time she turned around . . .

“Freddie,” he said as he walked up to the front desk. “I bet you haven't eaten all day.”

“Cleveland, why don't you head up Bourbon Street and have a good time partying.”

He placed the paper bag with the sandwich in it on the desk. “I've been doing that. But, I still wanted to make sure my favorite hotel operator had something to eat.”

“What is this?”

“A Po-Boy, dressed,” he said proud of the New Orleans lingo he'd picked up.

She giggled as she tore into the bag. “Been here one day and you think you're a native. Is this an oyster Po-Boy ?” Freddie took a big bite of the sandwich. “This is my favorite.”

Cleveland wiped a bit of mayonnaise from her chin with a paper napkin. “I can tell,” he said. His fingers lingered on her face a little longer than they should have. Freddie turned her head away from him.

“Thank you for the sandwich,” she said in between bites. “Now, I have to get back to work and . . .”

A short brown-skinned girl with bright red hair, dressed in a pair of black slacks and a white French Garden Inn shirt, walked in. “Hey Miss Barker,” she said. “I'm ready to take over for you.”

Celeste, you would pick today to come to work on time,
Freddie thought through her tight smile.