“You don’t get it,” she cried, colour rising to her face. “You’re here to learn, Caleb, not to make changes. If you want to know why their checklist is so long, spend a week cleaning rooms. I’ve done it, and I guarantee the Head of Housekeeping has too. Until you understandwhyit is the way it is, nobody is going to listen to your ideas.” She turned on her heel, muttering, “Least of all, me,” and strutted away, leaving the scent of her perfume lingering in my office.
A couple of hours later,I headed down to the restaurant. I hadn’t announced myself, hadn’t booked anything, and frankly didn’t see why I should have to. If I was going to understand how this place worked, I needed to see it in real time.
I took a seat at the bar and ordered a Perrier with ice and lemon.The bartender—Louisa, according to her name tag—served it with a polite smile that edged into curiosity.
Word travelled fast in buildings like this.
I hadn’t been there long when Nyah appeared, her heels striking the floor with purpose. Francois, the restaurant manager, hovered just behind her shoulder.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded. “You can’t drink while you’re working. What kind of example are you setting for the rest of the staff?”
I turned on the stool and lifted my glass slightly. “This is Perrier with ice and lemon.”
She glanced at Louisa, who nodded quickly.
“I’m sorry,” Nyah said, and for a moment her tone softened. Then she glanced back at me. “So what are you doing down here?”
“Exactly what you asked,” I said. “I’m learning how the place works. And I have to say,”—I flicked my eyes briefly toward Francois before returning them to her—“I see room for improvement.”
Her posture stiffened immediately. “I beg your pardon?”
Instead of answering her directly, I called Louisa over. “Hi, Louisa. Your boss told you who I am, didn’t he?”
Louisa bit her lip, nervously eyeing what, in her opinion, was probably far too much management in her bar. “He didn’t tell me. I recognized you.”
“From Twitter?”
She nodded.
“Excellent.” I gestured toward a group of three men nearby. “Do you recognize that guy over there? The one in the golf shirt.”
She squinted. “No.”
“He’d be flattered if you did. His name’s Mike Weir. Won a Masters a while back.”
“Is that golf?” she asked.
I nodded. “Do you ever flirt for tips?”
Her eyes darted briefly toward Francois. “Maybe.”
“Why don’t you go ask him for an autograph? Bring the whisky list while you’re at it. See if he and his friends are thirsty.”
A smile crept over Louisa’s features.
Nyah watched, arms folded, clearly unconvinced.
Louisa retrieved a drinks menu from behind the bar, armed with a marker and a beer coaster to write on, lifted the flap and stepped out onto their side of the bar.
“Louisa,” I added, stopping her. I nodded toward a long table of women. “On your way back, see that lady in the Christian Louboutin heels?”
Nyah noticed her immediately.
It was impossible not to.
“I’ve got it, Mr. Evans,” Louisa said with a grin.
“This won’t work,” Francois muttered under his breath.
