Do Not Disturb (Interracial Erotic Romance)
Violet Williams
Published by Quiver Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Violet Williams
Keisha Wallace is a maid at Winterhorn Inn, a single mother that’s just trying to keep it altogether when Jake Cunningham, a junior senator on the campaign trail breezes into her life, staying at the inn. Their attraction is instantaneous, both of them finding comfort after being screwed over by love in the past.
Giving the senator her body is easy, but is Keisha ready to give him her heart?
Do Not Disturb is an erotic romance short story/romantica clocking in at 12,513 words. It contains some explicit language and sexual content.
E-book License Edition Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to an online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
CONTENTS
Keisha
The employee lounge at Winterhorn Inn and Suites was lined with posters preaching teamwork, perseverance, and being part of a ‘family’. But as Keisha Wallace filed into the room behind the battalion of other maids, her feet throbbing and her back screaming, she saw past the BS. With all the fanfare and shiny slogans, she knew her manager, Carmen (or Cruella as her friend Maria called her off the clock), saw them all as disposable. They were just faceless tools with no more value than the cheap equipment they used to make Winterhorn sparkle and shine.
She raked a hand through her short ebony hair, letting out a groan as she felt the wetness pool at the nape of her neck. Her relaxer was going right down the drain—at this rate, she was pretty sure she was gonna sweat out her perm. Great.
Maria gave her a toothy grin as she pulled out a chair beside Keisha. “Hi mija,” she said with accented English. “I guess Cruella got wind of your last escapades.”
“Oh yes,” Keisha said, wiggling her eyebrows. “I just couldn’t help myself.” It was a running joke between them. They got plenty of high end clients at the inn considering it was a step above Hilton and wasn’t too far from the airport and for some reason, guests were under the impression that full-service included bowchickawowow. She’d lost count of how many times some drunk guy wearing Lacoste and reeking of self-entitlement had made a pass and offered her ‘the best night of her life’.
“You’re off now, right?” Maria asked.
Keisha nodded, sinking into the uncomfortable seat. “And have a class tonight. Not that Carmen cares. I’m gonna miss the bus for this ridiculous ‘emergency’ meeting.”
“And she knows I like to watch my soaps before my shift,” Maria added, waving at a fellow employee. “Psych myself up for the night.”
Keisha gave her friend a sad chuckle. Maria was definitely entitled to a little bit of peace. She worked herself to the bone, clocking in at Sam’s Club in the mornings and taking a quick nap before she headed to Winterhorn for the night shift. Add a snarky 16 year old daughter who was due any day now and a husband that only came around once every blue moon and she had more than her share of drama. How she stayed so upbeat was beyond Keisha.
The only thing that kept Keisha from smiling was her Caleb. Almost 14 months and she fell more and more in love every day even with the cloud of pessimism that her mother had become. Her mama never let her forget that Caleb was the reason she had to drop out of Harvard, moving back home and taking night classes at the local university. Even though she tried to explain it to her, it went in one ear and out the other. Ever since Keisha felt him move inside her, she knew she couldn’t pass him up. She’d walk over burning coals, bound over buildings in one mighty leap for her baby.
His father didn’t even acknowledge Caleb’s existence and scrubbing toilets and dealing with unruly guests plus doing homework until the wee hours of the night just to go to sleep for a few hours before it started all over; every day was a battle. And right now she was in the thick of it, fighting to smile at her manager when all she wanted was to give the heartless woman a piece of her mind.
Carmen rapped on the podium at the front of the room, like the workers were unruly children instead of adults. The room went dead silent.
Keisha peered at the older woman. Carmen may have been pretty once. She had mocha colored skin and deep brown eyes with petite features, wearing her shoulder length hair in gentle waves that framed her face. But she was always frowning, always walking around complaining about something. It gave her face an uncomfortable, I-just-sucked-on-a-lemon look.
Carmen narrowed her eyes as she scanned the room. “As you all know, we have some VIPs staying in the penthouse for the new two weeks.”
Keisha rolled her eyes. She was gonna miss her class for this? They’d not only been briefed last week, but there were flyers plastered all over the locker room and they’d even been sent emails from corporate. It was a bit much in her opinion. She’d seen Jake Cunningham, a junior senator, on CNN a few times, heard his name dropped on the Sunday talk shows. He was on the campaign trail, trying to connect with reluctant voters that were wary with the political process. But with all the fuss around the watercooler, one would think the President himself was coming to town.
“-I just want to remind everyone that you’re the face of Winterhorn and to act accordingly.”
Maria leaned over, her voice hushed. “That means no streaking, Keisha.”
Keisha bit her lip, trying to snuff the laugh that rose in her throat. She gave Maria a nudge. “Shh!” That was all she needed, landing on Carmen’s shitlist. Last time she’d stepped on her manager’s toes and she’d made sure Keisha worked on a team with Monique Jones, the resident kiss ass.
When Keisha started at Winterhorn a few months ago, a few people had commented that she was the spitting image of the girl, but she didn’t see it. Yes, they were both dark skinned and wore their hair short. They were both stick thin with curves where it counted, but Monique was evil, plain and simple. Most of her coworkers seemed to be understanding if Keisha needed a longer lunch or switching shifts if something was going on with Caleb, but Monique didn’t do her, or anyone, any favors.
“-Which is why I want to clarify our policy on headphones,” Carmen said icily.
Keisha’s cheeks burned when Carmen’s big brown eyes locked on her. “There are to be no earphones or devices used during company time,” Carmen said. “If I hear of anyone not following policy, they will receive a warning or other disciplinary action.”
Keisha glanced across the table at Monique who sat with her arms tight across her chest, a smirk at her lips. The bitch had ratted on her.
Keisha taped her lectures and liked to listen to the recordings as she cleaned. It made time go by quicker and it helped her retain concepts at the same time. She’d thought she was careful about being seen and only doing it when she worked on teams where she could trust her co-worker to not tell, but Monique must have spotted her.
Keisha looked back at her defiantly. If looks could kill, she would have been six feet under.
Maria gave her arm a squeeze. “No pasa nada. Don’t let her get to you.”
When the meeting drew to a close and the room cleared, Keisha took a deep breath and faced Carmen. As hardcore as she was, she felt a need to apologize. Explain herself. “Carmen?”
The woman gave her a look like she smelled something off. “Yes?”
Keisha cleared her throat. “I just wanted to apologize. I tape my classes and-”
Carmen held up a hand, cutting her off. “I don’t need your life story, sweetie. What you do off the clock is your business.” She gathered her forms. “With your recent personal time off-”
“Personal time off?” Keisha said incredulously. “My son was sick!”
Carmen shrugged her shoulders. “You’re on thin ice, Ms. Wallace. I’d advise you to tread very, very carefully.”
Keisha stewed as Carmen shuffled away, giving Monique a smile like she was Christmas morning. Monique was the laziest person on staff, but Carmen treated her like the Employee of the Month.
Maria clucked her tongue as she tied her hair back with a rubber band. “You can’t let them get to you, Keisha.”
It was easier said than done. Keisha sagged, shaking her head as she glanced at the clock. There was no way she’d make her psych class. Not that Carmen cared. She let out a groan of frustration.
Maria squeezed her shoulders. “Get out of here. Go give that heartbreaker of yours a kiss for me.”
Keisha smiled wearily, roping her purse over her shoulder. “Have a good night.”
Jake
Jake Cunningham wanted to hit something. He usually worked out his aggression with his overpriced personal trainer, sweating and pounding until he heard nothing but his heart roaring in his ears, felt nothing but the ache of his body as he pushed it beyond its limits.
What was it his therapist railed on about when he talked about how nice it was to hit and punch invisible targets that he labeled with the name of various pundits and what not? It was healthier to just breathe? Breathe, he reminded himself. Just breathe.
He narrowed his aqua eyes, setting his jaw as his advisor Roman Johnson gave him a self-satisfied smug look he wore far too much lately. It'd first reared its head when Jake fell for Trixie, a dancer that he'd dated back in DC. He'd cared about her, probably more than he should have, and tried to make it work, but she'd left him high and dry, leaving only the curve of Roman's lip and a silent, "I told you so".
And then there was his counsel, telling Jake to stay out of the dicey unemployment debate, but he'd taken his Republican colleagues to task, lambasting the assumption that people collecting funds were as one so delicately put it, "mooching off the system". He'd called them a bunch of out of touch billionaires, sitting up in their ivory tower as the rest of the country starved to death. He'd been essentially tarred and feathered in the polls, the voters more privy to propaganda than their own interests.
And as they pulled up to Winterhorn Inn and Suites, Roman was all teeth and gums as he showed Jake the new polling numbers. “Look at this, Jake. I told you this tour was a good idea.”
Jake gave him a wary nod. "So I'm up 10 points. I’m still trailing Marsh by 15." Marshal Wilkinson was a ‘good ole boy’ all about guns and outlawing homosexuality and other ridiculous overzealous Republican talking points.
Roman let out a sigh. "It's because the voters see you as some free love hippie that was born in California-"
"I was raised in Raleigh," Jake piped, fixing his tie.
"Whatever," Roman said, highlighting paragraphs on the page. The car pulled up to the lobby entrance of the inn. Jake couldn't help but find an irony in the fact that during his "downhome tour" he was staying in the most expensive hotel in the Mauryville area.
He reached for the door handle but Roman lurched forward, his dark eyes wide. "What is your stance if they ask about Trixie?"
"She was a beautiful woman that bled me dry and took my kid?"
Roman rolled his eyes. "Jake, how many times do I have to tell you? Getting attached to the kid was adorable, but he has a mom. And a father. Somewhere."
"Oh you mean that crackhead that used to beat her to a bloody pulp?"
"Jake-"
"Real father figure, that one. I was the best thing that happened to her and-"
"She left you," Roman said firmly. His face softened. "And I feel for you. I know you cared about her."
Cared didn't quite sum it up. She'd breezed out of his life almost three months ago now. While his therapist claimed the media's insistence on a Cinderella story was why he tried to rekindle their romance, out of some need to save her and little Jesse, but Jake knew that it was more. As tough as nails as she pretended to be, had to be, to raise a special needs child all on her own at 24, he knew that underneath the armor, she was the kindest person he'd ever known.
Roman was yapping about image, but Jake just pushed from the backseat of the Escalade, the flashes from the cameras not even fazing him as he pushed through the revolving door.
Waiting near the check in desk, a dark skinned woman with a pinched face gave him a smile almost as plastic as the ones he saw in Washington. Her nametag read "Carmen".
She extended her hand. "Mr. Cunningham! I’m Carmen Jackson. We here at Winterhorn Inn and Suites are so thrilled you'll be staying with us." She leaned in. "I voted for you, by the way."
Jake ran a hand through his dark hair before chuckling. "I appreciate that."
"Now," she said crisply, ushering him forward like a tour guide. They breezed into a bar area, the room radiating a retro, 60s vibe with its clunky bar and statement chairs.
"Feel free to get a drink." she winked. "On the house."
He forced a smile, moving to the bar. He signaled the bartender who gave him a nod and held up a finger for one second. Jake took the chance to take in the rest of the scene. The bar was pretty sparse, save a couple of J.Crew types hanging over near the dartboards. He could smell the liquor on them from where he sat, their obnoxious laughter making him cringe. His eyes kept scanning and stopped when he hit a side table, tucked near the back.
A young woman sat behind the table, her brow furrowed in concentration. She was so intent, so focused. He gazed at her face, her ebony colored skin. Even scrunched, occupied, her features were beautiful, wide brown eyes that scanned a book, a pert nose that led down to thick cherry red lips, moving ever so slightly as she read. Her short, choppy hair was held back by a dark headband, accentuating her cheekbones and her swanlike neck.
He frowned when he saw one of the preps, a blonde guy with an upturned collar, stagger over to where she sat. She tried to ignore him at first, then looked up at him with a leave-me-the-hell-alone smile. The guy didn't pick up on the hint and pulled out the chair beside her. He was saying something, casting looks at his merry band of idiots that laughed. At her expense.
The woman snapped her book closed and began gathering her things. When Jake saw her cheeks were turning rosy red, he pushed from the stool. He picked up on clips of the conversation.
"You're a pretty girl," the blonde slurred. "And smart. We'll pay you-" Jake picked up the pace, balling his fist. It appeared he was gonna get to hit something after all.
But before he could clock the guy, the woman beat him to it, the thwok as her open hand smacked his cheek cutting through whatever offensive proposition he was making.
His friends, the blonde, even Jake stood rapt, shocked.
As the blonde’s face bloomed red, his shock turned to fury as he raised his hand like he was gonna hit her back.
Like hell, Jake thought, opening his mouth, his body raw as the adrenaline coursed, focused on knocking this kid out as he bridged the distance.
But the woman just looked at him, fearless. Her mahogany eyes became slits of anger. "Will that make you feel like more of a man, hitting a woman?" She tilted her head as the guy’s hand hung in the air like a limp noodle. "Will it?"
The blonde dropped his hand awkwardly and Jake stepped up to the table, clearing his throat. "Is there a problem here?"
He stuck out his lip, then wisely decided it wasn't worth it. "Nah, man." He jumped to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor as he hustled away.
Jake kept his gaze on the prick, flexing a little for his friends before he turned back to the woman. Her head was bowed as she continued stuffing her books into a bag. "I'm sorry about that." He picked up the chair. "You should let me buy you a drink, miss-?" His voice trailed off when he took her in as she rose to her feet. She was dressed in a black and white shift, along with nylons and black tennis shoes. He saw a lanyard, like the one Carmen wore, but it was red. She was a maid.
"Not allowed to drink on the clock," she said with a bemused look. She fished out a five and left it on the table. "Not that someone like Senator Jake Cunningham would be caught with a maid after your last indiscretion with that stripper."
Jake blushed. "Exotic dancer."
"Whatever," the woman shrugged. "A lot of people say that she ruined your chances in November, pining over a stripper. Personally, I disagree."
"Oh?"
She nodded, her eyes playful. "We pretty much expect impropriety from politicians nowadays. At least you were trying to make an honest woman out of her." She glanced at a watch at her wrist before flashing Jake a grin that went straight to his crotch. "Have a good day."
He watched her leave, not even noticing Roman walk in and saddle up beside him until he waved a hand in front of his face.
“Anybody in there?” Roman asked, snapping a finger.
Jake shook his head. Smiling for the first time all day.
Roman turned around and saw what had him entranced and let out a groan. "No, Jake. Absolutely not."
"No idea what you're talking about," Jake lied, picking up his drink from the bar. He made a note to find out the woman's name. He wanted to know her.
Keisha
Keisha balanced her purse, backpack, and a bag of groceries as she ignored the group of teens that huddled near the stairwell, trying so hard to be street, trying to punk her out. She was intimidated, especially considering she could remember most of them when they were little higher than her knee.
"Yo shawty," one of them called out. "Let me holla atcha."
Keisha rolled her eyes as she padded toward her apartment. "Go home Rodney.”
“But I’m tryna-”
“Don’t you have some homework you can be doing?” Keisha said, Mom mode kicking in. “Head on home before I call your mother."
His friends chuckled at her threat, but Rodney went stone cold quiet, hustling down the stairs. “C’mon yall.”
She wheeled around the corner and her body went into full alert when she heard the familiar pitch of Caleb's cry. She put her keys in the lock and pushed the door open.
Her mother sat where she usually spent her days, glued in a recliner in front of the TV.
"Don't worry, Ma," Keisha said sarcastically, unloading her arms with a grunt. "I got the groceries."
Caleb's key changed, his cries pleading. Her mother just upped the volume on the television, drowning him out. Keisha had to breathe in and out to calm herself, trying hard to not lose her shit. She didn't want to get into it, not tonight.
Because the universe seemed intent on screwing her, she'd ended up on Monique's team during her shift. The girl spent more time texting than helping strip the beds and clear the floor they were assigned. When Keisha finally got a break, some trust fund baby hassled her, asking if she wanted to 'dance for him'. Her first thought had been to deck the guy, but she tried ignoring him until he tried to touch her. She'd smacked him, almost on instinct. The guy had almost hit her back. And then that politician rode up to the table like some cowboy, like he was gonna save the day. Not even he could save her from Carmen's wrath. She'd been written up. Two more write-ups and she'd be suspended.
Caleb’s cries were sullen. "When was the last time you fed him, Ma?"
Silence.
"Ma!"
She smacked her lips. "Lunchtime. I don't know."
Keisha pushed her crazy day to the back of her mind as she opened her bedroom door, armed with a bottle. Her little guy stood in the crib, his face scrunched in frustration.
"Shh," she said gently, picking him up and bringing him close. She rocked him gently. "It's okay sweetie. Mama's here." She stroked his back, humming Pink Floyd softly as she walked to the rocking chair. After a moment, he quieted and she brought him from her shoulder and reached for the bottle, putting it between his hungry lips. She stroked Caleb's cherry cheeks, still inflamed. He looked up at her, his hazel eyes just like his father's. The thought sent a rush of emotions shuttling through Keisha. Nostalgia, love, terror, sadness, and loneliness.
Nostalgia overwhelmed her, memories of all night cram sessions, living off beer and pizza, nights in his dorm. Gut-wrenching love, believing that even though they came from different worlds: Holden from Conneticut, from money, Harvard an obvious choice; Keisha from a podunk town in NC, daughter of a single mother, there on a full scholarship.