Storage rooms are empty. Just shelves of lotions and oils and rocks or stones or—actually, just all kinds of things I can’t identify despite knowing the wordsseaweed wrapandfacials.
Laundry room’s empty too. Which leaves a small locker room—also empty—and a single stall bathroom with the light off and the door wide open.
I’m about to head to the main floor, knowing I’m at risk of running into Jonas and Emma again, when the door to the back stairway opens, and Margot steps through with her arms loaded down with towels and sheets.
“Hey,” I say.
She shrieks.
I hold up both hands. “Just me.”
“Oh my god, I thought you were the moose.”
I look down at my clothes.
Huh.
Moose-brown uniform shirt today. Didn’t do that on purpose.
I shake my head. “Jonas Rutherford is here.Herehere. In the spa here. With his wife.”
“Oh, fuck. Seriously?”
I grab the laundry. “Don’t worry. Got you covered.”
“I have to wash those.”
Not grinning at that is impossible. She trails me into the laundry room, where I shove the towels and sheets into a single load. “You’re about to be banned from laundry duty.”
“Towels and sheets separate, Rhys,” she hisses, which is a question I wonder if she’s ever thought about before in her life.
“Oh, don’t worry, this isn’t the worst you’ll do to get banned from laundry duty.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I—”
My radio squawks to life. “Situation in the main laundry room,” Cynthia says. “Someone locate Margie Johnson. She needs to clean up her mess.”
Margot looks down at the radio clipped to my hip.
Then back up at me.
“What did you do?” She whispers the question with a cringe, but her voice holds an air of reverence.
I toss a normal amount of the right detergent into the washing machine and start the cycle for her. “Youused dish soap instead of laundry detergent in the washing machines.”
Her blue eyes flare wide.
And my grin keeps growing as I lift the radio. “Just ran into her,” I report to our boss. “I’ll bring her down.”
“You’re evil,” she whispers.
“You’re fucking welcome.” I hustle her toward the back door at the exact instant the stairwell door slams shut again behind us. “Dada, we get mama a tweat?” a little voice says.
“We’re going on an adventure,” Jonas Rutherford replies.
Margot’s shoulders stiffen as I grab the door and open it for her. I glance back at Jonas, give him a brief nod, then follow Margot out.
