Page 1 of Twisted Trust
1
MAEVE
“I’m going to kill you!”
The drunken Miss Frankfurt stands before me with fury in her eyes, glaring past the clumps of mascara clinging to her tear-stained lashes.
Both her hands slam down onto the desk so hard that my potted succulent jumps precariously close to the edge.
“Ma’am.” It takes all my willpower to maintain the fake, pleasant smile plastered to my face. “Threats against staff aren’t acceptable. If you can’t speak to me calmly about this matter then I’d ask for you to please return to your room and?—”
“Return to my room?” She cuts me off like the snap of a whip. “I can’t return to my room because you gave it away to some other fucker!”
“As the hotel already explained to you, ma’am, check-out was five hours ago and you missed it. I was able to have your belongings moved to another room that meets your requirements, but as I said, this will incur another charge?—”
“I’m not paying for two rooms!” Miss Frankfurt yells once more.
“She shouldn’t have to pay for whatyoudid,” snaps her more sober friend. “You’re the event planner. You’re the one that did this, so honestly, we should take this out of your fee!”
Miss Frankfurt’s eyes widen like that’s the best news she’s heard all day. “What an excellent idea!” She points at me with one long, perfectly manicured finger. “Yousaidon your little website that you take care of everything, so that should include paying for my extra accommodation.”
Lightly biting the inside of my cheek, I widen my smile until my cheeks ache. “And as it also says on mylittlewebsite, all arrangements for hen parties and hotels can only be maintained within the guests’ commitment to check-out times. You also agreed to cover any additional costs should you break any of our agreements which, I’m sorry to say, you have.”
“It’s not our fault!” whines the third member of the group. “We were partying and didn’t know what time it was. Why don’t they have any clocks inside those casinos?”
It’s not the first time one of my clients has been caught off guard by how quickly time passes in Las Vegas, and it won’t be the last.
No matter how much I stress to clients the importance of keeping track of the itinerary, it rarely sticks.
There’s something about the lights and fantastical allure of Las Vegas that makes people forget all sense.
“So.” Straightening my spine a little, I slide the card reader toward Miss Frankfurt. “If you try to take the room cost out of my pay, then I’ll gladly see you in court. If not, how do you want to pay for the second room?”
“Fuck you,” she slurs slightly, leaning heavily against the counter. “We’re gonna one—one-star your fucking website. People should know the shitty stunts you pull.”
They’re all too tired and too drunk to realize how this entire situation is their own fault, and I will never see the apology thatwill enter their minds hours later when they realize I did nothing wrong.
The threat of a one-star review washes over me like water off a duck’s back.
I have more than enough glowing reviews that someone’s shitty attitude won’t affect my score too much, and I’ve been working with this hotel for two and a half years.
The money I bring in speaks for itself.
After finally dragging the extra four hundred dollars out of Miss Frankfurt for the second room and the extended stay, she fires me on the spot and refuses to listen when I tell her I technically work for the hotel, not her.
In the end, it’s easier to let her win the argument because dealing with her party rolling into the hotel so obscenely late has mademelate for the one person I swore never to be late for.
A promise I’ve broken more times than I ever dare to admit.
Each time the alarm rings on my phone reminding me of a more important place to be, I tell myself that this time will be the last time I leave my son hanging around waiting for me.
I tell myself the money I make is worth it for his future and that once I save enough to stop scraping by from paycheck to paycheck, I’ll make it up to him.
Online, other mothers tell me that he’s only four and he won’t remember my being late to pick him up from school or his activity clubs, but I remember that and more from my own childhood.
I swore I’d be different.
How weak that promise was.
