Page 70 of Inarticulate

Her discomfort was a small price to pay to give Rydel employees peace of mind.

There was also the opportunity for retribution.

A genuine smile curved her lips at the thought. If Keenan wanted to keep pushing, maybe she could show him her ability to push back, equally hard, and with a favorable amount of cleavage showing.

Email

Date: 26thDecember

Subject: Dirty Tactics

Savannah,

I used dirty tactics while we were together. I also used them while we were apart. But I have no plan to use them now. I want you to come back to me of your own free will. I want you to forgive me and believe my promise that it will never happen again.

Please don’t blame Penelope for her involvement. Or Dominic for not telling you. It’s all on me. I’m to blame, not only for hurting you but for tearing apart the Augustines with the weight of my lies.

My actions in no way dictate how I feel for you. You deserved better. I only hope you give me another chance to show you how you truly deserve to be treated, instead of Spencer.

Keenan

Chapter Twenty-Two

It tookdays to tick every box necessary to ensure all guests were aware of the upcoming restaurant closure. Reception had notified people on check-in. Housekeeping had updated room service folders with the temporary list of bar meals. And tomorrow every room in the hotel would have a note slipped under the door as an additional reminder, along with discount vouchers for nearby restaurants.

“Are you ready?” Grant asked from behind the reception counter.

“I’m—”

“Savannah.”

She turned at the shout and found their head chef approaching from the restaurant archway. “What’s up, Thomas?”

He stormed for her, his normally warm skin pale beneath his heavy beard. “They called in sick.”

Her calm façade fractured ever so slightly. “Who?”

“Those little twerps that handed in their notice last week—Layla and Tammy. They’re both scheduled to start their shift in half an hour, and now I have no waitresses.”

“Where’s Sally? Why isn’t she dealing with this?” Thomas wasn’t the restaurant manager. He didn’t need to be taking calls from meddling staff. The wedding was a big enough priority to concentrate on when the success or failure of the night would be determined by what went on in his kitchen, under his command.

“I told her I could handle dinner service so she could meet with Grandiosity.” He shrugged his beefy shoulder. “I’m averaging twenty meals on Saturday nights. Less on Fridays. It wouldn’t be a big deal if those ignorant bitches hadn’t called in sick. I need at least one waitress here to help out.”

“Call them back. Demand a doctors’ certificate.”

“We can do that?”

“Yes,” she growled. “We can. It’s in your employment contracts—one of those tiny stipulations that we only bring to light if necessary.” It was necessary now. The women in question had no sense of dedication. They were young. Undependable. And in a position to cause havoc if they pulled the same shit tomorrow night.

“I’ve been over their files. They have a lot of annual leave banked up. If they can’t commit to the two weeks’ notice they’ve promised, let them know we won’t commit to paying their entitlements.”

He gave a tired nod. “Can do.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to this Grandiosity thing for a few drinks?” She grabbed her coat off the reception desk and shrugged into the heavy material. “If the restaurant is slow, you should close up early and meet us over there.”

“No.” He cringed, exposing heavy wrinkles across his forehead that she hadn’t noticed before. He was exhausted. Overwhelmed. Just like every other employee under this roof. “Fuck them. I’m not going to clink a beer glass with the assholes who’ve kept me up at night. And besides, the two chefs I have left need a point by point instruction manual if left unsupervised.”

“Understandable.” She only needed him to hang on for one more night. Another thirty hours or so. Then they could breathe again. “Take it easy, okay? Look after yourself.”

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