Page 14 of Off-Limits Bosses
He shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen anything arriving yet. Asked the gate security, they haven’t seen anything either.”
“Great,” I muttered, my phone already in my hand. The sculpture was a crucial part of the shoot; frankly, it was the central focus. On top of that, it was priceless. We could not afford it getting lost in transit, or worse, broken.
I dialed the delivery company’s number, and they didn’t answer the first call. I swore several times under my breath, before trying again. The second time, it was picked up, and a gruff voice came through from the other side.
“Yes?”
“This is the concierge of The Pacific,” I announced, with frustration in my tone. “We have a delivery scheduled for a sculpture, marked as fragile and urgent. Why has it not arrived yet?”
“Lemme check,” the man on the other end grumbled. I heard movement, computer clicks, and a few rufflings of paper. While I waited, I had to take a few deep breaths. It seemed like he didn’t quite care about how quickly this all had to happen.
Eventually, he came back to me with a grunt. “It’s due tonight at seven.”
I froze for a second, before pinching my phone to my shoulder and grabbing my tablet from my deepest pocket. I unlocked and checked my documents, thinking that I might have made a terrible mistake.
I hadn’t.
“Absolutely not,” I insisted, readying myself for an argument. “I double-checked invoices, bookings, the schedule. It’s due today, over ten minutes ago. This is unacceptable. Let me speak to your manager.”
“Look, lady, I’m telling you what I have on my papers,” he replied, clearly annoyed with me. “It says 7 PM. You think I’m lying?”
“I’ll repeat myself only once,” I answered firmly. “Connect me to a higher-up.”
“Fine.”
There were several beeps and then hold music, and I started tapping my foot on the concrete outside the delivery door impatiently. I didn’t have time to waste on this kind of issue, and I certainly wasn’t about to lose my job when I was just getting so good at it.
“Peters,” I said, addressing the porters. “You stay here. Rodriguez, Garrison, help in the lobby. I’ll update you when you have to come back.”
They nodded, and got moving. I followed Rodriguez and Garrison back inside, deciding that I couldn’t be standing around doing nothing while I waited to be put in touch with someone who could actually do something.
According to the schedules, the models and photographer would be arriving within the next hour. The delivery could take longer than that, especially if there was a mess on their end to be fixed. I could delay the shoot by a few minutes, but no longer than that. If I managed to work fast, and the delivery company actually was willing to help, I would just about get it done.
“Hello?” Finally, someone was speaking on the other end of the line again. I explained the situation, and the urgency.
“Oh, my,” the woman eventually said, clearly more bothered than the man had been earlier. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I will get that delivery out to you right away. It should take some time, but I will ensure that the driver understands this must happen fast. I am truly, truly sorry about this error. Please inform Mr. Klein that we will be addressing the root cause immediately.”
“I do hope so,” I answered, only slightly relieved. “This is an important project. Timing is everything. I am sure you know that.”
“Of course, I’ll get it handled.” Her tone was still incredibly apologetic.
“Good, thank you.” I ended the call, and didn’t have any time to even take a single breath. I was now in the lobby, and already being approached by another set of guests.
“I was told you could assist us,” the man said, with the far younger woman hanging onto his arm. “We want to have our lunch on the rooftop terrace.”
I went through my mental files to find their names. “Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Languin, of course. Do you have a menu in mind?”
“I’m not Mrs. Languin,” the woman said, almost offended. She had been with him when they were checking in, I was certain of that, and those were the names he’d checked them in with.
Mr. Languin turned red and waved her off. “Oh, don’t mind her. We were thinking top-tier seafood. Whatever is the most expensive on the list, bring us that.”
“No problem,” I answered professionally, barely managing to stop myself from raising my eyebrows at the obvious drama that was going to unfold in this man’s life. “I’ll call the kitchen and have them get right on that for you.”
“And, please, reroute all calls directly to my cell phone,” Mr. Languin continued, now seemingly a bit more nervous than he had been earlier.
Wouldn’t want his wife to accidentally talk to the mistress, would we?I thought, and this time, my smile was a bit more genuine before I answered. “Certainly, Sir. Anything else I could help you with?”
“Is the pool open?” Not-Mrs.-Languin asked, and after I nodded, she dragged Mr. Languin after her, insisting that they had to go for a swim.
