John chuckled again, but his glance was piercing this time. “The Hotel is a civilized environment, but many who work there are competitive, Ms. Price. It would have been Mr. Rhakvir’s preference that you had martial arts training under your belt in addition to the self-defense classes you took five years back at UW, but we don’t have time.”
“Am I in danger there?” Layla’s eyebrows climbed her forehead, her comfort with her decision backsliding a little. “I mean, I can knee someone in the groin and punch their throat, but beyond that—”
“Not to worry, security at the Hotel is tight,” John gave a calm smile, “just watch your back when you arrive. Make some friends right away, even if they might be in low places. You’ll never know whose skills you might need at your disposal.”
“Will you be there?”
He shook his head. “As outside security, I am not allowed on the premises. I’ll be with you while we fly and I’ll drive you through Paris when we land, but when we get to the Hotel, you go in on your own.”
“Noted.” Layla had the strange feeling like she was being briefed by a military commander to go in against the Taliban or something.
John must have caught her unease because he smiled his big, effortless smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. It’s a hotel, not a bunker in Afghanistan. You’ll be safe there, it’s just my job to think of every possibility.”
“I appreciate it.” Layla nodded, and the security chief nodded back. She glanced at the house. It sat there, looking foreign in the gloom now that Layla’s decision to leave had been made. It was strange how familiar objects and places looked odd once she knew she was leaving – like her entire way of seeing the world had just suddenly shifted and could never be put back.
“What else will I need?”
“Not much,” John shrugged. “Any snacks you want especially? I can get them for the flight.”
“Nutella,” she answered promptly, “with a baguette.” It was her favorite travel snack, and something she didn’t let herself indulge in as often as she liked. But this was a big change, and big changes required big chocolate.
“Done!” John laughed, flashing his smile. “Though you’ll get a lot of that in Paris, I’m sure.”
“Will I have time to explore the city? Or do they work grueling hours at the Hotel?”
“They give good time off.” John cocked his head, his square face thoughtful. “Generally, it’s long hours on a rotating schedule by seniority, so you may be working some graveyard shifts. Not always a bad thing at a hotel. The Hotel gives one week off every month so you can travel. You’ll get a full month off every half-year so you can do extended travel and go home for a while, visit family and friends. But while you’re there, they expect you to be on-call most of the time.”
“Interesting. That’s a lot of time off.” Layla lifted an eyebrow.
“You’ll need it.” John’s eyes were back to penetrating again. “It’s not an easy place to work. But if you can make a home for yourself there, the rewards are substantial.”
“Yeah, about that.” Layla crossed her arms. “How substantial?”
“Ever made a mil in a year?” John grinned, rakish.
“Are you fucking shitting me?” Layla’s eyes widened, astounded.
“Believe me, that’s entry wage.” John winked, then flipped a finger behind his pierced ear. “How do you think I afford such nice ice? Mr. Rhakvir pays even better than the Hotel, provided I do my job right. But you’ll technically be paid by the Hotel, and Mr. Rhakvir will find extra ways of compensating you for the work you’ll be doing for him.”
“Like anonymously paying off my student debt.”
“Something like that.” John grinned.
Inhaling a deep breath, Layla looked up to the house again. Her housemates were at the big picture window of the living room now, gaping down at her, the house lit bright inside against the lowering dark. Layla waved and they waved back, practically with their noses pressed against the glass, watching as Layla turned back to John.
“What else do I need to know?”
“You know how elegant your Moroccan grandmother Mimi was?” John spoke, his dark eyes amused.
A smile quirked Layla’s lips. Of course they would have researched Mimi, the effortlessly elegant chanteuse that all the finest hotels had fought over. She’d sung in Egyptian movies, in long dance sequences with bellydancers during Egypt’s golden age of cinema. Mimi had been an international treasure, and had a heart of pure platinum. Smoking her long cigarettes in her sleek black holder had killed her, but she’d been classy as Gretta Garbo right up until the end.
“What about Mimi?” Layla asked.
“Channel Mimi,” John spoke, “from the moment you arrive at the Hotel. Be brisk, be confident, be a bit of bitch if you have to be, but be patient and learn like hell until it’s time to unleash your temper. Got it?”
“Got it, boss,” Layla grinned, giving him sass to cover her nerves.
“I’m serious.” John spoke back, a bit harder now, warning. “And I’m not your boss. We don’t know who that’s going to be yet, and it’s worrying Mr. Rhakvir to no end. We’d like to have one of our allies train you, but we’re not sure if that’s going to happen.”
