“Magda,” I sigh.
She comes and sits down in front of my desk. “The meeting. You did—” I brace myself for it: the condemnation and withering critique. “—a good job, particularly given all the strain you’ve been under, and the fact that I wasn’t here to help.”
I stare at her. “What?”
For maybe the first time ever, I see Magda smile. “Good job.”
“Good…job?” I sit up straight in my chair. “But didn’t—didn’t anyone complain?”
Her eyebrows go up. “Complain? On the contrary, nothing but positives in the feedback slips, and that Earl Arden guy came up to me personally to say what a wonderful job you did.”
“Me?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘It’s beyond most modern hotels’ capability to do anything competently, let alone well,’ and he was particularly impressed with the piano, given that it was a last-minute request. He apologized for that. Said if he’d been aware before this morning that they were going to try to make him play on a portable synthesizer, he would have put in the request much earlier.”
“Oh, my God,” I say faintly.
“What is it?” She’s getting suspicious. “Ollie, why are you so surprised?”
Thatson of a bitch is the one I have to thank for almost giving me a nervous breakdown over the piano? What a swan song for our whole relationship. I swallow down the hysterical laughter frantically.
And I’mdefinitelynot going to mention the water incident if no one else has. “I’m just…relieved,” I try. “So does this mean you’ll recommend me for management training?”
At once, her face changes, guarded and brisk. “Here’s the thing. One of the reasons I was in New York for so long was because I was talking with Elton Kingsley about the Bellamy’s direction over the next few years. And…” She actually gets a sympathetic flash in her eyes. “He wants his nephew, who lives out here in LA, to start training in the family business. I’m afraid that means I’ll need to concentrate on traininghimin a managerial role.”
Any other day, I’d probably get really, really mad. As it is, I feel empty.
“Elton Kingsley’s nephew,” I repeat. She nods. “Is gettingmyspot in management training.” She nods again. “That’s—that’sliterallynepotism.”
“That’s business,” she says apologetically. “I went to the mat for you, Ollie, if that means anything. I’m not happy about it. But if you want to tell me to go fuck myself and then quit, I’d understand.”
“I can’t quit,” I say quietly. “You know that.” What else am I going to do? Go back to cage dancing at kink clubs?
She nods again. “Yeah. But you can still tell me to go fuck myself, if you like. Off the record. Won’t hold it against you.”
I think about it for a long moment, but then I shake my head. “What’s the point?”
She screws up her mouth. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll give you another week of paid leave, any time you want to take it. Screw Elton Kingsley.”
“Thanks,” I say dully, and then she leaves me alone, since there’s nothing else to say.
I’ve proved myself, but to what end? I’ll be stuck as concierge for at least another year, without anything to show for what I accomplished today. Another week of paid leave? What the hell am I going to usethatfor, anyway?
The horrible, cruel logic of it is finally setting in. I threw aside the connection I had with Elliot for no reason at all. And now he’s disappeared out of my life again—for good, this time.
A few minutes later, the office door opens again. “Not now, Brandon,” I say. “Please. Not now.”
But he comes in and sits down on my desk, right next to me, looking down at me. “You don’t get to boss me around anymore, girlfriend. I just quit.”
I frown up at him. “You quit?”
“Yeah. Magda just told us what happened in New York—about this nephew guy? I told her I was quitting in protest. I mean, also, I assume my ass is pretty much grass here. So I figured I could make a point while jumping off that cliff.”
I give a very faint smile. “Well. Thanks. I don’t think it’ll change anything, though.”
“Oh, not about work,” he agrees. “But between you and me…maybe?”
“How do you mean?”
