Page 17 of Don't Tell

I know what I saw — who, actually. His NDA is still sitting in my bag. I didn’t read it. I don’t intend to. He’s another person I’m hoping to wear down. As soon as he’s out of the hotel, all of this should blow over. I just need to make him think I’m actually considering it.

I clean my brushes, cap the tube, and get ready for my shift. I catch the bus to the hotel. Since I already have a set schedule, I don’t bother finding Roger. I start toward the equipment room when I see Carmen walking past with an armful of pillowcases.

“Roger’s in a mood,” she hisses.

“Did something happen?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Does something have to? Just stay out of his way today. He might be looking for a show.”

I walk faster. I need to get my cart and hide out in the penthouse suite — at least Mr. Nightingale isn’t trying to get me fired. Crossing paths with Roger right now will prove to be more dangerous than sitting in a room with the naked man for the whole day.

As soon as I enter the equipment room, I reach for my cart, but I’m already too late. I hear angry footsteps coming from behind me, and I already know things are about to be very chaotic.

“Jenkins!”

I turn around to find Roger glaring at me, glasses sliding down his face. He pushes them back up violently. He holds up a set of towels. “What. Are. These?”

I take them from him. I inspect them for any stain, but there's nothing. I stare at him blankly. “They’re towels?”

He grinds his teeth. That’s clearly not the answer he was looking for. “I can see that. What I want to know is why they aren’t where they’re supposed to be?”

I wrack my brain.Towels, towels, towels… But nothing comes to mind. I don’t remember anything that has to do with towels. I want to say something, offer up a defense or an excuse, but I have nothing.

“I don’t — ”

He suddenly wraps his fingers around my wrist and yanks me out to the hallway, where everyone can see. I glance around, and sure enough, we’re already creating a scene.

“You don’t what? You don’t know what I’m talking about? You weren’t aware you were supposed to change the towels in the Sonoma suite?”

“But I’ve been assigned to the penthouse suite exclusively. I assumed — ”

“You assumed, huh? In the years you’ve worked here, have I ever asked for your opinion? Have I asked what you think? I give orders, and you follow without a thought. That’s how this works. We don’t pay you to think.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Frank standing by the far end, watching quietly. Then I see Carmen approaching. Her fingers are balled into fists, and I recognize the look in her eyes. She’s coming to defend me.

I quickly make eye contact and shake my head. She glares at me. I shake my head again, then stare at the floor. If I keep quiet and just let him yell, it’ll be over. I won’t lose my job today.

“You should be grateful you even have a job, Jenkins, considering how careless and replaceable you are. You have no value, no worth. I’m sick and tired of — ”

A door suddenly opens, and a hush falls over the hallway.

Curiosity forces me to look up. Mr. Nightingale is watching. His gray eyes are still, like a storm that’s quietly brewing. His eyes aren’t fixed on me, though; they’re on Roger.

I hear Roger swallow. He fixes his ugly brown tie and drops his hand from my wrist. "M-Mr. Nightingale, sir…we were just, um…going over some housekeeping issues… That's all."

“Hmm…” Mr. Nightingale’s eyes find mine. I’m transfixed. I hold my breath as he walks to me. He doesn’t look at Roger. His eyes remain on mine. They’re searching, looking for something, I’m not sure what. He takes the towels from me and sets them on my cart.

Then he turns slowly, and over his shoulder, he growls, "If I hear you speak to her like that again, I'll buy this hotel and fire you myself."

“Mr. Nightingale, I — ”

“Do I make myself clear?”

He nods vigorously. “I do.” Then Mr. Nightingale turns to the rest of the staff. “What are you looking at? Back to work, everyone.” Roger scurries down the hallway, but not before glancing over his shoulder to shoot me a glare.

My stomach drops. Mr. Nightingale just made me a target for Roger, and Roger is going to ensure he kicks me out of here for humiliating him.

This is all his fault. I didn’t need his help. I was handling it. Why did he have to butt in?