The Rogue and His Flower (Princetown Heirs #2)

Chapter 8

DALTON

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I’m terribly sorry, Sir, Madam. I’m happy to provide you with complimentary meals in our restaurant for the remainder of your stay,” Daisy says to the couple standing before her at the reception desk at the hotel a few days later.

My footsteps still, hidden by the large marble pillar that brackets either side of the reception area. I listen in on the conversation taking place between Daisy and the disgruntled couple glaring at her.

“That’s not good enough, my husband and I expect our suite to be spotless, and our dry cleaning to be delivered in a timely manner. This is supposed to be a five-star hotel. Quite frankly, what you’re offering as compensation is ludicrous,” the snobbish woman replies, her nose lifting in the air as though she’s smelt something she doesn’t like.

“There was a slight misunderstanding with regards to when you’d need your dry cleaning returned, so I took the liberty of delivering it personally to the laundry team,” Daisy replies. “It will be ready within the hour and returned to your room in good time for this evening’s event. I have also inspected your suite myself, and I’m happy to say that it is spotless. As for your disappointment, I’m offering you complimentary meals, to include alcohol, for the remainder of your stay,” Daisy persists, her smile widening as she tries to hide the glint of annoyance in her eyes.

“Regardless, we are regular patrons of this hotel and as I’ve already explained, we are very good friends with the hotel owner, Carl Gunn. I’m sure he would be disgusted at the lack of customer service provided, as well as the very apparent disregard of our complaint,” the woman’s husband says, a man who I do not recognise, and given his apparent friendship with my father, I probably should. Either he’s lying, or he is a newly acquired friend that I haven’t yet had the displeasure to meet.

Daisy turns her attention to the man. “I’m sorry you still feel disappointed with the service you’ve received despite myself and my team members ensuring that your complaints have been listened to and any issues you have raised, rectified.”

“Are you suggesting that we’re being difficult?” the woman asks.

“Not at all,” Daisy replies, her voice saccharine.

I know her well enough to know she’s losing her patience fast, and as she opens her mouth to continue, I step out from behind the pillar and stride towards them.

“What seems to be the problem?” I ask.

“And who might you be?” the woman replies, her lips pursed as I approach.

“I am the manager of the hotel, Dalton Gunn,” I explain, as Daisy mutters something indistinguishable under her breath. “Though given you know my father so well, I’d assume you’d already know that.”

The couple’s attitude instantly changes upon hearing my name, and dare I say it, the man looks more than a little uncomfortable, telling me that he does not in fact know my father at all.

“Mr Gunn, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” the man says, holding his hand out to shake.

I take it, making sure to squeeze his hand tight. “And your name?” I ask, releasing him.

“Geoffrey Sinclair. This is my wife Octavia.”

“Geoffrey and Octavia Sinclair?” I question, pausing for a moment as I pretend to recollect their names. “And did I hear you correctly when you said that you’re both very good friends with my father?”

“I—” Geoffrey begins, but I cut him off.

“Which is interesting because I don’t think I have ever heard him mention either of you.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see Daisy smother a smile, her eyes widening at my very obvious ploy to catch them in their lie. There’s nothing more that I hate than someone name dropping to gain special treatment.

Geoffrey clears his throat uncomfortably, exchanging a quick glance with his wife before plastering a fake smile back on his face. “My wife and I attend the same golf club as your father, have done so now for years,” he stammers, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

“Golf club? My father hasn’t played golf for at least ten years, he’s been too busy building a billion pound empire,” I counter, folding my arms across my chest and arching a brow. “Interesting then how close you are with him,” I add.

“It must’ve slipped his mind mentioning us, but we do appreciate all your efforts to make things right, Mr Gunn,” Octavia interjects smoothly whilst her husband turns a deep shade of red.

“I have made no effort at all, but Daisy clearly has. In fact, as far as I can tell she has bent over backwards to assist you, and I think what would be appropriate right now is for both of you to thank her for all her efforts, then graciously accept her rather generous offer of complimentary meals in our five star restaurant for the remainder of your stay.”

“Well… I… This is most—” Octavia blusters, her face draining of colour.

“Awkward?” I finish for her.

Geoffrey and Octavia exchange nervous glances, clearly caught in their web of lies. I glance at Daisy who stands silently behind the desk, a mix of amusement and satisfaction flickering in her eyes.

“Well?” I persist, not letting them get away with their rudeness.

“Thank you, Daisy, we appreciate what you have done for us,” Geoffrey mumbles.

I stare at Octavia until she gives her apology too. “Thank you,” she says tightly.

“Excellent, have a good day,” I retort, turning my attention away from them as they both scurry off.

As soon as they are out of earshot, Daisy bursts into laughter, unable to contain her amusement for a moment longer. “That was well played,” she giggles, but her smile falters when I glare at her. “What?”

“How often have you been offering freebies to arseholes who pretend to know my father?”

She blanches. “Are you seriously getting angry at me for trying to manage this situation in a professional manner? Would you have preferred it if I told them to fuck off and take their business elsewhere?” she replies, bristling.

“Of course I don’t expect you to tell them to ‘fuck-off’, Daisy, but I will not tolerate people trying to manipulate freebies with lies.”

“And somehow their behaviour is my fault? I’m just doing my job,” she hisses as the lobby door swings open with new arrivals checking in. “What’s that saying, the customer is always right?”

“You don’t need to bend over backward for those kinds of people who think dropping my father’s name will get them special treatment. This is a business, not a free-for-all,” I counter, not sure why I’m pissed off with her given she’s done nothing but try to handle the situation diplomatically.

“And how, exactly, should I have handled the situation?” she presses, folding her arms across her chest.

“How about running it by me first?”

“I tried to. I sent an email earlier today when the complaint first came to my attention, and I also tried calling you, but you didn’t respond to that either. I had to make an executive decision.”

“You’re not in a position to make an executive decision,” I retort sharply. “You man the reception, not run the bloody hotel.”

“Why are you being such an arsehole?” she snaps, her eyes flicking to the people approaching.

“In future, make sure you come to me first,” I snap, striding off towards my office wondering why the fuck I’m so angry.

An hour later I hear a knock at my door. “Come in,” I say, my eyes fixed on my computer screen, not bothering to look up.

“What the hell was that all about earlier?”

My head snaps up as Daisy steps into my office, slamming the door behind her. She’s clearly not gotten over our earlier interaction given the furious glint in her eye, but rather than give her an apology for acting the way I did, I find myself narrowing my eyes at her, enjoying her anger a little bit too much. It’s always been fun to push her buttons, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I can’t help myself. After last night and the way she cut our conversation short, it’s the least she deserves.

“It’s not your break time yet,” I say, folding my arms across my chest and leaning back in my chair, eyeing her.

“Since when did you pay attention to when I have my break times?”

“Since the moment I took over running this hotel. It’s my job to know where my staff are at any given point in the day.”

“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, I’ve swapped my break with Samantha,” she retorts just as sharply as she takes a seat opposite me. “So?”

“So what?”

“So why were you a complete dicksplash earlier?”

“Firstly, what the hell kind of cuss is ‘dicksplash’, and secondly, I told you why I was pissed off. I don’t like you making decisions like that without my approval, and especially not to people who name drop. We’re a business–”

“That was called customer service,” she snaps, cutting me off. “It’s my job to resolve issues.”

“Your job is to check people in and man the reception area,” I remind her.

“And to deal with customer complaints, but I don’t expect you to know that given you’ve never taken an interest in my role before now.”

“I stand corrected, but in future leave those kinds of decisions to me.”

She huffs out an angry breath. “What’s really the issue here? Are you still pissed at me for not wanting to talk last night?”

“No,” I lie, hating the way she’s so easily able to read me.

“Because if that’s the case then just say so, and stop acting like a?—”

“Dicksplash?” I offer, my eyes narrowing on her.

“I was actually going to say twat, but given you’re being both it really doesn’t matter either way.”

“If you’re just going to sit here and insult me, then you can leave.”

“If you’re just going to ignore the fact that you acted out of line, I think I’ll stay until you apologise, thank you very much!” she counters, her voice rising in frustration.

“You’ll be waiting a very long time,” I retort, turning my attention back to the screen.

“I don’t understand you,” she says, throwing her hands up in the air.

“There’s nothing to understand,” I reply with a shrug. “I’m your boss, and what I say goes.”

“Fine, you need to have final say on how I choose to accommodate unhappy guests, I hear you loud and clear, but that isn’t what I meant, and you know it!”

“I don’t,” I reply, leaning forward on my desk. “Care to enlighten me?”

“Dalton!” she snaps, but despite the anger in her voice, it’s the way her eyes glisten with tears, which she furiously blinks away, that keeps my attention. “I don’t understand why you would get those arseholes to apologise to me, and then treat me with the same contempt. Make it make sense.”

Dragging in a deep breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose. She’s right. If I were in her shoes, I’d be fucking confused, and angry, too. “Look, it just threw me, that’s all.”

“What, the fact they pretended to know your father?”

“No, the way they spoke to you. It pissed me off.” I admit, surprising myself with the confession, because up until right now I didn’t actually realise that was the issue. I thought I was still pissed off about her reaction last night, but I see now that’s not the case.

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“It’s the truth,” I admit.

The way they looked down on her, like she was shit on their shoe, angered me, just like the way my father spoke to her last night pissed me off. Both times I let her down. Instead of telling those arseholes to get the fuck out of the hotel, I’d allowed them to give her a half-hearted apology and keep their fucking freebie. I was more angry at myself than her, and rather than explain that, I took my anger out on the one person who didn’t deserve it because I’m incapable of communicating my feelings.

“And yet you spoke to me in the exact same way,” she points out, shaking her head in frustration. “Can you see why I might be confused?”

“I was out of line, I’m sorry. There, feel better?” I offer.

Jesus fuck, I can’t even apologise without being an arsehole.

“Not particularly, no.”

“What do you want me to say?” I question.

“I want you to communicate with me because you aren’t making any sense!”

“Like you communicated with me last night?”

“So this is about last night?” she counters, huffing again.

“It has shit all to do with that. I’m just making a point.” Again, another lie, because it is, partly.

“Whatever you say,” she grumbles.

“I didn’t like how they treated you, and I’m sorry I treated you poorly too. I’m sorry. Okay?”

Yep, still an arsehole.

“You know what, forget about it. I’ll go back to work checking people in, and manning the reception area,” she says with more than a little sarcasm, “And you can go back to…” Her voice trails off as she waves her hand at my computer screen. “Whatever it is you’re doing.”

Pushing up from her seat she strides to the door, and as her hand wraps around the door handle, I say, “Daisy, wait.”

“What, Dalton?” she snaps, her voice dripping with venom. “Are you going to tell me how you promised Drix that you’ll take care of me like you did last night like a fucking creeper when you came into my bedroom? Because I can tell you that you’re doing a terrible job at it.”

My face drains of colour as I struggle to find the words to defend myself. “You were awake last night?”

“Yes, and I can also tell you that you are fucking up your attempts to take care of me. For a brief moment back there I thought you’d turned over a new leaf until you messed it all up,” she adds with a bitter laugh. “How could I ever think that you of all people could change? You’ve spent your whole life treating people just like that couple treated me.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I just did?!” she shouts in frustration.

“I’m talking about being awake last night, Daisy.”

“Probably for the same reason you’re not telling me everything now,” she retorts, her voice laced with bitterness.

“And why’s that?” I ask, feeling a knot form in my stomach. A knot that has no business twisting up my guts.

“Because I think we can both agree that we can’t trust each other with anything, let alone the truth,” she spits out, before yanking open the door and storming out.