“And I was just doing my job.”Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“We know.” Mr. McIntyre drops his gaze, signaling he isn’t buying any of my bullshit. “But you should have reported it sooner. Per company policy. We appreciate your integrity, but when it comes to this type of thing, we require full disclosure as soon as possible.”
I close my eyes and bite my lip for the two seconds it takes to get a grip on the balloon blowing up in my throat. There’s a reason I didn’t report the incident until five days after the fact—after the hotel’s security and IT systems had been breached by hackers. Even now, as I sense things are going seriously south, I can’t open up and tell themeverything.
“It would have given us a chance to wipe the security footage.” Mr. McIntyre’s tone is softer, and around the table, the other managers shift in their seats. “Now we have a situation.”
A situation.Shit. This doesn’t sound like a “clean-up on aisle four” where a bucket and mop will do the trick.
“What’s the situation?” I ask, my voice uneven.
“When we were breached,” Mr. McIntyre continues, “we thought the hackers were only after credit cards and guests’ personal information. Now Mia Reed’s agent has contacted us, saying the video footage of her and whoever, with you walking in on them, is being used for extortion.”
What the actual—“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I were,” Mr. McIntyre says on a sigh. “Our head office and IT security have been all over us this past week, trying to keep this hacking disaster out of the news. But this? This mess takes the situation to a whole new level. Who would ever trust a St Chalamet hotel again? Our integrity, our reputation,everythingis on the line.”
Yours and mine both, buddy.
I’m shaking as if I were made of Jell-O and someone was poking and prodding at me. I always do my work with the utmost integrity, and this first mistake cuts deep. “What do you want me to do?” I can’t do anything, which is killing me. I’m mid-tier management-in-training. Never mind that this is way above my pay grade, I have to stand by and watch my carefully crafted life spin out of control because of one little but very major misstep.
The HR director folds her hands together, slowly, every movement careful and somewhat rehearsed. “Alexandra…” she starts.
Ah, fuck.The way she says my name sounds like Nan when she’s ticked off. Here it comes. “Are you firing me?” I say on a gulp, my mouth chalk. Everything is coming to a head, but nowI realize I’ve watched the hurricane slowly gather and twist into full speed over the past two weeks.
“No.” The HR director shakes her head. “We’re asking you to resign.”
“Why? The hacking disaster isn’t my fault.”
Mr. McIntyre leans back, and Sheila drops her gaze to the gleaming, polished wood.
“Miss O’Reilly,” Mr. McIntyre says, and I shrink at the cold tone in his voice. In mere minutes he’s gone from Lexi to my surname, and it’s as if he’s done sharpening the guillotine’s blade. “For decades, St Chalamet Manhattan has been the first choice of billionaires, movie stars, celebrities, anybody really who doesn’t have a place of their own in this city. This situation threatens our very existence in that almost unattainable realm of luxury.” He draws in a slow, deep breath. “We are only as strong as our weakest link, and this video, your appearance in it, irrespective of your role, is currently our weakest link.”
There’s a weighted pause in the room as his words sink in…and sink and sink and sink.
I drag in a breath, trying not to drown in the tension in the room.I’m not only being fired because of the hacking. I’m being fired because, even though nobody would question or say a word about it, that video casts doubt over me, my integrity, and what I was really doing up in that banquet hall at eleven o’clock at night on a random Wednesday evening. My person, a mere puppet caught on video, has become the physical representation of a whole hotel group. I see it now.If staff can walk in on a celebrity having sex, what else happens at St Chalamet?
“Usually, we can overlook one breach of our policies with a disciplinary hearing,” the HR director says, her voice cutting into the silence. “Failing to report the Mia Reed incident is your first infringement at St Chalamet.”
I bite my lip, refusing to let it tremble. I knew it, of course. Every single training session, every single rulebook, every single one-on-one training with my superiors has always stressed: stick to the rules. Keep your side clean. But at the first speck of dust, I’m found out andforced to resign. If I told them the whole truth, I’d sweep my side clean, but my reputation would be in tatters. And I don’t want to be associated withhim. With The Head. Between Mia Reed’s legs. If I had the guts and means to live without a salary, or had a new job lined up, I would have resigned to save face, but I don’t, so I didn’t.
“After consultation with the head office in France and our lawyers,” the HR director continues, “we’ve decided that you may resign with a good reference from us. I’ll sign off on your training, so you’ll have that on your résumé as well, even though you have two months left.”
What a magnanimous olive branch. Could have been worse. But they don’t get it—being out of a job is the last thing I can be. I have a student loan to pay. And my best friend and roommate is heading to LA for a role she finally landed after years of auditions. Just the idea of rent makes me want to hurl. Tessa only heard she got the role two days ago. Filming starts in the new year. She’ll be off to LA in two days to get settled there, and we’re scrambling to make a plan with the apartment and the crazy city rent I can’t afford on my own.
“I don’t want to resign.” I sound stubborn and somewhat childish, but there’s a party of three in that video—me, Mia Reed, and the dickhead with his mouth suctioned between her thighs—and it’s the women who are going pay the price.
At least Mia Reed got an orgasm out of it. I hope. I might have walked in on them, but I retreated as soon as the visual of them winded me. They didn’t even notice I was there, they were so into each other.Thathadn’t been their first time. I should have known The Head would have women lined up like meaton a skewer. I know I was in the wrong, but nothing happened on video.Nothing. They’ve no proof. Maybe that’s what Dad thought, and then, once the authorities started digging, there was so much of it, they had him cornered. The last thing I want is for anybody to dig into my life, least of all these people.
Maybe it’s deserved, but the only thing I’m getting out of this is a boot up my ass. “I’ve been with St Chalamet for ten years,” I say, anger sprouting. “Since my first summer job in Miami when I was fourteen. I’ve worked hard, every single department. I?—”
“It’s with immediate effect.” The HR director’s pointed stare challenges me to dare counterattack. “And due to the nature of the incident, we can’t offer you another position within the group.”
And that’s the crux of the matter. Thenature of the incidentis what cuts me off at the knees. A cold chill seems to empty my blood and drain it straight to the floor. When it comes to St Chalamet,I’m done?
“To be honest, Lexi,” the HR director says, “there’s no knowing whether Mia Reed will pay to keep the video from leaking on the internet. Either way, as the only employee possibly recognizable in that video, we can’t afford to have someone identify you and link you to St Chalamet. Right now, nobody can guess that the video is security footage from the Manhattan St Chalamet. We need to keep it that way for our reputation’s sake.” She pushes a white, letter-sized envelope in my direction, the hotel’s crest embossed in gold foil in one corner. “Here’s some paperwork you need to sign. Please go through it and have it back to me by tomorrow.”
Mr. McIntyre stands, and the others follow suit. “Thank you.”
