Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Hopefully, as bad as her morning was going, when he finally dragged his ass out of bed, he’d just fire her and get it over with. It truly would be so much easier. She had a job waiting for her whenever she wanted it at one of the larger, swankier, waterfront hotels down the road. Granted, she wouldn’t have on-site accommodations as she did with this job, but then, she wouldn’t be on call twenty-four hours a day, either.
But for right now, this was her hotel, or at least that’s the way she thought of it, and she was going to perform the same professional job she always had . . . right up until the moment he woke up and forced her to the pavement.
With that being said, she waded through the mess that was mid-construction on the west side of the third floor. Standing amidst five burly construction workers, wearing heels and an over-the-knee, pencil-slim skirt, she looked over the new sheetrock, checking out the substantial progress made since the morning before. Well, maybe things weren’t going so badly after all.
Juan, the supervisor in charge of the contract workers, stopped what he was doing when he saw her enter the suite and addressed her in Spanish. “You like what you see, Miss Maria?”
Maria smiled at him but ignored his sexual innuendo. He’d been harmlessly flirting with her ever since his crew had begun the project, and she knew he didn’t mean any offense or disrespect. She looked over the walls at the invisible seams. “Yeah, I do,” she answered back in Spanish. “Your crew does a great job. We’re lucky to have you.”
With dramatic flair, he put his hand over his heart. “What we do, we do for you.”
She burst into a laugh and shook her head. “Ah-huh. And the paychecks I hand out every week mean nothing, right?”
“You got me there, pretty,” he said with a smile before picking up his paint roller again.
She was about to wish him a good day when she noticed a half-empty box of cleaning spray. Strolling over, she glanced down, and for decorum’s sake, bent at the knees before picking up a single bottle, one of about half remaining in the box. “Where did these come from?” Standing up and swiveling the bottle in her fingers, she looked it over and then again at the box it had come in.
“They showed up a week ago or so. Why, what’s the problem?”
“Your crew has been using them?” she asked.
“Si.”
“Crap,” she mumbled as she reverted to English without conscious thought. “Don’t use any more of these bottles, okay?”
“Okay, but we’ll need new ones.”
“I’ll have some here by this afternoon.” With that, Maria spun on her heels, taking the spray bottle with her.
It didn’t take her three minutes to arrive at the office of the general manager, a man she had little respect for. She rapped on his door and when he looked up, she lifted the bottle, showing it to him as if in question.
“What?” the man rasped out impatiently.
Maria inwardly fumed. The guy stayed on his computer all day playing games, gambling, and messing with his social media accounts while she performed the job he was getting paid for. Poor Mr. Duncan would be rolling in his grave if he knew his beloved hotel was in such disrespectful hands. “Did you order these?” she asked.
“Yeah. So?”
Maria heard someone in the hallway behind her but she didn’t turn around to see which clerk had walked by. “See anything missing?” she asked, indicating the bottle, for the moment, concentrating only on the mission at hand.
“No,” he snapped, obviously impatient.
“M.S.D.S.” she replied succinctly, crossing her arms. “Mean anything to you?”
“On spray cleaner?” He rolled his eyes as if she had a screw loose. “Run along now, I’m busy.”
She took a deep breath and prayed for patience. “Mr. Treadway, I realize that you and I don’t get along all that well. But trust me, this isn’t a minor detail.” As she spoke, she attempted like hell to keep her tone neutral. “Every single bottle of this stuff, all the chemicals used in this hotel, have to have material safety data sheets on them. Not just on the box, but on each bottle.”
“On spray cleaner? Who gives a shit?” he snorted, looking back to his computer as if she were wasting his time.
“OSHA’s going to give a shit,” she answered decisively as she walked over to his desk and set the bottle beside his cell phone.
“OSHA?” he repeated, continuing to give his full attention to his computer screen, not even giving her the courtesy of pretending interest.
Knowing full well he knew exactly who OSHA was, she lost it and couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. Hell, she was going to get her pink slip today anyway, so why the fuck not? “Yeah, you know, Occupational Safety and Health Administration, that large government entity that likes to protect workers by imposing large fines on corporations that don’t comply with their guidelines? Do you not care anything about this hotel or its employees?”