I suddenly become aware that the lobby is completely silent. Everyone has stopped what they were doing to see how this is going to play out. Rosy is the only one distracted by the computer screen. She claps her hands together and says, “I’ll be damned. You got it to work.”
Kevin rolls his eyes, even though it’s clear he’s trying to hide his own sense of relief. “Obviously.”
With the computer crisis averted, Rosy glances back and forth between Leo and I. Pointing her finger at him, she says, “I know you heard what she had to say about you, so you better pick up your socks today, or this isn’t going to work out.”
“Of course,” he says. “I shall do my best to turn things around.”
“Good,” she says. “I gotta go. You two kids play nice in the sandbox.”
CHAPTER 9
Too Many Alphas in the Pack
Leopold
I finally understand why people use the phrase “a fish out of water” to describe moments when you are out of your element. It’s my second shift as a bellboy, and I feel like I’m flopping around on the floor, making a big mess of everything.
My supervisor has a chip on her shoulder that must weigh twenty pounds because she is the most surly, snappy woman I’ve ever met. I have no idea why I found her so attractive when I first met her. Well, actually, Ido.It’s because she’s empirically attractive—smart, pretty, delightfully curvy. But no matter how good-looking or smart a person is, how could anyone marry someone like her? Her husband must be either a saint or a masochist because otherwise, there’s no way anyone could live with her. And her poor daughter, having to grow up with someone so devoid of joy.
Actually, that’s not true. She’s nice to everyonebutme. Right now, she’s having a warm and cozy chat with one of the receptionists over at their desk. She’s even laughing—and come to think of it, it’s the kind of laugh that could fool you into believing she’s a nice person.
Huh. So I guess itispersonal. But honestly, what have I done that is so horribly offensive to her? The only thing I can think of is that she’s perturbed at my very existence. Maybe she hates men. Or rich people. Or rich men. Or just me.
And to be honest, I’m no longer a fan of hers either, not after witnessing her efforts to get me fired for simply being new at my job. I’m currently at the concierge desk going over the list of instructions Brianna wrote out for me a few minutes ago. This would have been rather helpful yesterday, don’t you think?
Vital Phone Numbers:
Catering Manager: Dial 9, then 551
Janitorial Manager: Dial 9, then 244
Security: Guards are posted here but should they be away, Dial 9, then 322
Luggage Cart: Largest items go on first. Ensure they are stable before stacking bags on them. Use hooks for carry-on bags that have straps. Ensure your view won’t be obstructed by items while pushing the cart.
Conduct: Do not flirt with female guests (or male guests, for that matter). Do not flirt with staff members. Do not flirt, full stop. Do not hold your hand out for a tip and say, “Sharing is caring.”
ABW: Always Be Watching for work that needs doing. Has something been spilled on the floor? Wipe it up or call janitorial for larger spills and put cones around the wet area. Cones are located in the closet (first door to your right in the hall where the offices are located). Are we low on juice/water? Are the luggage carts lined up like soldiers? Is your shirt tucked in properly?
So this is a little obnoxious, no? No flirting, full stop? That’s a rather vague concept. One person’s flirting is another person’s friendliness. Not to mention the fact that she’s basically ordering me not to have any fun whatsoever. And when did having some fun hurt anything?
Well, I suppose one could say there are countless examples of fun doing a great deal of harm. Like any time any teenager has unprotected sex, or anytime anyone brings a handgun to a house party to show it off, but still. Flirting is not in the same category at all. It literally is harmless. Unless someone harms you for doing it, like that married guy last night who wanted to fight me in the parking lot.
But never mind any of this. I should just forget about it because I have bigger fish to fry. I need to figure out where the hell I’m going to live by the end of this week, and I don’t have the first clue how to do it. This morning, I asked Pierce if he knew where I could rent something cheap, but he was no help at all. He said, “Define cheap.”
So I told him what my hourly wage is, at which point he laughed uncontrollably until tears were streaming down his face. Then he said, “You’re so fucked” as he walked down the hall to his office. As soon as he closed the door, he began laughing again. Arsehole.
The entire exchange did make me realize that I need to find a higher paying job—possibly something without the word “boy” at the end of it. I glance around, spotting the security guards standing at the front. They’re the alpha dogs around here. They’ve got those wicked security earpieces in and dark-blue baseball caps on that say “Paradise Bay Security.” Guard has a much better ring to it than boy. Security guard. Bodyguard. Women love anyone that can guard them. Plus, I bet they get paida lotmore than me. Probably a cool million a year or some such. I could score a pretty sweet pad with that kind of cash. Maybe oceanfront with a maid. I wonder if they might have an opening?
Checking the schedule on the wall, I can see we’ve got another ten minutes until the next busload of guests arrive, so I decide to go introduce myself. Can’t hurt to let them know there’s another alpha in the house, right?
“Hello, fellas,” I say, smiling at the two men who were deep in a conversation that I realize I’ve just interrupted. Suddenly, I’m unusually nervous. They’re much bigger up close, and to them, I’m just a lowly bellboy.
Mario gives me a little nod. “Hey, man.”
“Whatcha talking about?”Whatcha talking about?Really? Have I suddenly turned into an eight-year-old girl at recess?
The tall one whose name tag reads “Todd” says, “The Cricket World Cup.”
