Page 3 of Serving the Mogul

I considered following, but before I could decide, my Bluetooth earpiece came to life. Turning for the door, I took the call. “Maximus.”

“Boss, it’s Roger. We got a situation.”

The urgency in my hotel manager’s voice made me increase my pace.

* * *

“That could have been…ugly.”

“Yes.” There wasn’t much else to say, so I let it go at that. Standing with my admin assistant and Roger, the three of us watched as the ambulance doors closed.

One of the private dining rooms hosted the fiftieth anniversary. The husband had been regaling his family with his usual story they’d all heard a dozen times—when he’d abruptly gone beet red, clutched his chest, and hit the floor.

While half the guests were in shock, a granddaughter had called911. One of my servers, an army reservist with medic training, had performed CPR, which likely saved his life.

“Boss, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to call it a day,” Miranda said, heaving out a heavy sigh. “Anything you need before I head to my room?”

“Contact the server…Penny.”

“I’ve already noted it in my calendar, sir.” Miranda smiled. She’s wasting her potential in the position she holds.”

“It’s a little scary how you sometimes read my mind, Miranda.”

I went back inside. I’d been heading toward the kitchen before the dining room emergency, so I veered in that direction, absently adjusting my cufflinks.

My phone buzzed, and I pulled it from my pocket, grimacing when I saw who’d just texted me.

Charity Jones:I just heard about the incident at the Peters’ booking. I’ll get PR to draft a press release.

I fired back a response.

M:We don’t need a PR release. I handled the matter.

Charity Jones:Maximus, incidents like these can escalate quickly. I think we should contact legal. Find out our liability if he doesn’t make it.

M:No press. Leave legal out of it. I’ll make the call if we need them. You’re off duty the rest of the night.

Go home, I thought, irritated, and leave me alone.

I appreciated an employee who could take the initiative, but I didn’t appreciate an employee who assumed they knew everything about me and how I handled situations.

Charity seemed to be the latter. We needed to have a chat.

Two

Tina

I’d spentmuch of the afternoon updating my website and had forgotten to eat…again. On my way to the new luxury hotel in downtown Houston, I’d devoured a microwave burrito.

It had been barely mediocre, serving only to fill the hole in my stomach.

Surrounded by the divine scents of food from the catering company, run by my sister, Dina, and her husband, Newt, I concluded the microwave burrito hadn’t just been mediocre—it had been an insult to my senses.

Dina, older by less than a year and so kind and warm I couldn’t imagine anybody not loving her, caught sight of my face and held up her hands. “Okay, now…what happened, who died, and where’s the body?”

Despite my foul mood, I smiled. “Nobody died. But if you ask me, whoever concocted microwave burritos should be dead.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Oh, honey. Please don’t tell me that’s all you’ve eaten today.”

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