Jasper Vale (The Edens #4)(50)

I giggled, feeling some of the tension in my frame melt away. “No, Jasper did.”

“He made sure you had food while he was gone? Aww.” Lyla pressed a hand to her heart. “That’s sweet.”

It was sweet. And annoying. Because he hadn’t told me he was leaving.

“This dinner comes at a price,” I told her.

“Wine?”

“And your guest bedroom. Can I have a sleepover?”





CHAPTER FIFTEEN





ELOISE





Blaze, you are killing me. I spun in a slow circle, taking in the hotel room he’d just cleaned.

Or attempted to clean? At what point did people stop giving an A for effort?

The bed was rumpled, the pillows askew against the headboard. The towels in the bathroom weren’t folded into neat piles, but rather tossed together haphazardly. The trash can beside the television hadn’t been emptied and he’d forgotten to vacuum.

“Okay, Blaze.” I turned, ready to rattle off the list of everything he needed to fix. Except Blaze wasn’t standing beside the cleaning cart where he’d been a minute ago. “Blaze?”

Nothing.

I groaned, walking to the door and checking the hallway. Empty.

“Seriously?” I muttered. If I wasn’t correcting this kid, I was chasing him around the damn hotel.

At least this time I had a hunch where he was hiding.

I tucked the cleaning cart closer to the wall so it would be out of the way for people walking by, then headed for the stairwell, jogging from the second floor to the first. As expected, Blaze was at the reception counter, talking to Taylor.

From the strained expression on her pretty face, she was sick of Blaze too.

“Blaze,” I snapped, drawing his attention.

Behind his thick, black-framed glasses, he rolled his eyes. This kid didn’t even try to hide his annoyance. I needed both hands to count the number of eye rolls and muttered insults I’d earned since Friday.

“Go upstairs and fix that room,” I said. “Make the bed nice. Fold the towels in a stack. Empty the garbage can. And vacuum.”

“I did vacuum,” he argued.

“Then vacuum again.” Maybe if I sent him up there to vacuum three times, he’d manage to get the whole floor.

“Fine,” he grumbled, his footsteps heavy as he passed by. Blaze walked with his eyes on the floor, shoulders rounded in. His black hair, severely parted down the middle, flopped into his face, probably hiding another eye roll.

We didn’t have a dress code for the housekeepers. It was more important to me that they were comfortable as they cleaned than to have them in a uniform. Most cleaned in jeans, tees and tennis shoes. Not once had I needed to ask an employee to wear something different. Not once, in all my years as manager.

When Blaze had come in on Friday to complete his new-hire paperwork, he’d arrived in a pair of jeans that he’d decorated with black marker. He’d written line after line of Fuck You Mom on those jeans, down his thighs all the way to his ankles.

Poor Lydia. I hoped she didn’t do his laundry.

He’d paired those pants with a red hoodie that had a middle finger drawn onto the front.

I’d told him that he was required to wear a plain, gray or white shirt with clean jeans. No profanity.

Clearly, he wasn’t happy that his mother had arranged for him to have this job. Maybe he was doing a shitty job because he hoped I’d fire him.

Oh, it was tempting.

But I’d promised myself I’d give him an honest two weekends.

He was working Saturdays and Sundays to start. Which meant I was working Saturdays and Sundays.

Instead of spending my weekend at the cabin alone, I’d been here, training Blaze. Yesterday, we’d worked together as I’d shown him how to clean a room and what was expected. Today, I’d let him do the work, but for every room he finished, I did an inspection.

So far, not a single room had been done correctly. Though they were getting better. Slightly. Maybe he’d do a decent job if that meant impressing Taylor.

Except I wouldn’t put that on her.

Taylor would be a senior at Quincy High in the fall. She was as reliable as she was friendly. With her blond hair and sparkling brown eyes, she was a ray of sunshine. She’d worked at the hotel since last summer. During the school year, she only worked weekends because she played volleyball and basketball. But during the summer, she was always willing to do whatever was necessary, from manning the desk to housekeeping, anything to add to her college savings.

“Sorry, Eloise,” she said once the stairwell door slammed closed behind Blaze. “I told him I was working and couldn’t talk but he just wouldn’t leave.”

“I know.” I sighed. “It’s not you.”

“He’s, um . . . different.”

If different meant creepy and rude. “Does he make you uncomfortable?”

“He hasn’t really done anything. He just talks about his video games a lot. They sound violent and that’s not really my thing.”

“If he does make you uncomfortable, text me immediately.”

She nodded. “I will.”

“Okay. I’ll go monitor his progress. Again.” With heavy shoulders, I turned and marched upstairs.