Chapter 12
“For someone who is the boss lady’s favorite, you don’t smell like some fancy boy-toy,” Stevens took a long sniff of the air just behind Les’s neck.
If he was looking for a fight, he was going to find one. And Les was feeling like being a delivery boy.
He spun, a snarl on his lips. He felt his nails thicken and start to curl out of his fingertips. The sharp claws bit into his palm as he curled his hands into fists.
“You don’t have to attend every fight you’re invited to,” O’Connell said in a calming voice.
“Are you fucking greeting card?” Stevens quipped.
O’Connell glared at him before returning her gaze to Les. “Ignore him.”
“I try, but the bastard is sending out engraved invitations,” Les snarled. “And he is such an asshole.”
“Oh, now you think you can talk big because the boss lady has your back?” Stevens would not shut up.
“Ms. Del Fuego doesn’t have my back, or my balls, so enough out of you. We aren’t so busy that I won’t tell you to close your station and go home,” Les reminded him. “And before you ask who put me in charge, that answer is Chef, and Mark. You just love to be a pain in my ass when you think you’ll get away with it. You think we need you tonight. I’ll run this kitchen short-staffed if I have to. Are we clear?”
“What do you think our owner would do if I went to her with a complaint about a hostile work environment?” Steven asked in a sing-song voice.
“Dude, she’s seen you in action first hand. She would see through your bullshit as if it were made out of crystal,” O’Connell said. “So back off.”
Stevens continued to mutter under his breath. Les followed O’Connell to her station. “If you want to put in a complaint about a hostile work environment, I will have your back,” he said in a low voice.
She shook her head. “I’m good. I’m just holding out for the day Chef loses his shit on Stevens. I’m gonna film it and go viral online, and live off all the money I will make from the billions of views it will get.”
Les laughed, “Good plan.”
Everything was operating as well as could be expected. Chef’s night off was always a little shaky.
Gonna from the front of the house ran into the kitchen. “We just got a huge room service order.”
“Ok, put it in over there,” Les gestured to the tablet on the far counter. The waitstaff had stands in the front of the house for putting in orders. He didn’t know why this one wasn’t already put in.
“Um, you don’t understand,” she continued.
Les stopped and looked at her. “Okay, explain.”
Gonna looked panicked, she lifted her finger and pointed at the ceiling. “It’s for the couple on the top floor.”
Les nodded and spread his hands. “So?”
“No one wants to go up. She said, send someone who knows how to serve dinner, and… She chewed David out in Spanish last time. And David is our go-to.”
“Send Mark, I don’t know.” Les suggested.
“Mark’s not in tonight,” Genna said.
Well, that was a clusterfuck in planning. The manager and Chef were both not onsite, fuck.
“I’ll take it up,” Les said.
“I bet. You just jumped at a chance to go see your girlfriend,” Stevens said.
Les closed his eyes. He was not going to jump to the bait, and that’s all it was, Stevens wanted a reaction. Les grinned. No reaction would drive that asshole crazy more so than a fight would.
“Turn the order in, I’ll deliver, not a problem,” Les said. “Flag it so we know it’s mine when the order is up. Get the Sommelier to review the order and get a couple of bottles prepped.”
“Thanks, she freaks people out,” Genna admitted before leaving.
“That’s part of her charm.” Les muttered.
He returned to plating the orders that came off the line. When the room service order was ready, he completed the order with a dessert selection that he figured Cyan and Viktor would appreciate before he traded his work apron for a clean one. He pulled his cap off and placed the chef toque on top of his head. He looked every bit like a head chef as he pretended to be on the night’s Chef had off. It pissed Stevens off, that was part of the fun.
Les wheeled the trolley into the service elevator and punched it for the top floor. He hated being a waiter. He wasn’t cut out to serve. One summer of working a mundane job between getting his associates and entering pastry school had convinced him he never wanted to do that again. Being a line chief or running the grill at a greasy diner was easier for him than being a waiter ever was.
He puffed up his cheeks as he watched the numbers up to the top. This wasn’t exactly being a waiter, but if Cyan and Viktor expected him to know how to set a table, well… At least he would know what Cyan was saying when she started to cuss him out.
He wheeled the cart down the hall, surprised there wasn’t a guard lurking in every door frame. Cyan’s phalanx of bodyguards had been conspicuous in their absence. Now that he thought about it, Les hadn’t really seen anyone from Cyan’s entourage other than Madyson ever since Viktor arrived on the scene.
A door about halfway along the hall creaked open. His hackles rose. Suddenly, Les was aware of every hair on the back of his neck because they were all standing on end. He let out a long breath when Madyson stepped out. There was something creepy about that woman. Hell, she worked for a vampire organization, creepy was probably in the job description?
“Is that for Cyan?”
Les stopped. “Yeah, and Viktor. There’s a lot a food here. Viktor must eat like a whole high school football team.”
Madyson just stared at him.
“You know, a lot?”
She rolled her eyes and began peeking in under the silver domes. “Oh good, dessert. And wine.” She took one of the bottles while staring Les dead in the eyes. “They won’t notice one less bottle. Next time, bring an extra fudge tart, those are my favorites.”
He agreed. The Sommelier had sent an abundance of wine.
“Am I cleared?” he asked.
She shrugged and stepped back into her room and closed the door.
“I guess that’s a yes.” With a heavy breath, he continued to push the trolley to the end of the hall.
Les rapped on the door with the back of his knuckles. He straightened his posture and tapped the toque to make sure it was in place.
“Buenas noches,” he said as the door opened a crack.
The door closed again before opening wide. Cyan reached out and grabbed the trolley, pulling it out of Les’s grasp and into the room.
He stared in disbelief.
And then she reached out for him and dragged him inside.
The door slammed shut behind him. The big blond Viktor slid a chain bolt into place.
“That’s not hotel standard,” Les dragged out.
“No, I installed it this afternoon,” Viktor said.
Les stared at the man. He didn’t have an accent of any kind. His voice had the flat, atonal quality of middle America. It created a disconnect in the wiring of his brain. Viktor looked as if he should have a thick Slavic voice.
Les turned to Cyan. “More problems?”
“It’s getting worse.”
“The dead things?” Les asked.
“Dead things, and now stuff is going missing,” Viktor responded.
He peered under the first silver dome. “At least the food isn’t being tampered with.” He set the lid onto the table and picked up the plate, unrolled silverware from a napkin, and crossed the room. Leaning against the cabinet that held up the TV, he shoveled risotto alfredo into his mouth.
Les picked up the dome and placed it onto the lower level of the cart.
“Have you considered moving to a different hotel? Whoever is doing this, if they work here… They wouldn’t follow you to another hotel,” Les suggested.
“The call, as the saying goes, is coming from inside the house,” Cyan stated with a finality that made Les queasy.
“Team Cyan or Team Viktor?” Les asked.
Viktor grunted around his dinner before speaking. “The incidents didn’t start until I arrived. However, that doesn’t mean someone in Cyan’s camp didn’t wait until we got here to make it look like one of my men.”
“What do you want me to do about it? I’m not some kind of investigator,” Les felt like he was repeating himself when it came to telling Cyan no. “I can’t bake cookies and get your answers.”
She ran a finger through the bechamel sauce that accompanied the salmon. She licked her finger and considered either the food, or what Les had said. “Can’t you?” Cyan asked.
“All investigators do is find out stuff,” she continued.
“Find out stuff, make connections, get in fights. Wins the girl,” Les muttered.
“Oh, there’s a girl involved? This is interesting,” Cyan purred.
“Darling, you are the girl,” Viktor corrected her.
“I am hardly a girl. And Mr. Hernandez is not interested in winning me.”
Les cleared his throat. “There’s… there’s no girl. But Mr. Kilbride is correct, you are the damsel in this mess.”
How would Les feel if Tori was the one in the middle of this mess? Would he do anything to help her out? Would he shuffle her off to his cousin to keep her safe? He closed his eyes and tried to think. Why wasn’t Viktor Kilbride using his considerable resources to… oh, right. Rich men’s resources were hiring other people to do the work.
Cyan adjusted her plate at the table and began taking delicate bites.
She pointed at the chair across from her. “Sit.”
Les took the seat. Under normal circumstances, he would never sit while serving a patron. As Chef, he was to stand quietly by and accept the accolades of a meal well-prepared. This felt weird. He slid the toque from his head and ran a hand through his hair.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to get Morgan to come in?”
Cyan shook her head.
“Your cousin is a little too well known amongst our people,” Viktor said.
“And Cyan’s people know Morgan’s my cousin. I basically announced it the second she walked in the building.”
“But nobody paid you any attention. You are simply kitchen help. That other annoying man, they paid attention to him.”
Les chuckled. Stevens wanted attention, and apparently, he got it.
“What do you want me to do?” Les asked with a resigned sigh.
“Bake cookies. Take snacks to everyone in our employ. Viktor will get you a list.”
“Um, so… feed them cookies, and you expect them to just talk?”
“Commiserate,” Cyan said. “You’re an employee, they’re employees.”
“It’s not like someone is going to tell me they tucked a beheaded pigeon under your pillow for a chocolate chip cookie.”
“No, but they might confess to really hating their boss over a really decadent chocolate éclair. Find out what they like, surprise them with a little treat.”
“Like Madyson and fudge tarts?”
“She likes fudge tarts? I always thought those raspberry thumbprint cookies were her favorites. But yes, that, exactly. Most of the men are easier, beer or a bacon cheeseburger.”
Les let out a heavy sigh. “Fine, I’ll woo your security teams with cookies. But then what? I’m not the kind to make the connections.”
“You won’t have to. Just tell us what you learn. We can connect the dots, but we need dots to connect,” Viktor said. “This is good. What else did you bring?”
He set down the empty plate and examined the other plates on the trolley.
Les stood. “I’ll let you finish your dinner. I’ll take your suggestion and start making cookies.” He grabbed the toque. “Just place the trolley outside your door, when you’re done.”
He thought about cookies, and then about cheesecake. Specifically, how Tori had responded. That’s what Cyan was looking for. That’s what he needed to figure out, what flavors unlocked the tongues of Cyan’s entourage?
Now, that was a challenge his skills were up to.