Page 49 of Tasty Cherry

Brooklyn elbows her.

Sebastian ignores the dig. “Brooklyn, I’ll be back for you shortly. Aisha, make sure she reviews how to log in and do check-in and check-out. We’re going to have the interns try it alone today.”

“They better know what they’re doing,” Sasha says. “Show me.”

Sebastian tilts his head toward the back. “Let’s go meet Hank. He’ll be going on shift soon.”

And as we head into the hall behind the front desk, I have to seriously work to suppress my smile.

He picked me.

18

SEBASTIAN

Ishould have chosen Brooklyn first, and I know it.

But it’s quiet at this hour. The first rush of check-outs hasn’t begun. The staff in this part of the hotel is minimal. It’s almost like being alone.

We walk past the break room. “Did Jessica show you security yesterday?”

“It was locked up.”

“It usually is. There’s an office for the guards back here, along with a holding room, should we need it. There’s a buzzer, though. You can get their attention quickly.”

Our steps are muffled in the carpeted hall. I scan us into a small room with multiple desks. Hank sits at one of them, beneath the security monitors that flash black and white feeds of the various cameras on site.

“Hank, this is Mila, one of the new interns. I’ll try to bring each of them around.”

Hank stands, looking like any tourist in jeans and a polo shirt. He’s the incognito guard today. He extends a hand. “Nice to meet you, Mila.”

“Is Jeff around?” I ask. “He’s on duty today, right?”

“I saw him leaving for his parking lot rounds.” Hank jingles the keys in his pocket. “How many new interns did we get?”

“Five,” I say. “Two are on front desk this week. The others will rotate through.”

“The boldest and brightest from all over. I like it.” He glances at the clock. “Time to head to the lobby.” He tips his ball cap at Mila. “Nice to meet you.”

Then we’re alone in the office.

Only a handful of people have a badge that will let them back here. Havannah, Raya, me, and security. Even maintenance and housekeeping have to be let in.

“The holding area is through here,” I tell her.

I scan us through a door in the back wall to another simple room with a table and a few cushioned chairs. “It’s rare we use it,” I say, “but sometimes we have a guest who destroys a room, or waves a weapon around, or even hurts somebody. We keep them here until the police arrive.”

She looks around. “When was the last time anyone was in here?”

“Early summer. It’s not used often.”

Her eyebrows lift.

“I didn’t bring you here for anything illicit. I mean. I wouldn’t suggest—” Why am I a tongue-twisted schoolboy around her?

“Sebastian, it’s fine. I get it.” She walks through the room, brushing her fingers along the backs of the chairs. “It’s been harder than I thought, working with you. Do you think it’s going to be a problem?”

Now that’s a question. “I think we can handle it.”