Layla

Some girls you just find yourself looking for, and the Diva named Layla is one that you don't mind being on the lookout for.

So when you see her coming into the lobby in a tight pair of blue jeans and a tight green shirt, you know immediately it's her, and you immediately make a beeline for her, even though she seems to be wanting to talk to others on your staff at the moment.

"Excuse me...Layla?" you ask, just trying to make small talk with her, and being relieved when you see her turn around and smile at you as she puts a hand on your shoulder, her unwritten way of telling you to keep going.

"Name's John, I run this hotel," you tell her as you point her to your desk, "pleasure's all mine. Right this room and I will show you to your room."

"I peeked in here before I grabbed my bags and saw you running around here like a chicken with it's bloody head cut off," she tells you as she starts walking with you up to her room, which is in a secluded area of the hotel, "so I just didn't want to bother you. That's why I went to your staff."

"Oh, well that's understandable Layla," you tell her as you swipe her key card in the door ad open the door to her room, "here we are. May I help you with your bags?"

"Now that you mention it, yes," she tells you as you sneak a peek at her ass, or at least you thought you were sneaking, until she snaps at you and brings you back to reality.

"And do me a favor and stop looking at my ass while you're at it, because you're never going to have it," she tells you, having caught you as you go back to your business of helping her put her bags up.