Page 6 of Villainous Summer

Who even uses checks these days?

“Summer Townsend.”

Mr. Haruki nodded at me. “Summer Townsend, huh?”

“Do you know her?”

Why are you digging yourself deeper in this hole?

“I might. I just might.” He hummed, considering me. “Of course you can bring her. I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned her before. You know I like to think of this place as a family, not coworkers.”

While many corporations used this mantra to get their employees to work grueling, underpaid hours, that wasn’t true for SanoTech. While I wasn’t making nearly as much as my Seattle job, the office closed every day at six, and Mr. Haruki would insist we had no overtime work.

With the back of my thumb, I scratched my jaw in thought. That ridiculous lie was a mistake, but I couldn’t take it back. It was a small town, and I had the women’s address, after all. How hard could it be to track her down? This was foolish, so I might as well go all in to stalker territory.

“I wanted to keep things separate. It’s still pretty new and all.”

“I look forward to seeing you two on Saturday.”

Flashing what I hoped was a convincing smile, I nodded. “Of course, Mr. Haru—Dennis—We look forward to it.”

Once he left, I sank back into my chair and ran a hand over my face. What had I done?

Summer

Imogen stopped by my desk. “Boss, I have a huge favor to ask of you.”

Taking my eyes off the special requests for the Pryce reservation, I glanced up to find my event coordinator huffing.

Smoothing her thick red hair down with a manicured hand, she clutched a bulging folder. “The school just called, and they can’t get a hold of my mom. I guess my brother had been waiting in the office for over twenty minutes.”

Up until six months ago, Imogen’s mother had been the veterinarian at our local Ridgewood Humane Society. But mishaps in the office led to her taking a leave of absence.

“You better get going, then. If you leave now, you’ll beat the ferry traffic on the highway.”

A large smile broke across her freckled face, making her look younger than her twenty-five years.

“Thank you so much! I’ll be back in thirty, maybe even twenty. He’s fourteen, so he should be able to get himself food and all that. I just need to take him back to my parents’.”

“Take your time, Genny. It’s okay.”

With watery eyes, she offered me a smile and sighed in relief. “Oh, and I should be back in time for my prospective wedding tour, but if not, her name is Dakota Lowe. Maybe you could get them a drink while they wait or—”

“I’ll figure something out. Angie should be back from her lunch in ten. I’ll make sure the future bride is taken care of. Now, go before your brother walks home on the side of the highway.”

She left the file with me, which I placed to the side.

My focus now back on the special requests, I pulled out my walkie-talkie to call our housekeeping manager to have chocolate and wine sent up to room 317.

It was a quiet day at the hotel. The historic Sandoval Building, built in 1907, was painstakingly renovated from a general store into forty-seven rooms. With a small speakeasy-style lounge, a smaller gift shop, and the third-floor rooftop garden boasting unobstructed views of Freedom Bay, it’s been popular since its opening.

The owner, Lesa Wu, had hired me straight out of high school to work at the front desk at her Manzanita Inn. After a few years, she gave me more tasks, having me work with the assistant manager for scheduling, then promoted me when the assistant manager quit. By the time she opened Ridgewood Inn, she told me I was the only one she would trust to run the place. It was on her recommendation I was accepted into the Prescott Hotelier internship.

Being behind the desk of a hotel isn’t every little girl’s dream, but I loved it. Its shiny white marble floors, clicking of luggage wheels, the ding of the elevator, and the low chatter of guests. A hotel never really sleeps, and breathing in a part of that was exhilarating.

As a child, my father couldn’t take me on trips, as he, often, worked two jobs. I was lucky if he had time off for day trips.

When I was ten, I joined my good friend Devin at the Freedom Bay Resort for her birthday. While there, we swam in the pool, ran through the halls, and stayed up late on blindingly white sheets, watching reruns of cheesy sitcoms from our parent’s childhood. That’s when I fell in love with hotels. The prepped rooms, the pungent clean scent on the pillowcases. How it could be all yours for the night.

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