Page 129 of Embriagado

I slammed both fists on my desk before taking a deep breath. It was just a dream. And as unpleasant as it was, I shouldn’t worry about it. After all, dreams are simply a sequence of images our brain involuntarily chooses to show us. I had no control over it and, therefore, shouldn’t care. My hand moved to my bottom lip, and I brushed my finger over the wound I’d caused myself by biting on it too hard.

Mr. Rivas was the man who appeared in my nightmare because, most likely, of all the time we spent together. What was more, that meal we shared last week might have also had its effect. His questions brought up unwanted memories from my past, so unavoidably, my mind lingered on that dinner. That, mixed with my lack of sexual activity, led to last night’s incident. Obviously, the best solution would be to cut all ties with him immediately. Only as long as I used him as my pawn, it was impossible. Therefore, I had no choice but to bite my lip until my debt was closed, and I’d finally be able to part ways with him.

Thinking about the moron, I hadn’t seen him today or heard a word from him, which, while pleasant, was odd. Curiosity got the better of me, and without hesitation, I opened the hotel security system on my computer and began flipping through the various spaces in the hope of locating the rascal.

Since I knew he’d come back to work for me, I never actually bothered firing him, which made promoting him to assistant manager much easier. Still, despite his new title, the man lacked any, if not all, the basic capacities to carry out the job, and therefore, he was only here to waste his time. Which he was, as I’d finally found him lazing at the main bar while bothering Ms. Jackson.

My lips twisted with annoyance at the sight of those two laughing and seeming awfully close. They had gotten along since he started working here, and while they hadn’t caused any issues yet, I still wasn’t a fan of this connection. Obviously, because Ms. Jackson was an excellent employee, and he, well, I feared Mr. Rivas’s low IQ level would affect her. My eye twitched when, out of nowhere, Ms. Jackson reached forward and poked Mr. Rivas’s nose. Why on earth would she touch him so affectionately? I sure hoped there was no indecent contact between the pair, as taking care of it would be a hassle. Although considering he was most certainly gay, there was no reason to worry about such a thing taking place. And yet, I found their closeness to be bothersome; therefore, I’d have to keep an eye on them for the sake of the hotel.

My phone tinged, the screen lit with a calendar notification, reminding me that a flower delivery was due to arrive at the hotel any minute now. So distracted with my thoughts, I’d completely forgotten about it. Typically, I’d send one of the employees to handle flower shipments, but last week, there was a mistake in one of the orders. While I specifically asked for white roses, I was delivered red ones. And what was a bigger cliché than bright red roses?

They were cheap, overused, and ridiculously romantic. Not to mention, I absolutely loathed the color red. Yes, my precious motorcycle was a beautiful shade of red, but there was always an exception. One that did not extended to roses, and therefore, over my dead body would I ever have my hotel filled with that disastrous flower.

Closing my computer, I grabbed my phone from the desk, got up, and left my office to make sure no red roses were delivered here today.

SANTIAGO

“I still can’t believe that, of all people, you’re the one who got promoted.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I grunted, eyes fixed on Imani, who was busy slicing lemons.

“It means that you’ve been working here for what, three, four months? And there Ariyan goes and promotes you to assistant manager,” she huffed. “Some of us have been working here for a year, you know?”

I side-eyed her. “Didn’t this hotel open only a year ago?”

She slammed her knife on the cutting board, then glared at me. “That’s beyond my point. Besides, I thought he hated you.”

My smile dropped, and my brows creased. “Why would you say that?”

“Say what?”

“That he hates me.” My frown deepened. “Did he say anything to you?”

She stared at me for a minute before bursting out laughing. “Why would he say anything to me?”

“Then why would you say that he hates me?”

Picking up the knife again, she went back to slicing those lemons while chuckling. “You’re so absurd, Santi. I mean, for weeks, you complained to me about the odd tasks he gave you, like babysitting a cactus⁠—”

“It was a succulent.”

“Whatever. What I’m saying is that you’re the one who made it sound like the boss had it in for you.”

She had a point… but still⁠—

“So he didn’t say anything?”

She looked up at me again, one brow raised. The longer she kept quiet, the more irritated I became until she poked my nose.

Wait, she did what?

“I swear, he didn’t say anything.”

She went back to her lemons while I rubbed my nose.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, babe. I mean, other than telling me ‘keep up with the good work, Ms. Jackson,’ or ‘the Royal Suite asked for more champagne, Ms. Jackson,’ he literally says nothing to me.”