Chapter 4 - The Shift Schedule on the Fridge
I left his study with the rag still bunched in my hand. It was damp and cold against my palm. I didn't look back at the lobby when I crossed the hall. The checkered floor was too bright and I could feel his eyes on my back until the service door swung shut behind me.
The hallway to the staff wing was narrower and it smelled like laundry detergent and old coffee. My knees ached from the marble. I tried to walk normal. I tucked the loose strands back into my bun and took a breath that actually filled my lungs. The silver bucket was still out there by the stairs. I'd left it. I told myself someone else would move it and that was fine.
The kitchen was empty when I pushed in. The light was that flat fluorescent that made everything look tired. On the fridge, held up with two magnets shaped like little lemons, was a fresh sheet of paper.
Victor's handwriting. He always wrote in all caps with a black Sharpie.
WEEK OF 10/14 - REVISED, it said at the top. My name was on three nights in a row. EAST WING - SOLO DETAIL, 9PM - 2AM. ON CALL: V.
I stared at it. The east wing was the side they kept closed unless there were guests. No cameras. Just those big empty guest suites and the long hallway with the thermostat that never worked right. I had never been on solo nights before. We always worked in pairs for the overnight cleans.
I heard the service door before I saw him.
"You're back quick," Victor said.
He came in holding a clipboard, calm as anything. Late thirties, neat polo shirt, his hair combed back the way he always kept it. He didn't look angry. That was the thing that always made my stomach drop more than if he had yelled.
He set the clipboard down and his eyes went right to my hands. To the rag.
"Did the floor pass inspection?" he asked, and he smiled a little.
I nodded. My throat was dry. "He said it was still not clean. Then he told me to go clean up and... I told him I would get the bucket later."
It wasn't exactly a lie. I left out the study. I left out the part where the Boss had looked at my neck and asked who did this to me. My voice sounded even. I was proud of that for about two seconds.
Victor stepped closer. He wasn't touching me yet. He just looked at me the way a manager looks at a uniform that's not quite right.
"Mr. Kensington is dramatic," he said. His tone was even, proprietary, like he was talking about a difficult guest. "He was overseas for a month. He comes home and wants to play lord of the manor. You shouldn't worry him with little things."
He reached around me. His fingers found the bow of my apron at the small of my back and tugged it straight. The movement was quick and practiced. He'd done it a hundred times before. My whole body went still.
"There," he said. "That's better."
He let his hand linger a second too long on the tie and then he moved it to my shoulder, turning me just slightly so the kitchen light hit my neck. I realized my collar had slipped. When the Boss had held it, he must have left it folded down a little.
Victor's eyes narrowed. He didn't pull the collar. He just studied it.
"Keep your collar up," he said quietly. "You look messy when it gapes like that. And fix your hair before night shift."
I nodded again and swallowed. "Okay."
"Good girl." He stepped back and tapped the schedule on the fridge with one knuckle. "Saw your new rotation? I moved you. The east wing needs a deep clean before they talk about listing the property. Quiet work. Just you and me on call if you need anything. You'll like it. No guards hovering around."
The way he said guards made it clear he knew the Boss had dismissed them in the lobby. He knew everything that happened on that floor.
"I've never done nights alone," I said. My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be.
"You'll be fine. You're thorough. That's why I picked you." He picked his clipboard back up. "Just remember, if Mr. Kensington asks you about anything - schedules, duties - you send him to me. That's protocol. We don't bother the owner with housekeeping details. Right?"
"Right."
He held my gaze for another beat, then gave me that small smile again and walked out, his shoes quiet on the linoleum. The door swung and then settled.
I stood there in that empty kitchen with the humming fridge and the handwritten schedule staring back at me. My hand went up without thinking and pulled my collar up high around my neck, pressing it flat. The fabric was tight against the bruises.
May you like
It hit me then, cold and clear. The Boss trying to help - asking me to look at him, crouching beside me so I wasn't alone on that floor - Victor had seen it as a problem I'd caused. Now I was alone on nights in a wing no one checked, with him as the only number to call.
I folded the damp rag in half, then in half again, and slipped it into my apron pocket. My hands were shaking again.
