Page 98 of Tasty Cherry

“I’m in HR. It’s been wild. Maverick is the talk of the hotel.”

“Don’t say his name.” She smacks the ladle against the surface of the soup as if it’s Maverick’s head.

“I have to get back. We’ll talk later? We can do dinner in my room.”

She nods. “That’ll be good. If I get fired for killing that son of a bitch, it’s been nice knowing you.”

I laugh. “Good luck.”

I hurry along the back wall through the bakery kitchen where they are already slicing the newly frosted cakes. They’re fast.

My body only relaxes once I get to the corridor. The kitchen has been the most stressful part of the hotel so far.

I hurry to the orientation room. Six people sit in chairs, and Jessie points a remote at the projector attached to the ceiling.

I move close to Suze. “Filo says the drinks and cookies are on the way. They have a banquet today, so things are intense in there.”

“Oh, right. The banking people. Thanks.”

“Should I sit down?”

“Absolutely. Just hang out. When the drinks get here, maybe help with that. Or collecting paperwork.”

“Sure.”

I move a few rows back near the table where we always had our breakfast and lunches served during our first week. I assume that’s where they will set up.

The castle seems like a well-oiled machine from the guests’ point of view, which is what I could see the first week from the front desk. But there are definitely behind-the-scenes complications.

And many of them revolve around Maverick.

32

SEBASTIAN

Maverick stalks into my office like a middle school troublemaker angry he’s gotten caught.

I lean back in my chair, as casually as I can make myself do it. “Close the door.”

He whirls around.

“Don’t slam it.”

His hand makes a fist, but I understand him better than I did before I talked to Carly Sutton, the campus advocate who somehow got this ball of fury to graduate from U of B.

He closes the door hard enough to make a point, but not enough to qualify as a slam.

“Take a seat.”

He falls onto the chair, sprawling with legs out, hands clasped behind his head. “You must love this,” he says.

This catches me off guard. “Love what? Taking two to three meetings a day, all about you?”

“Your superiority. Sebastian, the big boss. Head honcho. Is it time for me to pack my bags?”

Carly told me he’d come at me with what looks like an offensive, but is really a defensive maneuver. He was the king of trying to be the one to control a situation, even if it meant sabotaging it.

I’ve had a crash course on Maverick, as much as she could tell me without breaking confidentiality. I read between the lines that all the strategies and coping mechanisms she was about to mention would be helpful.

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