Zara
Sometimes I look at people and wonder what goes on in their minds. For instance, I just spent twenty minutes listening to my manager drone on about some important businessman who was about to arrive. The entire time, I kept thinking: why the hell would he imagine I care?
Then he dropped the bomb – he wants me to be the man's housekeeper during his stay. I stare at him like he's lost his mind.
"I can't take housekeeping." I say flatly.
Mr. Barr barely looks up from the papers spread across his desk. "You can."
I blink, taken aback by his dismissive tone.
"No," I say firmly, "I cannot."
The office is a bit spacious but tidy, the faint smell of polished wood lingering in the air. The manager ignores me, still scribbling away in the papers on his desk.
"But sir, I am waitressing and I currently have enough duties as it is, especially with the night shifts at the bar. I will not be able to juggle all duties at the same time." I try to reason.
"You'll be exempted from waitressing while you're housekeeping and I'll add extra staff at the bar to lighten your workload, anything else?" he finally looks up, one eyebrow raised like he is daring me to argue.
"Yes. Remove me from housekeeping, let me retain the shifts I currently have. I will pick up extra shifts anywhere else, but not that."
"This is a very important guest, Zara. He can make us or break us so forgive me but unless you give me a valid reason you're assigned."
"All the more reason to. Sir, I have never handled a businessman before. Assign Maya, she is used to dealing with them, I can't do it." I argue, hoping he would try to reason with me.
"Maya is tending to another customer and we both know you are competent enough. All the guests who have been under your care all leave positive reviews about you."
"But sir--" I am cut off by the ringing of his office phone.
"What." He answers gruffly. After a few beats, he hangs up and stands up, straightening his suit. "Our guest has arrived. Drop the subject it is already too late. We're going to receive him now." He walks around his desk heading towards the door.
"No. Absolutely not."
"Come along." He calls from outside the door.
The hotel has two elevators on opposite ends, one for the guests and another for the staff, which is connected to all important areas for ease of access when running errands. I expect him to use the guest one but he surprises me by heading towards the staff one. This means one thing; he is probably on his way up. Which means I have a few minutes to try and convince him out of his absurd decision.
"Have you been listening to me?" I demand, following him into the elevator. "I said I do not want this assignment."
"I truly do not understand why you're making this difficult for everyone."
"I'm not--"
"You know perfectly well you can handle this; I've even reduced your workload. You are the only remaining person who isn't housekeeping competent enough to take care of him."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is the point."
I hesitate, I can't possibly say I hate businessmen in front of my boss. Unfortunately, that is what I end up doing.
"I do not like businessmen."
He bursts out laughing, walking out of the elevator.
"All this fuss because you do not like businessmen? Get over yourself or I'll have to suspend you for unprofessionalism. Zara you work here, it doesn't matter whether you like something or not you have to suck it up and be at your best behaviour. You are in no position to simply refuse just because you don't like his profession."
"You cannot be serious," I mutter under my breath, breathless as I follow him across the wide marble corridor.
"I am very serious," he replies flatly, still walking. "I asked for a valid reason, not your feelings."
We reach the elevator lobby and I quicken my pace overtaking him and placing myself between him and a few steps away from the guest elevator.
"It is valid," my voice rises slightly, "They are rude, arrogant, obnoxious. They walk around like they own the world just because they have money."
Mr. Barr sighs, rubbing his temple in annoyance.
"They treat everyone like servants, and don't even get me started on how overbearing they are. I cannot imagine anything worse than spending my entire shift tending to someone who thinks the sun rises and sets just because their fingers."
"Zara--" he interrupts but I hold a hand up, silencing him. I am not about to let him brush me off again.
"They're unbearable, they're controlling," I go on, too absorbed in my monologue to hear the ping of the elevator behind me, or the sudden shift in the atmosphere.
"And if you think for one second that I'm going to spend the next few days baby-"
"Mr. Carter," Mr. Barr loudly interrupts me, walking past me to greet the guest. "Welcome to the Winston Hotel. We're honoured to have you with us and hope your stay will be comfortable."
With my back still turned to them, I look at the reception staff standing nearby. One of them looks at me, eyes wide.
He heard you. She mouths and I let out air through my mouth. Dread starts creeping into my stomach. This may well be the day I officially become unemployed.
"Allow me to introduce your housekeeper for the duration of your stay," I hear the manger say. "This is Miss Zara Kyle. She'll be taking care of you personally."
I close my eyes for half a second and inhale slowly. When I open them, I plaster on a bright professional smile, so effortless- like it has always been there.
"Miss Kyle, this is Mr. Andrew Carter, he'll be residing in suite 514 and will be under your care."
"Mr. Carter," I say smoothly, "Welcome to the Winston Hotel. We look forward to providing you with excellent service during your stay."
Mr. Carter extends his hand for me to shake. I hesitate, looking between his outstretched hand and his face. The manager clears his throat slightly, catching my eye. He mouths tightly with a warning glare shake his hand.
Mr. Carter notices, a trace of amusement flickering across his face.
"Miss Kyle, was it?" he says calmly. "I promise, businessmen aren't contagious.
I pause for a second before finally placing my hand in his.
"Of course not, sir," I reply, keeping my tone polite then sweetly added, "But caution never hurt anyone."
His eyebrows lift slightly and I withdraw my hand. I pluck the staff key card from Mr. Barr's hands, but not before receiving a warning glare from him.
"If you'll allow me," I say stepping aside, "I'll show you to your suite." I walk away, not bothering to confirm whether he is following me. I felt unease after the brief exchange with him and I couldn't shrug it off no matter how hard I try to.
I unlock the door and step aside, watching him stride in confidently. His gaze sweeps across the lavish room. It is then that I notice a man, probably in his early 30s, following behind with an iPad in his hands.
"This is one of our best executive suites; the best actually because of its beautiful city view." I begin, my voice perfectly professional. "As you specified in your request, it has its own living area and a fully-stocked mini bar and a workspace. On this side you can access the bedroom and it has an en-suite bathroom. It also has a private balcony right out back."
His assistant emerges from the bedroom, looking around the suite. "It's acceptable." He says and I blink. Acceptable?
"We will be here for a short while hopefully, so this will do." He adds. I smile tightly, rolling my eyes internally.
"Well," I say, "if that is all, I'll be on my way. If you need anything call front desk and I'll work on it."
"Not yet." Andrew speaks, stopping me halfway towards the door. He walks towards the desk and removes his jacket casually.
"I'll be having dinner shortly." He says and I pull out a small notepad I carry in my pocket.
"Yes, sir."
"Sea bass, lightly seared. Lemmon butter sauce. Not too much salt. Steamed asparagus, should not be overcooked, and roasted potatoes, crisp outside, soft inside."
I hesitate slightly before speaking. "Sir, the kitchen might find that...challenging, do you have another simpler order or should I suggest something?"
He stares unwavering.
"You're unusually opinionated for someone whose job is housekeeping."
My mouth parts slightly in disbelief. Wow!
"May I remind you," he continues coolly, "You are here to tend to my needs. That is what I want, make it happen."
I force a smile, plastering it on like armour.
"Of course, Mr. Carter. I forget my place. I'll try to be less inconvenient next time." I turn on my heel and leave before he can reply, silently willing the day to end.
I storm towards the elevator, muttering under my breath, "The nerve he has! I could just, aaaarghhhh!" I take a few deep breathes in and out, trying regaining my composure. You've got this, Zara you can do it. Don't let him get to you.
The elevator chimes and I head straight to the kitchen
"Phillipe," I call, "I've got a big one coming." he sticks his head into the refrigerator and comes out with a bowl of strawberries. I hand him the piece of paper and take the bowl with a grateful smile.
"What the hell is this?" he stares at the order slip like it has personally insulted him.
"I don't know," I say between bites of strawberries. Phillipe knows how much I love strawberries and makes it his mission to slip me some in between shifts, whenever I found myself in the kitchen.
He groans dramatically. "Does he think this is a Michelin restaurant?"
"Whatever happens," I mumble, mouth full of strawberries, "make it work. I do not want to deal with his arrogant ass so please, make it work."
"What if he sends it back?" he asks glaring at the paper.
"He won't. I have a feeling this is personal. I believe he may have heard me insulting him so he is out to get me. But I didn't specifically mention him so I don't get what his problem is." I voice out my thoughts.
Telling me I am unusually opinionated just because I offered something easier that is actually on the menu doesn't make sense. And not to mention rude. Of course, he heard what I had to say about the people in his field of work.
"If that's the case then I'll do my best."
"That's the spirit. We can't let these rich snobs get to us now, can we?" I remind him our motto. This wasn't the first time a guest made such orders. We were already used to them.
"Not if we can help it." He disappears inside the pantry, gathering his necessary ingredients.
Mr. Carter, I will not let you get to me.
⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎
I drag a food cart into the suite, stopping in the living area.
"Dinner is served, sir."
Andrew looks up from behind the desk.
"Serve it here." He gestures to the desk. I push the cart and place the food on the table. I drag the cart away and stand a few feet away from him.
He takes the first bite and I hold my breath, waiting. He takes another and I relax. At least he liked it. His assistant appears, his attention on his iPad.
"Sir, the meeting with Mr. Hale is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. I've already sent the address." He pushes the barely half-eaten plate away and stands up from his chair.
"Excellent." He simply says and retreats into the bedroom.
I clear the plate silently. Phillipe gave this absurd dish his all and he has barely touched it. That arrogant, conceited prick. I wheel the utensils back to the kitchen.
I work through my shift at the bar and by ten o'clock, I finally clock out. The cool night air hits my face as I step into the parking lot outside.
"One night down." I murmur to myself, rolling my eyes slightly, "Hopefully he leaves soon." I settle in my 2020 corolla hybrid and drive off home.
ns216.73.217.39da2
and then Add to home screen.