Page 5 of Bossy Grump's Secret

"Lily...Lily Crowe." She imitates my gesture as much as her timidity could allow her.

"Ava and Lily, welcome. At Belfrost Hotels, our goal entails one thing: only the finest. This puts a lot of pressure on the staff to be as near to perfect as possible. The dishes, the service, the environment...in every one of our branches is the same. We try to 'wow' our customers and guests as much as possible."

I could have passed out at all the lecturing, but I'm not gonna lie; a speech given by such a guy with his level of professional eloquence hits a little differently. I didn't expect my supervisor to be this young and temptingly alluring.

"What does this mean for you?" he asks rhetorically, continuing his boring speech. "It's pretty simple. The sheets must be as white as possible, the toilets and bathtubs spotless, and for practically anything you're given to do, put in at least one hundred percent. It's that simple," he concludes. We nod in understanding.

"So, what task do I give you? Greene will wring my neck if I put you guys into cleaning immediately. You follow Matilde over there," he points to a woman just behind me. “She'll give you laundry and show you the works. I trust you learned a lot yesterday."

I wonder what his response would be if I said we didn't, but I don't push it. It's too early to make a mess of myself. Worse yet, if I get ignored or something like what happened at the stairway yesterday.

"When you're done with that, just come back here and wait for me. I'll assign you another task. I should come up with your routines in about three or four days, and I hope you're flexible," he instructs almost as fluidly, I would say, as the RDM. Lily and I exchange looks.

"This is where you tell me whether you're cool with it," he utters with a side stare from his iPad.

There was a battle in my head whether to reply sarcastically, but good won and my demons rested. "Yes, definitely. We completely understand. I didn't think we had much of a choice either way." I laugh a little. He doesn't find it funny and only grunts in response, reaffirming my conclusion of his character.

Either he is having an awful week or a terrible life.

His grumpiness shouldn't be directed at me, since I'm not involved in either of these things.

We follow Matilde to the laundry room, a floor below the living one, laden with stores for non-consumables and other things I choose to pay no attention to.

The entire laundry process seems light compared to what I'd expect a hotel this large to operate. There are rows upon rows of industrial washers. it divided them into compartments for washing different materials.

We dedicate a section to the guests’ individual clothes for a long stay and the one that washes general things like sheets and pillowcases that could place in any room. Matilde help us understand that cleaning different materials is more a brain than a physical task. I do my best to sort the clothes of the respective guests by material and colour to avoid mixing them with those of other guests. With their clever sorting system, it's relatively easy.

What isn't easy is when Dylan comes down to observe us.

"That...give me that." He snatches the fabric from my hand, more out of a hurry than a lack of character, but I'm still offended. "This is seventy-five percent cotton, so it should go in here. By the way...Matilde! Guests having less than ten articles about washing should use the self-service laundry room. How many times have I said that?" He has to raise his voice to be heard over the roar of the spinning machines.

"I do not know, Dylan. I met them here and just started sorting." Matilde raises her hands in defence.

"When you see an article selection like this, the next time is to keep it aside. Whoever brought it in would reply to a query. It's one job. Count the items. If I haven't done it before, I'd think it to be a hard task." He huffed and stuffed the selected items in the washer as a demonstration.

The rest of the laundry time is peppered with Dylan making subtle corrections here and there. They are harmless but still piss me off. I feel my breath unhinge when he leaves. After our laundry shift, we reconvene in the reception and wait another thirty minutes for a reassignment.

"A much-needed rest, don't you think? Shaming it's over." Lily nods in a direction, and sure enough, when I turn my head, I see Dylan approaching us. He moves fast, and even though he's checking something on his phone, he doesn't trip or stumble.

He must know this place by heart.

"I'm sure they trained you guys well for the next task," he says nonchalantly.

"Yes, we are, sir." Lily smiles at him, and he flashes her an awkward look in return.

"Everyone just calls me Dylan. I'm not that old." The first time his lips spread into a smile made me appreciate his beauty even more. A pity he doesn't do it often.

Just then, a crowd of people descends from both elevators. He brings his hands to his ears to answer a call and nods as he takes instructions. He turns to us when the call is done.

"Change of plans… follow me." He turns and flies toward the stampede that killed Mufasa seems to charge. After wrangling through the crowd and saving Lily from being crushed in the sea of bodies, we finally arrive at the hall they had just left.

"We need to tidy this up. Another conference is this evening, so the event decor needs to be here in approximately three hours. I'll bring help."

Lily gasps. I'm in shock too.

"Mrs. Greane said light tasks." This is too much! The hall seats two hundred at least…and they eat and drink.

"I said I'll bring help," Dylan asserts. "All we're doing is removing the old decorations and trashing items. Sanitary will do the rest. Start with the tables, alright?" His phone buzzed, then he hurried off.

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