Page 20 of Beautiful Revenge
“I already am. I’ve got cameras all over this place. If you verbally accost one of my employees again or take a step in Harlow’s direction, I’ll know. Your time here is over tomorrow. Take your licks like a man and get out. It’s your only choice.”
His glare intensifies, and the air in the conference room goes stagnant. He has no idea that I find him about as menacing as my niece’s cat who also hates me. The biggest mistake Albert Humphries could make is believing I give a shit what he thinks. I’m used to being hated by the underworld who likes to play in darker circles than he does. Not that exploiting cheap labor isn’t shady in its own right.
It fucking is.
I’ll never understand how the philanthropist, Harlow Madison, came as close as she did to tying herself to this arsehole.
His jaw tenses, and it’s not hard to miss his knuckles whitening from the clench of his fists.
I lower my voice. “Careful, Bertie. Whatever’s going on in that thick skull of yours, it’s a bad idea.”
He only takes a moment to mull that over before he shakes his head and spits, “I’ll deal with Harlow when she has the nerve to come up for air like a fucking adult and not be a Daddy’s girl. Mark my word, that day will come. I’m out of here.”
I turn and motion for the door. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard come out of your mouth. No need to check out. I’ll see that it’s taken care of.”
Albert shows that he has at least two brain cells to rub together and gives me a wide berth as he stalks past me and out of the conference room.
I had no idea how badly I need a layer between me and the clientele until today. Hiring a general manager is going to happen sooner rather than later.
I slide my cell from my pocket and make a call.
There’s a scurry of noise in the background. I can barely hear Corrine, my head chef, when she answers. “Kitchen.”
“Hey, it’s Devon. I need room service to be sent to suite number two. Send dinner, but not what you’re serving at the reception. Anything but that. And whip up more than oneentrée—make it three with dessert—I don’t know what she likes.”
“Got it. I’ll take care of it myself. We moved everything up as fast as we could for the reception. Do you still want us to serve the cake?”
“Dish that shit up. What else are we going to do with it? The rest of the celebration might be canceled, but they can still eat.” When I exit the conference room, the line to the front desk is almost taken care of. Felicity has this shit under control, so I leave her to it and turn my attention back to the chef. “Good work today. You did well under pressure. Tomorrow should be quiet before we get back to the normal swing of things with regular guests.”
Corrine doesn’t seem bothered in the least. I hired her away from a five-star restaurant in Los Angeles. It’s one of the few positions that I hired from outside of Winslet. She and her husband wanted a slower life and to raise their two kids in a small town. This place offered her the best of both worlds. “Sounds good. What time do you want room service delivered?”
I glance at my watch as I make my way through the atrium to the back of the manor overlooking the mountains and lake. Not everyone is checking out. We might not have the crowd we expected, but not everyone let the canceled nuptials ruin their time here. “Anytime in the next hour. Work your magic. Harlow Madison is having a shit day. It’s the least we can do.”
“Gotcha. I’ll make it special—but not wedding special. I’ll go for fancy comfort food.”
“Fancy comfort food,” I mutter. “I could use some of that myself. Appreciate you. I’ll check in later.”
I ring off but don’t move. I should call Harlow and tell her there’s no availability, and she’ll have to check out tomorrow as originally planned, but that’s the last thing I feel like doing.
And I know exactly what’s stopping me.
Curiosity.
I’d bet my early retirement payout that the American Princess did not get cold feet.
If anything, it’s the opposite. There is not a Madison or aHumphries on my property who seems broken hearted about what happened today.
Angry?
Hell, yes.
Everyone is angry.
But there’s not a cold foot in the place.
In fact, I’d say it’s more like someone lit a fire under every single one of them.
CHAPTER SIX
