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After that, I cut ties with him and with Paige. I didn’t care if he got out early or if he rotted in prison for his full sentence. His well-being wasn’t my concern anymore.
But I was sure about one thing. I would rise again, and even if I had forgotten about Ryan and Paige, I’d make sure my name haunted them forever.
Chapter four
Reagan
It had been a week. A week since I received the email that said that by some fucked up miracle, I got the job at Parker Villas.
“Congratulations,” the email had said. “You are one of our top ten hires at Parker Villas. Please arrive on or before eight a.m. tomorrow for orientation and to receive your uniforms.”
I had received the email in the middle of lunch, seven days after I had made a fool of myself in the interview. I was already mentally prepared for the fact that I was not getting hired and even started looking for another job option. Something that was more connected with my degree.
Let me tell you, it was impossible to find work when you were a creative like me. Not only was the field competitive, but job offers were usually limited, and pay wasn’t that high. It was always a fight between practicality and passion.
After a week of starting work at the hotel, I realized I was doing a shitty job. I could barely push the cleaning cart inside the room without bumping into something. Thankfully, I hadn’t broken anything. Yet. I knew it would happen someday, though.
On my first day, I cleaned one of the Presidential Suits with someone named Tyler. He had been working in the hotel for a year. He was a high school dropout with a big dream to become a fashion designer. He was friendly and very happy to teach me how to make the beds and fold the blankets. He was so good and precise at his job that it was like he was working purely on muscle memory. I was impressed.
So I learned just by watching. When it was my time to do it, he told me that the overhangs should be tucked properly and that I should always fold in thirds. Although it wasn’t half as good as his work, he assured me I would improve with constant practice.
Although I could stomach the amount of folding, vacuuming, and sweating, the only thing I still couldn’t get used to was cleaning the bathroom.
Sure, the baths at the hotel were pristine with exquisite marble finishes, but the guests could be disgusting sometimes. I didn’t do well with filth. It made me squeamish. And some guests, even the pretty ones, could be awful.
I once cleaned a bathtub drain filled with what looked like pubic hair. The man looked like he was in his early twenties and seemed to well enough off to afford a fancy suit. I cleaned his room after his first night and thought he was handsome with impeccable taste in ties. That was until I saw his bathtub. The jerk must have shaved and didn’t bother to clean up.
Another time a woman had the smelliest trash I had smelled in my life. I didn’t know what was inside that bin, but it took everything in me not to throw up.
After a week, I still hadn’t developed a strong stomach, but it wasn’t something I couldn’t handle.
At least Alejandra, one of the sous chefs I had befriended, always prepared dinner for me to take home before my shift ended at seven p.m.
The Filipino woman with white streaks of hair under her hairnet had told me I looked like my mother, and she immediately had my attention. She shared that she once worked in a deli in California, one my mother frequented. My mother had been kind enough to give her big tips every time she visited so that Alejandra could save enough to send her son to college.
I cried in front of Alejandra and hugged her tightly after I shared that Mommy had passed away. After that, she had been preparing me dinner, and I thought how small the world was that our paths crossed.
It had also been a week since I saw Matthew, which I thought was good because I didn’t know what I’d say to him when we crossed paths. Should I thank him for giving me a chance? Or apologize for the way I spoke to the fucking CEO?
“I got it from here, Tyler,” I said, maneuvering the cleaning cart outside one of the standard rooms we just finishing tidying up. All I needed to do was get some things from the pantry to refill the toiletries.
I wiped my other hand on the white apron around my light blue uniform, my shoes clattering against the marble floors. The heels were a tad higher than the required height, but they were the only ones I had, and I still needed to save a little extra money for another set of good-quality shoes.
“Excuse me,” a voice with a valley girl accent called from behind me. She sounded like one of my friends back home who, I realized a little too late, didn’t care enough for me to call now that I was no longer living at home with my dad.
“Do you need anything, ma’am?” I asked, turning to see a pale girl with dark curls peeking out of the door of her room. She was wearing a red tube top that matched the color of her clearly filled lips and gold hoops hung on her ears.
“Can I ask if there are any available VIP rooms right now?” She gave me a fake smile, her teeth too white to be natural.
“I believe there are. None of our Junior Suites are occupied today,” I said, and I didn’t know if it was the kind of information I should’ve shared, but I guessed there was no harm.
“Great,” she squealed as her phone rang in her hands. She glanced down at it, her thumbs rapidly tapping on the screen as the bangle of bracelets on her wrist clanked.
I wanted to roll my eyes at her for ignoring my presence to entertain her phone. The simple act reminded me of Matthew in the elevator and in the banquet hall. It must have been a newly developed pet peeve for me because, back in California, everybody paid attention to me.
I started walking away from her, shoving the cart away, when she yelled, “Oh, excuse me. I’m still talking to you.” Her entitled tone made me silently scoff before I turned to face her again, pressing a fake smile on my face.
“What is it, ma’am?”
