Did she update a single line in the spreadsheet? Did she call any of the restaurants to confirm their business hours? Maybe gather some information about the new sushi spot in town? No, no, and no.
What she did do was give me a ten-minute explanation of how Café Caribe prepares their piranha dish, because apparently the carnivorous fish is not actually toxic to eat, although it doesn’t taste the best, which is why they marinate it in some lime-infused whatever the fuck, and by the time she was done yapping about the whole thing, I had a headache.
When I’d reminded her about the spreadsheet, her eyes had gotten big and she’d immediately started apologizing. And yes, she’d then worked overtime in order to get the spreadsheet taken care of. But ever since then, I’ve had to watch her every move. Which isn’t my preferred management style, to be frank, but since the busy season starts this week, I couldn’t take the risk of leaving her to her own devices and having things blow up in my face once the agency’s new clients start checking in. We’re known for a high level of service here, and I can’t let anything jeopardize our reputation.
This is all Becker’s fault.
I still can’t quite figure out if Daisy is incredibly ditzy, doesn’t give a shit about this job, or is flat out trying to sabotage us. She’s a courtesy hire for Becker’s friend, however, so I’m assuming it’s not the latter. And since she’s a courtesy hire, she’s also not getting fired…yet.
Besides, I still need to find out what she knows about Becker’s past. Daisy has to have heardsomethingfrom her brother. It doesn’t even need to be anything spicy; just knowing Beck was in Boy Scouts or Yale’s chess club would constitute good intel. I mean, it’s just not possible that the man has no past. Nate and I have wondered for years if Beck is in witness protection or worked in black ops, or if he’s trying to hide a childhood that was somehow sordid or tragic. Inquiring minds want to know.
I take the private elevator from my set of rooms down to the lobby at 8 a.m. Margo, who handles reservations and works at the front desk, waves me over as I’m on my way to the management offices.
“Good morning, Mr. Argos,” she says. “Your guests’ arrival for later this morning has been confirmed. Their plane took off as scheduled from Miami and they’ll be landing in about ninety minutes. We already sent a limo to wait for them.”
“Perfect. And their suites are all ready? Pillows fluffed, flowers arranged, et cetera?”
“Yes, and the rooms are located at opposite ends of the third floor, as you requested.”
“Thank you, Margo.”
She holds out a sheet of paper. “The family also sent a shopping list of personal items that they’d like delivered to their room before they get here. Shall I get started on this, sir?”
Ah, Margo. So professional, so efficient. “I appreciate it, but as you know, it’s the concierge’s job.” I take the list. “Daisy will make sure it’s taken care of.”
But when I get to my office, I find Daisy sitting at my desk, staring dreamily off into space.
“I appreciate your improved punctuality today, Daisy, but what exactly are you doing?”
“Oh!” She pops up from the chair and smooths her skirt. “The, um, internet browser was restricted on my computer, so I thought I’d use yours. Only it’s password protected.”
“It is. What do you need the internet browser for?”
She tugs the end of her ponytail, looking nervous. “I wanted to do some research for an itinerary…for a guest?”
This piques my interest. “Which guest? Did someone put in a request?”
Her cheeks go pink. “Um, no. This would be for a future guest. Not a guest we have yet. Just in case they wanted someone to plan a day in paradise for them. I was thinking parasailing?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I take a deep, calming breath. “It’s a good idea, Daisy, but I have more pressing matters for you to address. Building itineraries is something we do upon request, and we tailor them to each specific guest, per their interests. You’re just making more work for yourself, when what I need you to do is handle the work that I give you. Sound good?”
“Yes, Mr. Argos. Absolutely.”
She nods, her brunette ponytail bouncing, and I’m struck once again by how young she is. How inexperienced. No matter how clearly I try to give her direction, she always ends up sidetracked somehow. I still can’t believe Becker saddled me with her, and for what? A favor for an old friend of his?
“I have to make a few phone calls. Go back to your desk and take care of this list.”
I hand over the list that Margo made.
“Okay. Sure.” She glances down, her brow furrowing. “Wait. What is this for?”
Forcing a smile, I say, “This is a list of personal items that we need to obtain for the guests arriving later this morning. Their names and room numbers are at the top of the page. Remember when we talked about making special accommodations for guests?”
“Yes. But…I forgot—what do I do now? Should I Uber to town and buy all this stuff?”
“We have personal shoppers to do this,” I remind her. “Make some calls.”
“Okay, but…I forgot—where do we keep their contact info?”
