Page 33 of Summers at the Saint
Parrish bit her lip. “Was anything missing?”
“Well, no. Also, I don’t understand why these people don’t speak English…”
“Sir?” She let her voice take on a hint of frost. “I feel very, very sure that our housekeepers haven’t been ‘rummaging’ through your wife’s jewelry. Each evening, during turndown service, they tidy up bathroom vanities so that they can clean every surface, and generally freshen your suite. If you don’t require turndown, you can simply hang the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on your door. Or place your valuables in the safe in your closet.”
“Hmmmph. We’ll see about that. And another thing. The television in our suite doesn’t get the right channels.”
“Are you sure?” Guests who couldn’t understand how to use the smart televisions in their rooms, especially elderly ones, were the bane of her existence. The Colonel was the third guest this week who’d complained about not being able to access the premium cable channels.
“Of course I’m sure. All I can find are your dreadful local channels. What kind of five-star resort doesn’t get the BBC? My wife is missing her baking programs.”
She scribbled something in her blue notebook. “I’ll send up someone from engineering to take a look. All right?”
Before the Colonel could answer, Charlie Burroughs walked up. “Colonel McBee,” he said. “Good to see you again, sir. I trust our Parrish here is treating you right?”
“You trust wrong,” the Colonel snapped. He grabbed his newspaper and left. Again.
“Hey, Mr. Burroughs,” Parrish said wearily.
“What’s got the Colonel all worked up today?” Charlie asked.
“Let’s see. Day-old newspapers, housekeepers who don’t speak English and move his wife’s stuff during turndown service, and, oh yes, his television doesn’t get premiere cable channels, which is ridiculous, because I know for a fact that we just bought all-new, top-of- the-line smart TVs, right?”
“Right,” Charlie said.
“The old fart probably just can’t figure out how to work the remote,” Parrish said. “But he’s the third person to complain about a television this week. I told him I’d send engineering up to take a look, but in the meantime, I think I’ll ask Traci to check on where those televisions came from. Maybe the vendor sent the wrong ones?”
“Your aunt’s got enough on her plate this week, with the Beach Bash coming up. I’ll look into it myself, okay?”
“Sounds good,” Parrish told him.
“Miss?”
Parrish rolled her eyes and went back to work.
Livvy took an extra shift after lunch was over, finally dragging herself back to the dorm at six. She took a long, hot shower, pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, decided against a bra, and ambled into the kitchen to look for a beer.
It was quiet. Mostly because KJ and Garrett weren’t around. Parrish was sitting in the lounge, nursing a chilled glass of wine and staring down at her phone. Livvy flopped down onto the sofa next to her. She’d fixed a bag of microwave popcorn and held out the bag, offering some to Parrish, who looked startled.
“Thanks,” the girl said, taking a handful of the hot, buttery popcorn and stuffing it into her mouth. “I didn’t have time to eat today.”
“Yeah, we were slammed in the restaurant too. I guess the season is officially in full swing,” Livvy said. She took a long pull from the beer bottle.
Parrish put her phone facedown on the coffee table and propped her bare feet on the table’s edge. “The season is definitely here. And all the whiny Karens and bossy Bitsys have checked in with the express purpose of making my life a living hell.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask, what exactly do you do in that lobby all day? I mean, explain guest relations to me.”
“To quote my aunt, my job is to make sure our guests have a perfect experience. Like, today? Colonel McBee was standing at my desk, waiting, when I got there.”
Livvy groaned. “Ugh! McBee. Everyone at the restaurant calls him Captain Crunch.”
“It’s like he sits around and dreams up things to bitch about. Yesterday he complained that the landscape crew was making too much noise. Does he think we mow the grass with nail clippers? The day before that, the ice-cream shop didn’t have soft serve. Ruined his whole day!”
“I can top that,” Livvy said. “Earlier in the week, he asked to speak to the restaurant manager because he said we shorted him a shrimp in his shrimp cocktail. Who counts shrimp?”
Parrish sipped her wine and munched on her popcorn.
“Hey,” Livvy said softly, “is it okay if I ask you something?”
