Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“How long will that take?”
Chester shrugs. “They come from overseas.”
“You’re fucking kidding me right now.”
“Wish I was.”
I shake my head. “Why does it seem like every system we have in this hotel is giving up on us before we’ve even opened?” First the sprinklers, now this?
A second shrug. “I worked at the Aspen Wolf when it opened after the remodel, and I remember three hot-water tanks blowin’ the hell up one morning. Not the first time that’s happened either.”
“Something to look forward to is what you’re telling me?” I mutter.
“Let’s hope we’re in the clear.” He reaches out to knock on a wooden wall panel.
Potential hot-water issues are not our concern now, though. “We can’t have this aquarium going down on us, this week of all weeks.” Belinda expects our mermaids to make the front cover of every major travel magazine.
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I know, boss. We’re doing everything we can. Just thought you should be in the know, in case it outright quits on us before we get it fixed.”
“And what happens if it quits? I mean, what about all these fish? And can the entertainers still use it?”
He scratches the top of his thinning hair. “We need the system to clean the water, or it’ll get funky real quick. How quick? I’m not an expert on giant fish tanks, but I can’t imagine any of those girls will want to get in murky water. Pictures probably wouldn’t look ideal either.” He cringes at the thought. “Hopefully, it doesn’t get to that, and I’m on it.”
I sigh. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
His phone chirps, and he scans it. And curses. “That’s because you idiots connected the kegs wrong.”
My eyebrows arch in question. “Problem?”
“Just foamy beer. Better go deal with that.”
“Better you than me.” I think I’m beginning to see how this director thing works—these guys do all the problem-solving and running around and only loop me in when there’s something they can’t solve without it costing, in which case I get to take the heat from the higher-ups.
Commotion sounds from the kitchen, and a moment later, a man dressed in a white chef’s uniform plows through the swinging door, his hand wrapped in a tea towel, his face pinched with pain.
“That can’t be good,” Chester declares as a petite woman in a peach-colored manager’s uniform chases him out Opal Reef’s doors.
“No, but that’s Lena’s problem.” I have enough to worry about, and it’s not even noon. I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be in a meeting somewhere. “Call this tank manufacturer back and get someone here today. After hours if they have to. Drag them out of a hospital bed, I don’t care. A system like this going down on our opening week? Unacceptable. They should be jumping through hoops to please us.”
“Will do, boss.”
I grit my teeth. “Call me Ronan.” I don’t need anyone kissing my ass.
He salutes me and takes off.
With one last look at the enormous tank, I head back to my office, my mood growing more acerbic by the hour.
Britt:
Do you have featherless pillows?
Define featherless
I’m not kidding! I have allergies, remember?
You’re all good. No feathers.
Okay …
I’m so excited.
See you soon.
I set my phone down. My baby sister and I have always been close, and I don’t mind admitting that I’ve missed her. Still, I wonder if inviting her this weekend of all weekends was the smartest move. I won’t have time for her.
“Fourteen stitches,” Lena confirms, reading a text from her phone before leaning back in the plush armchair, the oversized umbrella above our table providing shade against the sweltering afternoon sun. “And he’s lost part of his finger.”
“We haven’t even opened our doors yet,” Belinda muses, setting her fork on her plate to mark her salmon salad finished. The server hovering over us like a seagull swoops in to collect. “I thought chefs were trained to not maim themselves.”
Lena snorts.
I unfasten a button at my shirt collar, wishing I’d chosen a golf shirt. I wasn’t expecting an afternoon meeting at Seraphina’s. I’ll admit, the view over the gulf is a million times nicer than staring at the frosted glass walls of the meeting room, but we’re on hour two of comparing notes about all the ways we’re still not ready for guests, and I’m minutes away from stripping down and diving into the pool on the other side of the privacy wall.
“Does this mean no dinner party tomorrow night, then?” I was looking forward to it because Abbi will be there, but now I’d rather eat a bag of tacks than be around her husband.
“You’re kidding, right?” Belinda counters. “We have an entire kitchen of chefs. Besides, he’s the master chef. You don’t need a finger to give orders.”
“Good to know everyone has their priorities straight,” I say under my breath.
“Is that dinner mandatory?” Lena asks, her tone reluctant.