Page 13 of Shade
Some days I hate my fucking job.
Okay, that’s dramatic. Hate’s a strong word. I know, but still, things suck sometimes. You know what I’m talking about, too, don’t you? We’ve all been there at some point where the FML abbreviation is one we chant. I’ve never liked the saying “Fuck my life,” because, dude, you only get one. Don’t fuck it. Live it. Even if it’s shitty, live it and make what you can with it.
What does suck? Working seven days a week, including Christmas Day.
Now here it is, two days after Christmas and my ass is still working just to be able to afford my one-bedroom shitty yet extremely expensive-as-fuck apartment.
Still. . . I won’t say fuck my life. I won’t. I have a good job, but rent in Seattle is ridiculous. I work at the Wellington Plaza in Seattle. It’s a five-star hotel right in the middle of Capitol Hill and probably the nicest one in Seattle. Nice enough that celebrities constantly check in on a weekly basis when they’re in town.
And me being one of the maids in said hotel, I know all their dirty little secrets. Like the ones who check in and tell their wives it’s a business trip when really they’re fucking their co-star in whatever movie they’re filming.
All that leads me to the penthouse suite, making sure it has all the accommodations of the VIP arriving tonight. It’s not just any VIP as far as I’m concerned, and I know it needs to be perfect. It has to be.
You’re probably wondering, why? Wouldn’t every guest’s needs be important?
Yeah, I suppose, but like I said, this particular VIP is special. I’ll get to him later.
For now, I’m starving and only have a few minutes for lunch today.
I’m just about to head to the break room with my bag of pretzels when my boss, Georgia, finds me. I sort of like Georgia, but not really. I only tolerate two women. My friends Mila and Izzy. The rest are back stabbing bitches, and I’ve got no time for that drama. And you can never trust your boss. I don’t care what your relationship is with them. Do not be friends with your direct supervisor because you’re the first person they’ll throw under the bus when needed.
Why?
Because they’re friends with you and two, they know your weaknesses and three, can ask for forgiveness easily, and you’ll probably give it to them because they soften your pancaked ass.
“Ms. Rose, did you finish setting up everything in the penthouse suite?”
Do you hear that annoyingly judgmental voice behind me?
I wish I didn’t.
Facing my boss, I fight the urge to smack a bitch with a good amount of struggle. “Why yes, Mrs. Kerns, I did. Why do you ask?”
Take a look at Georgia Kerns. She’s bitchy looking with her penciled-in thin eyebrows and her puckered smoker-wrinkled lips, isn’t she? It’s like her face is permanently stuck in the resting-bitch-face expression.
Georgia, who insists we call her Ms. Kerns like we’re in elementary school, isn’t subtle about her sarcasm. How can she be with a face that looks like that? She’s only living up to her reputation. It’s like a hot actor winking. He does it because he knows he can. Georgia’s a bitch because she’s allowed to be. But I do find it comical. “And you got everything Willa requested in Mr. Sawyer’s room?”
I take a deep breath, then another.If you want this fucking job, you can’t slap her, nor can you throat punch her.Strangely, I envision myself doing both, and it’s strangely gratifying. “Yep. Everything’s in there including the condoms in the bathroom.”
All that’s left is me in his bed.
“Great. I’m sure he’ll enjoy his stay. Thank you, Ms. Rose,” Georgia says, walking past me as though she is physically incapable of asking how the rest of my day is going.
She actually is incapable of small talk. That’s why Mr. Wellington hired her.
Speaking of Mr. Wellington. . . . Hmm, how do I describe him? Well, he’s the owner of the hotel, built it himself, and his daughter, Mila, runs the shit show. Mr. Wellington and Mila are very different. He’s. . . how do you say it. . . business oriented? I don’t even think that’s an accurate statement. He’s a one-tracked man, and if his employees aren’t doing their job, there’s no chance of correcting the problem. You’re just fired.
And Mila, she’s cool as shit. Nothing like you’d expect a general manager of a hotel to be. At twenty-seven, she’s also probably the youngest general manager ever.
When Georgia leaves me alone, I enter the break room where Tom is watching the news, completely oblivious to the world around him and what he’s hearing on the news. Ninety percent of what they’re saying he doesn’t understand because he’s dumb. I mean that in a nice way. I think.
As soon as I sit down on the couch, my smile can’t be helped when I notice the magazine in front of me. Remember that VIP checking in? The one I said I’d get to later.
It’s later. Shade Sawyer is that VIP.
And Shade. . . he’s on the cover ofMen’s Healththis month.
I’ll say his name again, because I need to and my entire body is vibrating in anticipation.
