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“I’ve been waiting to see him,” he went on, looking around the Alderton-Du Ponte hallways as if the man in question would just stride out of a room. “I’ve almost asked Annalise about him a time or two. Curiosity, that’s all. But you stiffened when they said this Grant’s name, so that leads me to assume?—”
“Don’t.”
“—thatheis the one, and it didn’twork out between you two. Which is unfortunate, if he’s your best friend’s brother. Isn’t that awkward? Hearing her talk so warmly to your ex?” Aaron ducked his head an inch, drawing closer. “So, lifedidn’tget better since ignoring mycrap advice, hmm?”
What I hated the most about him was how smug he was. IfI Told You Sowas a person, it’d look exactly like the egotistical Aaron Astor. The glittering entertainment in his dark eyes, the languid way he held things over my head—my body trembled with the weight of resentment, too much for my short frame. I gripped my water bottle tightly, my nails bending against the plastic, and I imagined I was wrapping my fingers around his neck. “Go to hell.”
Aaron smiled widely enough to show teeth, and he took a step back. “Dear, we’re at Alderton-Du Ponte.” He gave his eyebrows a lazy lift, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “We’re already there.”
And with that, he turned on his heel, retreating the way we came. I wanted to shout after him, hating the fact thathegot the last word. A million different things ran through my mind, and all of them would’ve gotten me fired.
CHAPTERFIVE
Monday morning, my ninth day of working straight, I walked from the employee parking lot to Alderton-Du Ponte. I couldn’t shake off the chill as I traced the ridges of my fingers. It wasn’tthatcold—mid-forties, pretty good for a March morning—but there was an icy pit in my stomach.
Turn around, the cold feeling said. I should’ve listened to it.
Alderton-Du Ponte’s employee lounge was right off the entryway from the lot, and the second I walked in, I could tell something was wrong. There weren’t even that many employees waiting for the start of their shifts, but the tension was palpable.
Paige, who’d been sitting on a chair near the door, popped up when I walked in. “Did you get one?” she asked in a rush. “Did you get an email?”
“An email?” I unwound my scarf from my throat. “About what?”
“The Christmas bonus!” Paige beamed at me. “I was one of them. Number six! Can you believe it? You’re probably number one, of course, but I mean—out of how many employees?”
“Two-hundred and forty,” one of the other girls, Trisha, said from where she stood at her open cubby. She looked at Paige from the corner of her eye, not even bothering to interject faux happiness into her voice. “Good for you.”
Paige pressed her lips together with wide eyes, looking at me with anoopsexpression.
Sothatwas where the tension came from. The bonuses.
“They usually do Christmas bonuses and summer bonuses,” I said as I moved past Trisha to get to my cubby. “They’ll do another in July, so it’s a good idea to be on our best behavior for then.”
“Easy for you to say.” Brett, standing near the door, shot me a look. “You get a bonus every time.”
So he didn’t get one either. Awkward.
“Lovey’s been here how long?” Paige piped in, grabbing on my shoulder after I shrugged off my coat. “She knows all the ins and outs—better than any of us. And works her butt off! Of course she’s going to be in the top ten. They don’t call her Alderton Du-Ponte’s Princess for nothing!”
I liked Paige—she was hands-down my favorite coworker since starting here last September—but she didn’t quite know how to read a room. And she didn’t realize that people really only ever called me that as an insult.
“Right.” Brett yanked the door open. “Princess.”
He left the lounge without another word, and Trisha, after stopping by the computer to clock herself in, also headed toward wherever her station was for the day. It was still ten until eight, but they couldn’t take the atmosphere any longer.
Once all my things were in my locker, I opened my email on my phone, but aside from a coupon for 10% off on Dial & Dine, nothing else loaded. I refreshed, frowning. “It was from the company email?” I asked her. “Or from Mr. Roberts?”
“The main Alderton-Du Ponte email.” Paige rocked on her heels. “Check your spam.”
I clicked on the junk folder, but found no magical Alderton-Du Ponte email waiting for me.
“Weird,” Paige said from where she peered over my shoulder. “Ask Mr. Roberts about it. They probably forgot to CC you in.”
“Probably,” I replied, locking my phone, but the icy feeling didn’t go away.
The door to the employee lounge opened, and miraculously, Mr. Roberts stepped in with his infamous tablet in hand. His eyes scanned the space before finding me. “Lovey, I need you on housekeeping today.”
“Housekeeping?” I repeated, frowning. “In the hotel?”