13. Mila
Ican stay.
I can stay!
The realization that my mistake isn’t going to cost me after all sustains me all the way through a hurried unpacking, ordering my first food from the castle — more of those prime rib sliders — and texting pictures of my new place to Camille and my parents.
I decide not to bother Brooklyn and Owen, eating my free food while watching my free premium television stations, and constantly looking around at my own little space in the castle, in awe of where I am.
The next morning, I put on one of the three uniforms that were hanging in my closet. Black pants, white shirt, and black vest, all made according to the measurements they had us send in. I hang my ID badge around my neck and head to the meeting room.
Already the halls are making more sense. Staff wing one, staff wing two, main service hall, past the ballroom, and to the offices.
Raya is inside, talking to Ilsa, who has her thick black hair neatly piled high. Brooklyn, too, has her hair pulled back. I finger my curling mass, worrying I should have done the same.
Brooklyn comes over. “The guys are late,” she says. “There’s coffee and pastries. Get the chocolate one. Swoon worthy.”
I pour a cup of coffee. “Should I put my hair up?” I ask.
“It depends on your rotation.”
“Did we find them out?”
“Not yet. I wanted to be prepared.” Brooklyn pulls an elastic band from her wrist. “Here. I’ll do yours.”
She’s a good six inches taller than me, so she has no trouble gathering my hair and twisting it around. She fusses with it a second, then takes a quick shot of me with her phone. She turns the screen to show me. “Good?”
Geez. She’s made an elegant updo with nothing but a hair tie. “It looks great.”
Owen stumbles in, looking tired. “Hey, everyone.”
“Trouble sleeping?” Brooklyn asks.
“I always have to get used to a new place.” He aims straight for the coffee.
Brooklyn steps close to me to whisper, “I wonder how late Maverick will be.”
I glance at the clock. It’s two minutes past the hour.
Raya walks toward us. “Grab some food. We will provide coffee and pastries today and lunch on Friday due to our meetings. Other than that, you’re on your own. There’s a small shop for basics off the lobby, or you can drive or bus to the closest grocery store about two miles up the highway. It’s a pretty far walk, though, since it’s almost half a mile up the long drive to get to the main road.”
“Who has cars?” Brooklyn asks. “Most of us arrived in rentals.”
“I do,” I say.
Ilsa doesn’t answer.
“I can take us all for a run one evening, if you want.” I might as well extend the offer to Ilsa, even though I’m not sure how close we’ll get. She has an iron shell around her.
“Excellent,” Raya says. “Mila, thank you for being a team player. Grab your plates, and we can review today’s plan.”
We’re all settled at a long white table when Maverick finally wanders in. He nods at us before heading toward the coffee.
“I have a saying,” Raya calls out. “Early is on time. On time is late.”
“He’s neither of those,” Brooklyn whispers.
Maverick shrugs as he fills a white ceramic mug. “Sounds like I’m going to be late a lot.”
Brooklyn shakes her head. I’m sure we’re thinking the same thing. How is he even here? There were hundreds of applicants for these spots.
He takes his time choosing pastries, at one point saying, “I hope nobody’s staring at my butt.”
Raya looks like her head is going to pop off. She grips her pen so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t snap. Her face and neck are bright pink.
Brooklyn, Owen, and I exchange uneasy glances. Ilsa sits ramrod straight, attentive, as if her perfect professionalism will rub off on Maverick.
Finally, he sidles over to the table, setting down his plate and cup, and turning his chair around backwards to straddle it. “Carry on.”
Raya’s voice is hard-edged. “Maverick, you have three strikes before I fire you. Consider today’s tardiness a warning. I’m assigning you to the dish room today. Consider every broken dish a strike.”
He’s made an enemy for sure. I wonder what his game is. He clearly doesn’t want to be here.
He takes a big bite of a flaky croissant, then dusts his hands of the particles. “Here’s what I know,” he says, aiming his words at her like they’re darts. “I’m not easily fired. You know why. Also, I’m really good when I decide to do something. We’ll see what I decide today.”
Brooklyn and I glance at each other again. What does he mean, he’s not easily fired? Is he part of Havannah’s family or something?
I silently pray I’m not put on a shift with him. He’s clearly going to be like the classmate in the group project who drags everyone else down.
Raya stares at him in disbelief. “Maverick, I’m not sure I’m interested in being in your presence any longer.” She picks up her cell phone and taps a quick message. “Henry from the dish room is on his way to escort you to your assignment.”
Maverick shrugs and takes another bite of his croissant.
Raya turns to the rest of us. “Most shifts last a whole week, but a few are only one or two days. Today, the rest of you will go in pairs. Brooklyn and Mila, you will be at the front desk to learn check-in procedures. Owen and Ilsa, we will start you with room service. There’s a system that moves an order to fulfillment.”
She taps on her phone. “Kennedy will come from room service, and Aisha will arrive from the front desk.”
Aisha. Oh, no. She’s the one who saw me with Sebastian yesterday. And it feels like the lobby is where I’m most likely to run into him.
I wish I were with room service. Or even the dish room. Folding towels sounds good, too.
Raya continues. “Next Monday, we will bring a certification team on site to administer the tests for food management. We want everyone in the program to be certified for all areas in case you need to pitch in. We have set aside Friday afternoon for a review. If you’re worried about passing, I recommend you study the materials over the weekend.”
Owen raises his hand. “If we have national certification, do we still need to do Colorado?”
“Yes,” she says. “Just to keep things neat and square. That way, we know everyone is up to date and when you need to renew.”
He nods.
Maverick has stopped eating his pastry, scowling into his coffee. He probably resents having to redo work he’s already done. Many hospitality programs require certification. It’s like Raya says, sometimes you have to pitch in, or if your certified food manager doesn’t show, you serve as the required one in the kitchen.
Not that I expect it would happen here. Probably everyone is certified.
A middle-aged Hispanic man in the same black pants and white shirt as us, but with a white apron rather than a vest, steps into the room.
“Ah, there’s Henry,” Raya says. “Maverick, he’ll take you to your station. If all goes well today, we’ll find another rotation for you tomorrow.”
His chair scoots back with a squeal. He stands up and leaves with Henry, not bothering to pick up his plate or cup.
Raya stares at it a moment, as if trying to compose herself. “If you all want to get ready, I’m sure Aisha and Kennedy will be here shortly.” She touches her tablet, and the screen lights up.
We stand and pick up our plates. Both Owen and Ilsa, who were seated on either side of Maverick, reach for his leftovers to clear.
“I’ve got this,” Owen says cordially.
But Ilsa grabs them. “No, I have it,” she hisses.
Brooklyn and I share a confused look. What’s going on here?
Owen shrugs, moving toward the end of the serving table where a plastic bin waits for our dishes.
Ilsa hovers over Maverick’s until Raya looks up, then makes a big show of stacking the extras.
“Oh, thank you for that, Ilsa,” Raya says.
So that’s why.
I head to the table to set my dishes in the bin. Brooklyn leans in. “So we have a slacker and a suck up among us.”
I nod.
A woman with wild red hair dashes in, a headset cocked back on her curls. “Morning is crazy. Who are my interns?”
“Those two,” Raya says, pointing to Ilsa and Owen.
“Let’s go,” she says. “I left Gina alone with the buzz board!”
The three of them hurry out.
Brooklyn and I wait by the door. Raya seems preoccupied, and I for one don’t want to rile her any more than Maverick already did. She’s a tough nut, for sure, and I wonder how she’d take the news that I slept with her boss and he proposed a secret relationship away from the hotel.
Thank goodness I had the presence of mind to turn that down, even though I didn’t want to.
Aisha arrives and can’t quite hide her look of surprise when she sees me. “You’re one of the interns?”
I nod. “There was a mix-up.” I feel Brooklyn turn to me, but I don’t look at her. I hope she doesn’t ask about it. I’m not ready for questions.
“Well, let’s go. Jessica is handling the desk and Sebastian has stepped in, but it’s almost check-out time, and it will only get busier from here.”
I try not to let my step falter as I follow her down the hall, her black pouf of hair swaying as she hurries.
We are dressed like her in our black pants and vests. The only difference is the red swatch of fabric in the tiny pocket on her chest. Ours are empty. I wonder if that’s how people will know we are interns.
“What are your names?” she asks.
“I’m Brooklyn.”
“Mila.”
“Got it. Blonde Brooklyn, Meet-again Mila. I use alliteration to remember names.”
Ooooh, I wish she hadn’t said that.
“You two already met?” Brooklyn asks.
“Just briefly in the lobby yesterday,” I say.
But she’s curious. I don’t want her to be curious!
I count all the people who know Sebastian and I interacted before we should have met. Aisha, Bertie, Ilsa. I hope it can stay limited to that.
When we arrive in the lobby, there is a line of families at the desk. Bertie directs bellboys with carts, the doorman is answering questions, and Sebastian and a mid-fifties woman work behind the desk.
The woman is concentrating hard, but Sebastian is all smiles, as if every person who walks up is making his day.
“That’s Jessica,” Aisha says. “I’m going to have to jump in. Watch from behind the desk, and if we can use you, we’ll direct you.”
We weave through the kids and suitcases and circle the desk. Aisha opens a third station, and the families surge forward.
Sebastian turns to us, and my heart speeds up as our eyes meet.
“Hello!” he says. “Why don’t you two help everyone with the lines? Chat them up. Keep it organized. It will settle down in about half an hour, then ramp up again around eleven when the last wave comes through.”
Brooklyn and I head back into the fray. She immediately starts directing people into three lines. I should do something, but I’m trying to catch my breath from seeing Sebastian in his element.
For a moment, I remember his smile in the bar, our lively conversation. And of course later, in the hotel, his body hovering over mine. He was so happy that night.
I was, too.
“Excuse me, can you call us a taxi?” a man asks me. “We’re going to be cutting it close to get to the airport.”
“Of course,” I tell him. “I’ll be right back.”
But as I head to Bertie to ask him the procedures for calling a taxi, my gaze keeps sliding back to Sebastian, charming his way through the line, making more than one woman twirl her hair as she looks at him.
And I wonder if saying no to him is something I can stick to.