Page 8 of Burn

“Why are you here? I thought you had today off?” She slides a muffin across the counter to me.

You’re probably thinking, aww, that’s sweet. She brought you breakfast. Don’t let Scarlet Rose fool you.

I know where she got it from. She hijacked it from the breakfast bar we’ve set up on the third floor for the Department of Labor and Industries. They’re occupying most of the floor’s conference rooms during their annual electrical training. They’re also part of the reason I’m using to explain my being here this morning. Without me here today, it leaves Heather in charge, and I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her bony ass. She’s one of many who questions my position here, and I wouldn’t put it past her to do something to make me look bad. I know I can’t be here every minute but I can be here today, broken hearted or not.

I don’t make eye contact with Scarlet and continue to look over Shaw Investments requests for their meeting next week. “I did have today off but there’s just too much to do here.”

“I know you don’t trust her, but it’s Heather’s job as the front desk manager.” Scarlet leans into the counter, scrunching her light brows together just before she adjusts her tight, somewhat overly curly hair in her ponytail. “I’m calling bullshit. What’s going on? Did something happen with Judah last night?”

I turn to her and give her the look. The one that says,I needed you last night and your slutty ass wasn’t home!

Isn’t that what best friends are supposed to do? Comfort you in the time of need? I mean yeah, she didn’t know I was in need, but that’s not the point.

“You know,” I begin, glaring at my friend. “It’s funny you mention last night because I couldn’t help but noticeyoudidn’t come home after your night out.”

Her eyes widen, and she tilts her head to the left, just a smidge. “And how do you know that?”

“I know because I was on your couch, waiting for you so we could cry while eating ice cream, and Doritos nachos.”

There’s a quick moment when I can see she feels bad about not being there for me. But she says, “Yeah, well I was out and anyway, how was I supposed to know you were stalking my couch?” She stands up straighter, smoothing out her uniform. “Wait a minute . . .howexactly did you get into my locked apartment?”

“You left your window open in your nonsmoking apartment you can’t seem to stop smoking in.” Grabbing my folders, the muffin, and cell phone, I walk toward the elevators. “I’ve gotta go. I have a meeting.”

I hear her sigh. “We’re talking about this later.”

“Uh-huh.”

She’s right. We will, but right now I don’t have time.

AS THE GENERAL manager at Wellington Suites, I have a meetingeverysingle morning I’m here, which is usually a minimum of six days a week.

While I’m an early riser, I wouldn’t exactly describe myself as a morning person. I’m even less inclined to describe myself as someone who enjoys meeting with my staff who may or may not be plotting my demise first thing in the morning. Unfortunately, in the hotel industry and especially with a property this large, it’s necessary because of everything we have going on any given day.

Wellington Suites is one of the most successful luxury hotels in downtown Seattle. We’re a popular destination for anything from over-the-top weddings to multiday conferences. Sometimes multiple functions at once so for me to be managing a property of this size at the age of twenty-six definitely has many people waiting for me to fail.

Some of that animosity comes from the fact that the owner of the hotel, Weston Wellington, is my father. It’s nepotism at its finest, but don’t let the fact that my dad gave me the job fool you. This hotel has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. I’ve spent my entire life walking these halls.

My father made sure I worked every job held here so that I would understand the ins and outs of what makes a hotel of this magnitude truly successful—its staff.

Truth be told, the hardest part of my job has been proving myself. Every other senior manager in the hotel thinks the position should be theirs, so it’s a constant battle of having to show them daily that I’m not only competent but also capable.

Our morning meetings are held on the second floor in the Evergreen Room. It’s one of our larger conference rooms, making it big enough to house all our department heads and their egos in one place.

As I walk into the meeting room, I notice Heather, the front desk manager, is sitting in the room alone, twirling locks of her curly blonde-roots-showing hair around a pen. When she notices my presence, she shoots me a look of disapproval, “Where is everyone?”

Bitch acts like she’s been sitting here for hours. “They still have a few minutes.” I smile, despite wanting to take this folder in my hand and slap her right across her pretty pale face. “I’m sure everyone will be here soon.”

And then she has the nerve to say, “I have so much to do this morning.”

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. It’s the same complaint I hear from her every morning. She’s one of those people who is constantly chattering about how busy they are yet I never actually see herdoingmuch of anything but bossing the front desk assistants around.

“I’ll try to make it quick so you can get back to it.” I take a seat at the head of the table trying to force a smile on my broken-hearted face.

There’re a few people at this hotel I can’t stand. Heather is one of them.

We have a total of five senior department heads and with their titles comes some impressive egos. Needless to say, I have my hands full in these meetings.

Just as I thought, people start to slowly file in within minutes. The first to walk in and take a seat right next to Heather is Larry, the Food and Beverage Manager.

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