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“Hunter,” I spit back. It’s been nearly a week and my name isn’t that hard to remember. It crosses my mind to pantomime the rifle again, but it will only stir up the urge to get a real weapon for the next time I have to talk to Frankie.
“Whatever.” He waves his hand at me. “I’m managing this, and the finances are above your pay grade. You were hired as a go-fer. So go.” He flicks the back of his hands at me as if shooing away a fly.
I bite my tongue. Not now. “What should we tell the staff? We have the wedding reception this weekend. The menus have already been printed.” I press, knowing I’m annoying him. It’s a tactic. Tired, frustrated people drop their social graces and reveal their true inner self when annoyed.
“Listen, what the hell is it with you and the word we? I don’t give a shit what they tell the guests. It’s a non-refundable event and their only thought will be on the honeymoon. I could get away with serving them wings and pizza and they wouldn’t notice. Go tell someone who cares.” Frankie steps toward me, the scent of weed and alcohol causing me to take a step back. A smirk appears on his grungy face, a look of satisfaction, as if me taking a step back is a sign of fear as opposed to the need for me to avoid smelling him.
“Silly me,” I pause at the doorway and lock my gaze on him, “and here I thought the manager would like to be made aware of an issue so that they could… who knows… manage.” I don’t wait for him to react, turning and pulling the door shut behind me.
My father’s voice echoes in my head, respect those who respect themselves and others. Frankie has proven to respect neither.
Legendary Hall has the appearance of possessing a million small problems but in fact, it doesn’t. It just has one - a very large immovable object - Franklin Junior.
