Page 22 of Sweeter than Honey
“Oh! Thank you, Re- I mean, Ms. Espina.”
“It’s my pleasure, Lily,” she says smoothly.
Again, she betrays nothing, the picture of calm composure. Unlike me, a blushing, anxious mess.
Her heels click on the floor of the office hallway. I sit back down at my desk and watch her go.
What was it she said? That the hotel couldn’t function without me. I smile to myself. I guess that’s true. I’m good at what I do, and I work hard. It’s nice that she notices.
“Lily!” crackles an anxious voice on my headset.
“Oh, yes, Chelsie?” I respond, startled out of my daydreaming.
“It’s the rock star suite again. Could you come up?”
I inhale to center myself. This is good. I need something to keep me distracted from my thoughts.
“Yes, of course. I’ll be right there!”
One drunk rock star, a whining Mrs. Harrigan, a lost Argentinian family, and three hungry Dobermans later, I finally return to the office floor. There’s really never a dull moment working at a luxury hotel. I don’t mind. It’s a welcome distraction from my own thoughts and worries.
But I’m looking forward to sitting at my desk for a while. I promisedRenata that I would work on the witch conference, and I’d like to make a head start on it tonight. There’s only an hour and a half left on my overnight shift.
I smile at the receptionist as I go by, heading toward the CEO’s office. But she grimaces at me and leans over the reception desk.
“What is it?” I ask, expecting it to be another issue with a guest, or perhaps a new project Renata’s taken on.
“It’s Amara,” she whispers urgently. “Ms. Côté needed her for something, and she had to leave her lounge shift early, so…”
Elijah. “Shit! Did she…”
“Yes!”
I don’t ask any more questions. I speed walk down the office hallway, as fast as my discount pink ballet flats will take me.
Please don’t have seen him, please don’t have…
My desk is empty. For a moment, I wonder if maybe I misunderstood the receptionist. Maybe Amara didn’t leave Elijah up here. Maybe she left him with Lexi, or…
The latch on the CEO office’s door opens with a neatclick, and my heart leaps into my throat. Standing in the doorway is Renata, her thin lips in a tight line. She gives me a severe look, and adjusts her stance so that I can see behind her, into the office.
Sitting in her spotless chair, a pile of colourful plastic pony dolls laid out before him across her desk, sits my five-year-old son, Elijah.
“Does this child belong to you?” Renata asks.
Her tone isn’t perfectly poised between professional and personal, as it typically is. Right now, it’s definitely professional. And it’s laced with disapproval.
Eli looks up at me, a big, sleepy grin on his face.
“Hi mama!” he says. “We made a nap, then we played ponies!”
“He slept on my couch and then, upon awakening, insisted on putting all of his toys on my desk,” Renata translates. “Lily, I would expect you to understand that I am extremely busy…”
“I’msosorry, Ms. Espina,” I tell her. She steps aside, and I move quickly into the room, gathering up Eli’s ponies into the backpack he’s thrown onto the rug beside the desk.
“Hey!” he protests, but I ignore him.
“Tell Ms. Espina thank you for letting you use her office,” I tell him,more severely than I usually speak to him.