2. Remy
“Did you get the final headcount for the Masterson-Green wedding, Jeremy?”
Remy resisted the impulse to punch Mitch in the face. As far as he was concerned, that deserved a Nobel Peace Prize. “My name is Remy.”
Mitch’s thin lips twisted in that condescending way Remy fucking hated. The bastard. “That’s not what it says on your driver’s license.”
“I prefer Remy.” It came out cold and flat—a result of saying the same damn thing over and over while constantly being ignored. “Which you know. I treat you with respect, and I’m once again asking you to give me the same courtesy. Now what is it you need?”
Rolling his eyes, Mitch said, “As I was saying, Jeremy?—”
“Remy.”
Mitch sighed, as if Remy was the one being unreasonable. “Why does it matter?”
“Because it’s my name. No one but me gets to decide what it is.” And he wasn’t going to sit here and let this asshole play his little power games just because his uncle ran the whole hotel.
“That kind of attitude isn’t going to get you very far,” Mitch said, clicking his tongue.
As if Remy wasn’t more than a decade older than him, and his senior in the department. Someone needed to knock the guy down a peg or two, but with Debbie about to retire and the director of event planning job still up for grabs, this wasn’t the time for a pissing contest.
Wresting back a veneer of calm, Remy said, “Everything is all set for the Masterson-Green wedding.” Obviously. Because Remy was damn good at his job. Unlike the nepotism hire in front of him, who alternately fucked around on his phone and tried to intimidate the hotel staff. God forbid he do any part of his job.
“Okay, good. I’d hate to have a repeat of last weekend.”
Remy’s hands fisted at his sides. The mother of the bride from last Saturday’s evening event broke her leg in three places less than a week before the wedding. The bride called the hotel on Wednesday to ask for various accommodations since her mother was currently in a wheelchair, including a room with a roll-in shower and bars.
When zero of those accommodations were ready on Saturday morning, multiple members of the wedding party complained to the hotel’s general manager—Mitch’s dear Uncle Gary.
Gary tore Remy a new one, calling him an incompetent liar when he said this was the first he’d heard of it, but he’d gladly fix it right away. When it later came out that the bride spoke to Mitch on Wednesday, Mitch merely shrugged and said he asked Remy to take care of it. Gary had accepted his nephew’s word without a moment’s hesitation.
That he would now throw that bald-faced lie in Remy’s face, watching him with that gloating little smile...
Forcing his fists to unclench, he said placidly, “No, we certainly wouldn’t. So long as everyone in the department actually does their job, I don’t see why it would.”
Mitch’s eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. At least he was smart enough to recognize a dig when he heard one.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with Debbie.” He didn’t really have a meeting, but he turned and walked away without giving Mitch a chance to say anything more. His blood pressure couldn’t take another minute with that asshole.
Remy made a beeline for Debbie’s office, hoping the current director of event planning would be there. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found her behind her desk, frowning at some papers spread out in front of her.
“For the love of God, give me some good news,” Remy said as soon as he shut the door behind him. He flopped down into one of the chairs facing her desk, kicking his long legs out in front of him. “Say something that’ll keep me from wringing Mitch’s neck.”
Debbie’s gaze remained glued to the papers on her desk. The already severe frown lines around her mouth and eyes deepened—the only outward sign that she heard him come in.
“Uh, Deb? Everything okay?”
Closing her eyes, she leaned back in her chair and sighed.
“Clearly not,” Remy muttered under his breath.
When at last she reopened her eyes, sorrow lurked in the blue depths. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
His eyes narrowed all on their own. Then he snatched the papers from her desk and scanned the words. “You’ve got to be fucking shitting me,” he murmured under his breath. In one hand, he held an official job offer for the director position. In the other, an offer letter with Mitch’s name in the salutation, Gary’s loopy signature in bright blue ink at the bottom.
A perfunctory knock sounded on the door before it swung open. “Debbie, I want to talk to you about—” Mitch stopped speaking when he saw the look on Remy’s face. Glee danced in his eyes for a moment, though he hid it quickly enough. “Oh, good, you told him. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep it a secret.” He held out a hand, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “No hard feelings, I hope.”
Remy looked down at the hand. He willed himself to take it. To be the bigger person. To bide his time.
But it felt like a fire raged in his chest, burning him to ash from the inside out. Dropping the pages back onto the desk, he stood, slowly, taking time to stretch himself out to his full height. He kind of felt like a dick for using his size to intimidate the little weasel, but this situation warranted him being an asshole.
Taking a step forward, he loomed over Mitch, looking down at him with all the hatred he had in his body. “You’ve done less work in the year and a half you’ve been here than I did this week alone,” he said, keeping his voice low so only the people in the room would hear him. “You can’t do this without me, and you know it.”
Fear flashed across Mitch’s face for the blink of an eye, quickly replaced with his usual bravado. “You have a very high opinion of yourself,” he said with a little tsking noise. “That’s why Uncle Gary decided not to give you the promotion, you know. When it comes time to actually do the work, he thinks your ego will get in the way. Whereas I?—”
“Have fun explaining to your uncle why all your clients are angry.” Remy glanced over at Debbie, who was pursing her lips to hide a smile. They’d both wanted to call Mitch out on his bullshit almost as long as they’d known him. It was cathartic to finally get it out. “What’s the over-under on how long it takes for Gary to realize what a useless little shit his nephew is?”
She pretended to think about it for a second, tapping a finger against her lips. “One month.”
“Oh damn, I’m definitely taking the under,” Remy said with a harsh little laugh. “I give it three weeks at most.”
Debbie shrugged. “I’m fine with the over. I think Gary’s delusional enough for it to take a little longer. Loser buys the winner dinner?”
“Done.”
Mitch’s entire face had gone a sickening shade of puce. “How dare you. I’m the head of this department now, and you’ll both show me the proper respect, or so help me God?—”
“You’ll what? Fire me?” Debbie chuckled. “Did you forget I’m retiring next week, dear? I’m not opposed to pushing the date up by a few days if it means that much to you.”
Mitch opened and closed his mouth a few times, unintelligible sounds coming out. Apparently realizing he had nothing whatsoever to hold over Debbie, he rounded on Remy instead. He poked a furious finger in the center of Remy’s chest. “Apologize. Now. If you value your job at all?—”
“I’ve valued this job over everything else for the last fifteen years,” Remy interrupted. “I’ve given everything to make this the premier wedding venue in the entire fucking state of Maryland. Gary knows it. You know it. And if you two think I’m just going to sit here and take it while you fuck me over, you clearly don’t know me at all.”
Once again, fear filled Mitch’s eyes. This time, he couldn’t quite hide it. “Are you really sure you want to do this?” He tried to sound authoritative, but his voice shook. “I realize Debbie’s been grooming you for the role for a while now, so this must have come as a shock. But you don’t want to make any rash decisions that could mess up your whole future. And of course, there’s your health insurance?—”
“Fuck. You.”
Debbie’s delighted little titter made him stand even taller.
“I look forward to watching everything Debbie and I built crumble down around you. In case I wasn’t already perfectly clear, I quit.” And with that, he walked out of the office, out of the hotel, and for the first time since he could remember when, into an entirely unknown future.