Page 6 of Taste

Oh, fuck.

It was one of those days. One of those evenings.

Except it was all par for the course—just another day in hotel paradise. How I longed for an hour of simple businesspeople and straightforward requests for spare pillows and the easy-to-fix repair of a ripped hem in a suit.

“Sorry. I’m about to go on my break,” I said. “Joe, can you handle this?”

And off I went to the grotty staff canteen, grabbed a dinner and squeezed in between Natalie Payne, our head of sales, and Tom Karki from IT at the beaten-up table. Seth and Eleanor from my team were there too, and I’d arrived in the middle of some off-the-wall discussion about age. Turned out we were all about to hit the Big Four-O.

I was quite enjoying our friendly, soon-to-be-geriatrics banter when bloody Quinton plonked his skinny arse down at the table and butted into the conversation.

“How old are you, Mark?” Natalie asked.

“Thirty-five,” Quinton replied.

“Onlythirty-five?” I muttered. “You’re just a kid.”

Talk about ruining the mood. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. I mean, I knew I was being childish, pursuing this silly behaviour, this pretence of the two of us being mortal enemies, because the truth was I barely knew the man.

I’d never had more than a two-word conversation with him face-to-face, and what little I did know about him came from old gossip paired with his meagre Clouds bio, a sparsely filled LinkedIn profile and the usual load of trash brought up by Google. Stuff I’d rather not know about him, and I imagined he felt much the same.

“Mark, Iadoredthe new white chocolate ice cream,” Eleanor gushed too excitably for my liking and had me tensing up—again. “That was bloody sex on a plate.”

“Anything for you, beautiful. Always happy to help with your orgasms,” he purred to a wall of embarrassed laughter. Not that Eleanor wasn’t beautiful, with her cropped hair, round face and motherly curves, but she was far too enthralled by our current food and beverage manager when she knew he was as gay as me.

“Stop flirting, Mark.” She giggled, a tiny blush flashing over her face.

“You love it, babe,” he retaliated with a wink.

“Now, Mark, the remodelling of the lobby toilets…” That was Seth. Tall, ambitious and reliable. One of those guys on my radar for promotion as soon as an opening presented itself. “Is that happening? I know you spoke about some pop-up bar event, but I haven’t heard it mentioned since.”

“There’s a reason for that.” Mark pulled up something on his phone to show his adoring crowd. “Mr Klutz is worried about the lack of facilities during our remodelling phase.”

“Not happening,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “The lobby toilets are part of the hotel, not part of the restaurant. Without working facilities, we would be shut down. There are far more urgent areas due for a refresh.” I was trying to eat my meal, but him being there left a foul taste on my tongue, and the glop on my plate seemed less appetising with every bite. I picked up a napkin and dabbed my mouth. I’d already had more of Mark Quinton than I could stand in one go, but I didn’t want to get into another argument with him, especially in front of these people.

“Babe, Mr Klutz has already approved it. Those toilets are becoming a fabulous gender-neutral pop-up bar within weeks. We are completely remodelling—soft, plush furnishings and a curtained beauty area as well as urinals behind heavy oak doors. It’ll be lush, and I am thinking, grand opening with press et cetera. It will cause some issues. That’s to be expected, but any press coverage is good press coverage, right?”

“It’s risky,” Natalie said, “but I pitched it to some clients who were quite amused by your idea of those Cloud 9 Restroom cocktails.” The traitor. Frankly, I was shocked she was going along with this. Not that I minded the gender-neutral toilet idea, or the idea of another press spectacle, but this? This was a business hotel, not a circus where Mark Quinton could play ringmaster. Yet he obviously had the entire staff in his thrall.

I watched him gently taste his next sentence, his captive audience hanging on his every word. “You need to roll with the times, babe. This is an exciting period of change and will bring inexactlythe kind of business the Cloud needs.”

“Babe,” I said, too fast to think thatthatwas the most stupid thing I could have said. I’d meant it like a declaration of disgust in response to his overfamiliarity. Instead, it had come out sounding almost kind. “Quinton, you are deluded, and not in a good way. Perhaps I can refresh your memory on the business model and company standards? Comfort, professionalism and a hassle-free way to conduct business in central locations around our capital. I don’t recall any mention of gin and tonics served in unhygienic locations. All our clients need is somewhere to relieve their bodily needs.Babe.”

“Mr Christensen, I do apologise for my informal address.” He smiled at me like I’d served him Christmas on a plate. “You do realise that having you shout big words at me makes me hard. I would be more than happy to further discussyourbodily needs, should you ever require my assistance or advice.”

“Mr Quinton,” I almost stuttered in my rage. He’d caught me off guard, and I was backpedalling madly trying to regain my composure. I needed a lethal comeback, yet my mind was blank.

“See, folks? Finn and I are friends. He even calls mebabenow.”

Laughter. Fuck him.

“Are you completely incapable of acting professionally for more than a minute? Most of us are here to work, not make friends,” I snarled, staring at him with murder in my eyes. I should have said something more cutting, but my brain was still trying to get into gear. “And that last part was…wildlyinappropriate.”

“I love that you think I am wildly inappropriate. I’ll take that as a compliment.” He winked. More laughter. “And for your information, I amalwaysprofessional with our guests, but I tend to be brutally honest with my friends.”

“Your complete lack of self-reflection never fails to amaze me,” I hissed out. “We’re colleagues, not friends. And if you don’t mind, some of us have guests to tend to and work to do. Perhaps you could remember that next time you don’t honour your restaurant bookings and make our guests wait hours for their tables. Or does that part make youhardtoo?”

Yeah, now he was mad, and I was being irrationally mean. So, the lunch service had been running late due to one of the chefs injuring themselves, leaving the kitchen short-staffed and the dining room two waiters short, as they’d bundled the poor chef off to hospital. All things that I assumed had been out of his control, but I didn’t care. I truly didn’t care.

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