Chapter 4
JIYA
“Roger,” I said to the front desk manager.
“This operating system is too old for the needs of the front desk agents and housekeepers. This is the third time a guest has walked in while the housekeeper was still cleaning the room.” I could not hold myself back any longer.
Frustration had been building inside me for weeks, pressing harder and harder against my restraint until it finally spilled out.
“Investing in the Cloudbeds system will help tremendously since it tells us when the guest has checked out, when the housekeeper has finished cleaning the room, and when the new guest can enter the room.”
“I didn’t ask for your suggestion, Jiya,” Roger said irritably. “The General Manager is not interested in your suggestions either.”
“But—”
“No buts, just do what you’re supposed to,” he said, “or we’ll find someone who can.”
His eyes squinted at me in warning, and the contempt in his expression made my stomach tighten.
I forced myself to stay silent. Arguing further would only make things worse.
It would give him more reason to paint me as difficult, more reason to push me out.
So I swallowed everything I wanted to say and stood there with my jaw locked so tightly it hurt.
I walked out of his office without another word.
No one wants to listen to reason or advice to make life easier. The thought burned in my mind as I clenched my jaw. I cursed under my breath, frustration simmering inside me.
The General Manager, a woman in her late sixties, had dismissively waved my idea off when I suggested a loyalty card during the weekly meeting.
She had not even wanted to listen to me or any of the other staff, which had frustrated me even more.
I still remembered standing there in the meeting room, trying to explain how a loyalty program could bring returning guests and boost revenue, only to see her waving her hand as if she were swatting away an annoying fly.
How could a person like that stay in that role and get away with her actions? Didn’t the owner care at all?
Time and time again, I gave my input on how to improve operations, but I was shut down by the department heads and the General Manager.
Out of spite, they made me do jobs outside my remit.
I could see it clearly for what it was, even if they pretended otherwise.
There was no mistaking the pattern anymore.
Every time I spoke up, I paid for it later.
Desperate to hold on to this job since my medical benefits would kick in soon, I tried to control my tongue.
Every time I heard the frustrations of the employees around me, it took everything in me not to speak up.
It went against every instinct I had built over the years in hospitality.
I was used to noticing inefficiencies. I was used to solving problems. I was used to leading.
As difficult as it was, I forced myself to ignore their hindrances and continue my tasks.
I kept reminding myself that this job was temporary.
I only needed stability until the baby arrived.
Exhausted every evening when I got home, I tried to give my best to Lucas and keep things together.
The morning sickness had stopped after the third month, but I still felt weak and drained of energy most days.
Some evenings, I barely had enough strength to make dinner before collapsing into bed.
There were nights when I stood at the stove stirring a pot with one hand while the other pressed against the ache in my lower back, wondering how much longer I could keep pushing through sheer will alone.
I eagerly waited for the weekends and made sure I disconnected myself from work during that time. Those two days were the only time my mind could breathe. They were the only stretch of hours when I could pretend I was building a life instead of barely holding one together.
Mid-October, my day was cut short at work.
“But Roger, I was not the one who authorized this transaction. It was—”
“I don’t care. The customer has been charged for this transaction. He is now threatening to file a lawsuit against us because of you,” he roared.
“But it wasn’t me. Just look at—”
“I don’t want to hear it. You’re fired. Pack up your belongings and leave!”
The words echoed in my ears like a gunshot. I stood there frozen as though my mind needed extra time to process what had just happened. Then the shock gave way to heat—anger, humiliation, disbelief—all of it crashing through me at once.
Grinding my teeth, I marched out of the office. My hands trembled with anger as the truth replayed in my mind. It was his authorization on the paper, but he would rather blame the new girl than risk getting kicked out of his job. Coward.
I grabbed my jacket and bag from the locker room, my movements stiff and mechanical. My chest felt tight, and I struggled to keep my emotions under control. After handing over my ID and access card, I exited the hotel.
The cool air outside hit my face, but it did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside me. I drove around aimlessly, replaying the scene in my head again and again.
How could he throw me out? How could he look me in the face and do that when he knew full well the authorization had been his?
My body tensed as the pressure built in my chest. Back at the Lexington, when I was the GM, I would never have fired any employee until there was a proper investigation. That was basic leadership. That was fairness. That was common sense. What kind of a GM would not intervene?
What type of HR would not investigate?
The injustice of it all made heat flush through my body. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to rein in my breathing while my mind raced with questions about what I would do next.
Bills.
Groceries.
The mortgage.
The baby.
Lucas.
My medical care.
Every responsibility I carried seemed to crowd inside my skull all at once.
Turning into the cul-de-sac, I parked in my driveway. I sat there in silence, staring at my red brick house with the blue garage door.
This house.
Even now, in the middle of my anger, looking at it, something deep steadied within me. This place had already accepted me when I had been uncertain of where I belonged.
I had accidentally turned into this neighbourhood when I was looking for a place to live in the village. I had been driving around aimlessly, unsure of where I would land, when I saw the For Sale sign planted outside this house.
According to the realtor, it had been on the market for a while. Built in 2011, it was smaller than the other houses on the street. The previous owners had been an elderly couple who decided to move into an old-age home together.
The moment I stepped inside, I fell in love with it and made an offer almost immediately.
A strange realization had washed over me when I saw the front door.
This was the same house from my vision.
The place I was meant to live in.
This was destined for me.
The painful decision of leaving my first home had been excruciating.
Even now, thinking about it still made my chest throb.
That apartment had been the first place that had truly felt like mine.
It had held pieces of my independence, my hard work, my hope.
Leaving it had felt like tearing myself away from a version of my life I had once believed would last.
But the fact that I did not owe the Evans family a single cent pleased me.
With a profit of $150,000 on my apartment, I knew that mortgaging it from Mr. Randall Evans had been the best decision I had ever made. He had insisted that the apartment had come with my job role as GM, but I did not want it simply bestowed on me.
I liked earning my way up.
I always had.
And maybe that was why losing this job burned as badly as it did. It was not just about the income. It was about being dismissed, disrespected, and treated as though my experience meant nothing.
Now, sitting there in the car and looking at my house, I started the engine again. I pulled out of the driveway and headed toward the Tipsy Cow restaurant.
When I entered, I sat at the bar.
A shot of whisky would have been perfect.
Instead, I ordered a club soda through Jack.
The temptation to ask for something stronger flickered through me, but I ignored it. I needed clarity more than numbness, no matter how badly I wanted to dull the sharp edges of the day.
He placed the glass in front of me and asked gently, “What’s wrong, dear?”
I took a sip of the soda. The cold bubbles fizzed against my tongue as I looked around the restaurant.
That was when I noticed the same shabby man sitting in the same corner of the restaurant, drinking his beer.
I smiled at him out of politeness.
Clearly, it was a mistake.
What I got back was a mean stare with a what-the-hell expression. The hostility in his face was so immediate and unnecessary that it made me blink and turn away.
“I just got fired.” I looked back at Jack and sighed deeply. “And it wasn’t even my fault.”
The words tasted bitter, leaving my mouth.
My plan of securing my future… Lucas’s future… my baby’s future… had failed. I had mapped out a strategy to make my life in this village work. Now it was crumbling right in front of me.
My savings were still intact, but I did not want to rely on it unless I absolutely had to. I had worked too hard to build that cushion. It represented safety. A fallback. Breathing room. Using it now felt too close to losing control.
“I’m so sorry.” Jack held my hand gently. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I prefer not to.”
If I started talking, I was not sure I would be able to stop. The anger was still too fresh. I stared at the scratched wooden bar top instead.
“Have you eaten anything?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn together.
“No, I—”
“William!” Jack yelled.
I jumped slightly at the sudden roar.
“Boy, fire up a grilled seabass with vegetables and potatoes.”