Chapter Two
Crappy hotels were pretty much the same no matter where you went. Maggie tried to stretch the kinks out of her back in the shower the next morning, grumbling under her breath about lumps in mattresses, but the water never got hot enough to give her the kind of relief she was after. At least there weren’t any visible cockroaches. She should be grateful for that.
As she dried her short hair, she couldn’t help but think back to her lunch with Rob the day before. He was right—the food at the diner had been amazing, but what had caught her the most off guard was how much she enjoyed his company. Nothing really outstanding had happened—it was just a simple conversation over a good meal—but she’d felt so comfortable with him the whole time, and not only comfortable, but familiar, like she’d met him before or was supposed to know him from somewhere. It was pretty crazy.
He’d told her that he’d like to take her out to lunch again after her job interview—her actual, real interview—and because she wasn’t an idiot, she’d told him yes. But now she didn’t know what she was more nervous about—the interview, or seeing Rob again. At some point during the night when she was tossing and turning because of the stupid mattress, she’d decided that she must have imagined how great he was. No one was that amazing just sitting there eating a burger. She was pretty sure that when she saw him again, he wouldn’t be anywhere near as good-looking as she’d first thought, and he wouldn’t be anywhere near as charming and funny. Things like that didn’t happen in real life, and they definitely didn’t happen to her.
Okay, it was time to concentrate on the interview. She ran her fingers through her hair, spritzed a little hair spray, then changed into her interview outfit—the same outfit she’d worn the day before when she thought she was having an interview. It bugged her more than she wanted to admit that Rob would be seeing her in the same outfit two days in a row, but she didn’t really have much else to wear. If she’d been given more time to pack, that would have been different, but time wasn’t a luxury she’d had.
Once she was dressed, she studied herself in the mirror. She supposed she looked presentable—the bags under her eyes had diminished with a little makeup, and she shouldn’t scare small children at least. As far as looking impressive, well, that wasn’t going to happen. She just hoped that her resume would be enough to get her foot in the door. Hard work should carry her the rest of the way.
For the second day in a row, she pulled into the parking lot at the Brody Hotel, and was disappointed not to see Rob’s huge white truck there. Maybe he was running errands or something. Part of her had hoped to see him before her interview—maybe he’d have a motivational speech or something that would give her some confidence. She needed this job—she really needed this job. She didn’t know what her next move would be without it.
She climbed the steps to the porch and opened the main door, then stepped inside. The floor of the lobby was freshly varnished and had new carpet runners—she could identify the smell of the varnish, and the runners were plushy and spotless. Two men were working on the staircase that led to an upper floor—it looked like they were laying down a new carpet there as well.
“Hello there.” An older woman stepped out of a side room and walked toward Maggie, her hand outstretched. “I’m Florence. You must be Maggie.”
“I am.” Maggie shook the woman’s hand. “Thank you for meeting with me today.”
“I was very glad to get your call. Please, come join me in the parlor. It’s not quite finished, but neither is the rest of the hotel.”
Maggie followed Florence through the doorway and into a room that oozed with nineteenth-century charm. A long sofa ran beneath the window, there was a chair on either side of the fireplace, and in the center of the room was a table with a top made of inlaid wood forming a chessboard. The wall across from the window held a glass display case, and two more chairs were positioned beneath that. The furniture was either authentic or certainly looked like it, and the walls were painted a pale green that looked like it had come straight out of a period movie.
“Have a seat,” Florence invited, and Maggie took a spot on the sofa. It looked like horsehair, but when she touched it, she didn’t think it was.
“Imitation?” she asked.
“Yes. We wanted to give an old-fashioned feeling to the room, but real horsehair was sort of creepy.”
Maggie smiled. “I agree.”
Florence sat down on a nearby chair and crossed her legs. “You emailed over your resume, and I’ve read it. You’ve got quite an extensive job history.”
“I’m not sure if you mean, wow, you’ve got a lot of experience, or wow, why have you changed jobs so many times?”
“I suppose I’m asking both.” She fixed Maggie with a gaze, but it wasn’t piercing. Instead, it was curious and compassionate, and Maggie found herself wanting to trust this woman.
“It’s kind of a long story. I’ll try not to bore you too much.” She exhaled. “When I was in high school, my dad was arrested for drug dealing, and my mom pretty much fell apart. I ended up going to live with my best friend and her family, and when we graduated from high school, she and I were going to get an apartment and be like Rachel and Monica—you know, like on Friends—and have real careers and be adults and all that good stuff.”
Florence nodded, encouraging her to go on.
“It took a while for us to get our feet under us. I mean, we were just out of high school, young, no job experience. We tried lots of different things from fast food to selling kitchen knives door to door, that sort of thing. Then I got a job at a Best Western, and things were going pretty well until my manager decided to start lifting things from the guests’ rooms. She got caught, decided she wasn’t going down by herself, and implicated the entire housekeeping staff. We were proven innocent, but we’d all lost our jobs anyway, and we had to go somewhere else. I’m sorry—you asked a simple question, and I’m taking all day to answer it.”
“No, go on. Tell me whatever you’d like me to know.”
Maggie nodded. She guessed it was better to get everything out in the open now so there wouldn’t be any surprise reveals later. “Well, my friend—her name is Zoe—started getting involved with some sketchy people. She’d come home from work, change her clothes, and then go out partying all night. This went on for a while, and she wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to talk to her about her lifestyle. I mean, my dad spent time in jail, my mom lost custody of me—I should know what I’m talking about, but she was convinced that nothing like that would ever happen to her.”
She pulled in a ragged breath. “Well, she started dating this guy, and he was a dealer, but she kept telling me that he really was a good guy. His friends started hanging around, causing problems, visiting me at work and got me fired—and Zoe wouldn’t put an end to it. She was using, and I’d come home and find her passed out. And then three days ago . . .”
She shuddered, and Florence reached out and patted her arm. “It’s all right. What happened?”
“Three days ago, the police came, told me our apartment was evidence, that Zoe’s boyfriend had been hiding his stash there to take the heat off himself. I was given just a few minutes to grab a few things and leave. Zoe and her boyfriend are both in jail right now while they process the apartment, and I’m on my own. I’m okay with that part, actually, because I know Zoe needs help and I’m not the one to give it to her. But I’m starting all over again pretty much from scratch.”
She’d never intended to come into this interview and blurt her whole life story. She’d blame that on Florence—the woman had cast some sort of grandmotherly spell on her. At the same time, though, it was kind of nice to let it all out.
“My goodness. You’ve certainly been through a lot. I’m glad you’re no longer in that situation, but I do have to wonder if you’re a good choice for this hotel. We’re looking for someone who can make a long-term commitment. Is that something you can do?”
Maggie nodded. “That’s what
I want too—stability. I’m enrolled in some classes at the community college, and I want to finish those out and work on a degree. It’s time for a fresh start, one without all the drama and chaos I had in my life before.”
“You’re enrolled in the community college?”
“Yes. My apartment, the one I just got kicked out of, is about two miles from there. I’ve taken some art history and some American literature classes so far.”
Florence nodded. “I’m very impressed. Now, I’ll be honest—I’ve already interviewed three potential housekeepers this morning, and each one of them has more experience than you do. But there’s something about you . . . Hmm. You’re not going to make this easy on me.” She stood up. “Come upstairs with me for a moment, if you would. I have a little test devised for you.”
“Okay,” Maggie said, glad that Florence hadn’t just thrown her out after hearing her story. She climbed the stairs behind Florence, apologizing to the men laying the carpet that they were interrupting their work, and entered a guest room at the top of the stairs.
“This floor is where you’ll find most of the guest rooms,” Florence said. “We’re constructing a few more rooms on the main floor for handicap access, but those won’t be done for a few more weeks. As you can see, this room isn’t made up at all. I’d like you to demonstrate for me how you would make this room up on a daily basis.”
Maggie nodded. “Of course.”
There was a housekeeping cart in the corner that held all the necessary supplies, and she began by making the bed. The sheets had to be brand new—they were crisp and bright, and she loved the feel of them under her fingertips. Once the bed was made and the pillows arranged just so, she moved into the bathroom and arranged new soaps and shampoos in the baskets on the counter, then folded the end of the toilet paper roll into a little triangle and counted out enough towels and washcloths for two guests, as this was a king room.
“Very nice,” Florence said approvingly. “Of course, none of these rooms are actually dirty, so there’s nothing yet for you to demonstrate scrubbing, but I like what I’m seeing so far.” She folded her arms across her ample middle and studied Maggie for a moment. Maggie tried not to squirm. She felt as though the older woman could see right through her—maybe to her soul—and she wasn’t sure what there was to see.
“I’d like you to come downstairs with me and meet Andrew Brody,” Florence said at last. “He’s the owner of the hotel, and would be your boss. You would report to me, but he’s the head honcho, so to speak.”
“I’d like that,” Maggie said, trying to hide her relief. This sounded like the next-best thing to a job offer. Of course, she shouldn’t start counting chickens or anything like that, but she had hope now, and it felt amazing.
Once again apologizing to the carpet layers, the two women went back downstairs, and Florence led Maggie to a door on the other side of the lobby. She knocked on it, then opened it when a man’s voice called, “Come in.”
Florence opened the door and went inside, motioning for Maggie to follow her.
A tall blond man stood up from behind the desk where he’d been sitting. “Hello. You must be here to apply for the housekeeping position.”
“Yes, I am. I’m Maggie Childers.” She shook his hand, then took the seat he offered her. “This is a beautiful place. I’m excited to see what it will look like when it’s finished.”
“Me too,” the man replied with a laugh. “I’m Andrew Brody, and it’s good to meet you. What questions can I answer for you?”
“You’re planning to open in a couple of weeks, I understand?”
“Yes. Our grand opening is slated for the twentieth. I’ve got all my fingers crossed that we can pull it off in time.”
Maggie had to wonder about that—it did seem that there was a lot still to do, and she’d only seen the tiniest bit of the place so far. “Do you have any other housekeepers hired yet?”
“Not a one. We’d hoped to find our head housekeeper today, and then go forward from there.”
“Of course, if we found some good housekeepers today, but not necessarily the head, we’d still offer them jobs while we kept looking,” Florence interjected.
That was good. Maybe if Maggie didn’t land the top spot, she could still work here as part of the staff.
“We need someone who can run a tight ship, keep track of what’s going on in each room, and know how to give directions well. Our head housekeeper needs to be firm, but fair. You’re very young, Maggie—how old are you?” Florence asked.
“I’m twenty-four, but I believe I can be all those things,” Maggie replied. “I’ve been on my own for a while now, and those experiences have grown me up pretty fast.”
“Yes, I know life can do that to a young soul,” Florence said. “Mr. Andrew, I’d really like to give Maggie a chance. There’s something about her that makes me think she’d be a good fit for us.”
“I’ve asked you just to call me Andrew, remember?”
Florence pulled a face. “And you know what a hard thing that will be for me. But I’ll try.”
Andrew smiled. “Good. Now, Maggie. Florence sent me over a copy of your resume this morning, and I noticed that your current address is listed as the Sleepaway Inn. Is that where you live?”
Maggie pressed her lips together. “Just for the moment.”
“Well, I’ve driven by that place, and I wasn’t impressed. I can’t have our new head of housekeeping living in such a dump. If I give you the number of an apartment manager I know, would you have any objections to moving?”
Maggie blinked a couple of times. “Um, no, of course not. I don’t have enough money for a deposit, though.”
Andrew waved her off. “We’ll work it out as part of your salary. That is, if you want the job.”
He looked at her with a question on his face, as if there could be any doubt.
“Yes, definitely. Thank you.”
“Glad to have you on board.” He grinned, then reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. “I had my lawyer draw up employment contracts for each position. Please read that over and make sure the salary and expected hours are to your liking, and we’ll go from there.”
Maggie took the paper, wishing her hand wasn’t visibly shaking. Things were finally starting to turn around for her and she wanted to cheer and run around the room and do a dance of joy, but she needed to stay calm for just a few more minutes.
“This salary . . . this is per month?”
“That’s right,” Andrew replied.
It was more than twice the best salary she’d ever gotten, and she stared at the number for a minute before moving on.
“And this clothing stipend . . .”
“We want our employees to look neat and tidy at all times. The regular staff will wear uniforms, but the head of each department may wear clothes of their own choosing as long as it’s professional,” Florence explained. “The stipend will get you started.”
Maggie didn’t know what to say. It was like all her worries were being wiped away with one flick of a magic wand, and it didn’t seem real. “This is far more than I expected when I walked in here today,” she said after a moment. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to tell me it’s all a joke and send me on my way.”
Andrew chuckled. “This is how I see it. If my employees are well kept and happy, they’ll stay and be loyal. I want loyal employees, so I’ll do what it takes to earn that from them.”
“But . . . this . . .” Maggie held up the contract. “It’s so generous.”
“It’s generous, but the work won’t be easy,” Florence explained. “You know for yourself how difficult housekeeping in a large hotel can be, and you’ll be overseeing staff as well. When we decided on this salary, we knew you’d be dealing with all sorts of interpersonal relationships and drama. It’s more than making beds, you know.”
Maggie nodded. “I . . . I’m just blown away,” she said. “Thank you for this opportunity.”
&nb
sp; “Thank you for applying. I trust Florence’s judgment, so I trust we’ll work out well together.” Andrew slid an envelope across the table, and then a business card. “Here’s the clothing stipend, and also the name of my friend who will get you into an apartment.”
Maggie took a deep breath and paused for a moment, looking inwardly for any hesitation, any warnings flashing in her brain. Sometimes when things seemed too good to be true, they were hoaxes, and she should run for the hills. But sometimes . . . sometimes things came as blessings, and that’s what this seemed to be. She picked up the pen that lay on the table, signed the employment contract, filled in her Social Security number and deductions, and slid it back across the table toward Andrew. He had already signed the bottom of it.
“I’m excited to have you working here,” he said, taking the paper and putting it back in the drawer. “Can you start the day after tomorrow? Does that give you time to move and to go shopping?”
“Yes, that’s perfect,” Maggie replied.
“For these next several days, we’ll be getting the rooms set up and scrubbing the place from top to bottom to get rid of the construction dust and whatnot,” Florence said. “I recommend some T-shirts or whatever else you like to work in for that. After the hotel opens, you can wear nice slacks, skirts, blouses, or whatnot—your choice, but professional.”
“All right.” Maggie already knew she’d be getting a lot of black—that was her favorite color, and always made her feel more sophisticated. “What time would you like me here?”
“Ten o’clock,” Florence answered.
“I’ll be here.”
Standing up on shaky knees, Maggie put the envelope in her bag, then walked out of the office. She almost didn’t make it to the front porch and had to pause to take a few deep breaths.
“Hey there. Are you all right?”
She looked up to see Rob almost at her elbow. He must have been standing on the porch when she came out. Wow—he looked different. Instead of a T-shirt and jeans, he wore a button-up shirt and a pair of khakis. And he smelled amazing, like cedar and pine. She wanted to lean in and take another sniff, but figured that would be kind of obvious and probably embarrassing.
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