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Meet Ronald Burgess.  You may find him interesting.  Ronald has been a guest at the Merle Hotel.  The Merle Hotel is a five-star luxury hotel in The Concierge book series.  Enjoy a little about Ronald in this short story.

 

Ronald Burgess walked into the Merle Hotel at one pm.  His chin was in the air.  His sharp eyes cut from left to right without him moving his head.  He preferred not to be recognized.  But the air about him and his quiet demeanor were of a man who was confident or arrogant.  It was difficult for him to hide it.

 

Most people did not know who he was.  He rarely allowed himself to be photographed.  He did not socialize except when necessary.  His circle of friends was a tight group of his choosing.  He never shared anything about his personal life.  If something appeared in the media about him he had not put it there.  He never gave interviews.

 

Some people said he was protective of his privacy.  He was one of the richest people in the United States.  How he acquired his wealth was a secret to most.  That included those who thought they knew him on a more intimate level.  Not even the media could uncover his secrets.

 

Ronald got to the elevators.  He tapped his toes, waiting for the doors to open.  He had ignored eye contact with everyone who had tried to make eye contact with him.  He gave a nod here and there.  But he did not face anyone head on.

 

The elevator opened.  He got on and quickly pressed the close button.  Once the doors were closed he exhaled.  He watched the floors tick off as he rode up and up.  He clenched his fists several times and released them and clenched them again.  Could this damn thing move any faster? he thought.

 

The elevator stopped.  He stepped closer to the doors and waited.  They took forever.

 

The doors opened.  No one was waiting to get on.

 

He stepped out of the elevator onto the fourteenth floor and went right.  He walked briskly.  He did not notice the imported carpet beneath his feet, nor the beautiful paintings on the walls.  He had one thing on his mind.

 

He passed two doors and stopped at room 1403.  He looked left and right and knocked three times.  A slight pause preceded each knock.

 

The door opened.  He stepped inside the seven thousand dollars per night suite.  The door closed.  He turned around and stared at the door and inhaled.

 

Eighteen-year-old Wendy leaned back against the door in a sheer nightshirt.  She was tall and gorgeous.

 

The fifty year age difference did not bother him.  Nor did the wedding ring on his finger.  It never did.

 

He slid his coat off and let it drop to the floor.  There was a brief stare between them.  Then he rushed to his stepdaughter, pinning her against the door, and kissed her passionately for several minutes.

 

Until next time,

Stephen Wallace