Page 113 of Tasty Cherry

“Dealing with the broken security camera in the bridal wing,” I say easily.

Raya’s stance is angry, and she glares at Chef Monique, who hovers in the corner like a kid in trouble. This is wild, as Chef is normally hell on wheels.

The other person is Maverick, looking pleased with himself. Of course he does.

I sit in my chair. I have to pretend I don’t know what this is about. “What’s going on?”

“We have a fraternization issue between a superior and a subordinate,” Raya says. “And inappropriate sexual conduct on the hotel grounds.”

Neither Chef Monique nor Maverick reacts to this.

“Is Jessie coming?” I ask. “This is an HR matter.”

“She’s on her way,” Raya says.

“Okay. Everybody, find a seat. We’ll figure this out.” I have a small conference table opposite my desk, and the three of them find chairs. There’s one for Jessie. I stay where I am, worried I might smell of the hot tub or sex or Mila or all three. My stomach rumbles and I realize I used up my lunch hour without eating lunch.

Still worth it.

Chef Monique steals a glance at Maverick like a smitten schoolgirl, but Maverick taps the surface of the table and avoids her gaze.

Raya looks back and forth at both of them like a principal ready to send them to detention.

We’ve definitely had inappropriate liaisons on the clock among staff members before, but never a wild card like Maverick, and never between someone so low on the hierarchy and our head chef.

Still, it’s not lost on me that I better handle this well, knowing that at some point, this meeting will be looked upon in a new light once my relationship with Mila is revealed, hopefully by us, on our own timeline.

Jessie rushes in. “I’m here.” She sits in the empty chair at the table, then hops up again to close the door. “Should we call in Havannah?”

“Let’s not trouble her with this,” I say. “Besides, she’s off site at a doctor’s appointment today.” She texts me each morning with her schedule, particularly if she’ll be out. “Jessie, what is the procedure here?”

She flips her blonde hair behind her shoulder and opens a notebook. “HR will conduct an investigation as to whether there has been preferential treatment or inconsistent distribution of duties.”

Maverick scoffs. “I’m an intern. I’ve been washing dishes and stirring pots. I’m not even allowed to cook anything.”

Raya leans forward. “You have been repeatedly taken off the intern schedule I set and placed in locations that are near Chef Monique.”

“You’re the one who sent me to the dish room on day one!” Maverick kicks back in this chair, arms crossed. “Everyone else got sweet gigs in HR or the front desk or fancy parties, and I’ve been carrying trays and scrubbing pans.”

Raya is undeterred. “You say this as if that was my plan. Kitchen requested you.” She looks pointedly at Chef Monique. “Then you were in the restaurant, where you tended to work the kitchen, anyway. Then Monique wanted you in catering because of the meeting banquets they had to serve early this week. If anything, I tried to get you away from the kitchens.”

Jessie scribbles notes on her clipboard. “Raya, you approved all these schedule changes for Maverick?”

“I did. The requests seemed reasonable.”

And it got Maverick out of her hair. She’d told me so. But I’m not getting any more involved in this than I have to.

“Monique, when did you first request Maverick for the kitchen?”

“After I saw his work ethic and camaraderie with the dish room staff. He was a good addition, and the men all got along.” She folds her hands together.

“And at what stage was your relationship at that point?”

“Nothing. I barely knew him, other than everyone was buzzing about him.”

“Buzzing?”

“Saying he was an enjoyable coworker.”

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