Page 7 of Wrong Idea

“They’re the head honchos’.”

“What?”

“The Storms’. The two who are working here are both staying off in the east wing.”

“The one that’s all torn apart?” I asked, seriously shocked by hearing that.

“That’s what I said.” He shook his head. “Heck, they could have taken the penthouses, and no one would have batted an eye.”

“Wow…” I kept up with him. “I didn’t even know rooms in that area were livable.”

“There are a few. But listen, kid, Harris is okay, quiet and shy. Polite.”

“He’s the one in human resources?” I guessed.

“That’s the guy,” he confirmed. Then his expression changed. “His brother, well, Mr. Storm is a little tougher, rougher around the edges, but I’m sure you’ve heard about that.” Stanley knew just how quickly rumors flew through the staff. “I would have helped Bertie, but I don’t want those fuckers anywhere near her. She’s slow and?—“

“I get it.” I gently reached for his hand. Stan’s clear green gaze connected with mine.

“She only has two more months before she can retire,” he shared, and I nodded. Bertie, like Stan, had been here a long time. They were an institution that kept this place going. “Idon’t want one of them getting pissed and firing her because she doesn’t move as quickly. Her knee’s been bugging her.”

“You don’t have to explain, Stan.” I smiled gently. “I got it.”

“They’re out right now. The two of them went to meet up with the guys at the new brewery Oli’s brother opened. Something about maybe selling their beer at the chalet and restaurant here.”

“Well, at least they spend money locally.” I shrugged, and he nodded. “That would be a great deal for the guys at the brewery, if they can swing it.”

“If you wanna get started there so you’re done before they return, that would help me out a lot.”

“What about tomorrow?” I asked, and he sighed.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure, but in case you don’t have some kind of super hiring power, I can help, too.”

“What about laundry and everything you guys get done in there?”

“Do we have a lot of reservations?” I asked. He nodded, almost sad by it.

“Unfortunately, we do. Can you believe it? We’re fully booked.”

“Hey, that’s a good thing.” I winked. “I’ll come in early.” I shrugged.

“Max,” he groaned, “What about your coloring stuff?”

“That’s the great thing about being your own boss, Stan. You make your own hours.”

“You’re a good kid, you know that, right?” His voice got scratchy before he cleared it.

“Yeah, if I ever doubt it, you’ll remind me,” I teased, and he rolled his eyes. Our little bonding moment was obviously over.

We hurried in straight to where housekeeping kept their carts. After making sure it was fully stocked, I headed to the east wing.

It was creepier and a lot darker than the main area of the resort. Thankfully, I’d brought my headphones with me. Music always made work go by faster. With my air pods in my ears and Chapell Roan singing, I quickly finished one room. It had been shockingly spotless. Even so, I’d changed out the bedding and towels.

The other room, though, was a little messier.

Not too bad and definitely not the worst I had ever seen, but still, the contrast was surprising. I started in the living area, making sure to pick up all the old take-out containers and water bottles. By the looks of it, whatever brother’s room this was, was definitely a workaholic.

---