Please book a conference room for this afternoon and reply back with the location. One o’clock would be my preferred time but if that isn’t possible, I will make myself available at another time.
Regards,
Theo Rojas
President of Rojas Rum, Inc.
—
Email from Rosy Brown:
To: Theo Rojas
CC: Nora Cooper, Harrison Banks, Libby Banks, Carolina Armas, Markos Rojas, Vincent St. Pierre
Subject: Re: Request for Meeting Today
Dear Mr. Rojas,
Nora is tied up this morning. I have booked the Conch Conference Room located in Building C for 1 p.m.
We look forward to partnering with you to ensure things run as smoothly as possible for this event.
All the best,
Rosy Brown
General Manager, Paradise Bay Resort
Crap. I should have been the one to respond. And double crap, because the last thing I need today is to be held up in some stupid meeting. I have way too much on my plate as it is. I glance over at Kat, who is sitting at her desk, tapping away on her phone and grinning in response to what is presumably some sort of flirty text exchange. Oh, to be nineteen again and not have a care in the world.
She’s been borrowing our mum’s car to come to work every day, since she doesn’t want to have to stay late to get a ride home from me. So far she hasn’t quit, which I suspect is only because of the plethora of man candy available here.
I’ve assigned her a long list of irrelevant tasks—long, so as to discourage her from showing up (awful, I know), and irrelevant, so that if none of it gets done, it won’t affect me negatively.
“Kat, how’d you make out with the name tags for the mixer?”
Not bothering to look up, she says, “I’m on it. They’ll be ready by Saturday.”
“Friday.”
“What?” She finally does me the courtesy of some eye contact.
“Friday. The mixer is tomorrow.”
“Right, they’ll be done by tomorrow.”
“I’d like to have them ready before you go home today, so we can check one more thing off the list.”
Shrugging, she says, “Sure.”
“And you’ll double check the spelling from the guest register, yes?”
“Uh-huh. On it.”
And I’ll block off an hour to get this finished tomorrow, because there’s no way she’s going to do it, and if she does, she won’t get it right.
I spend the rest of the morning answering emails, including a lengthy exchange with the director of housekeeping regarding various special requests. Turns out she’s not all that concerned with providing extra towels for one of the judges, who sent a note from his doctor that he requires four showers per day.
