Page 12 of Counting Down To You

The smile she gives me is, thankfully, warmer than Lucie’s greeting. “I’m the restaurant manager, she says with a French accent, holding her hand out. I take it, feeling the press of multiple rings. Front-office manager, restaurant manager, guest-relations manager. Is literally everyone here a manager?

“And Lucie is right,” Elodie continues. “No point asking Marco for anything unless you want your head bitten off, but any requests, let me know. We will always be able to sort one way or another.”

“Okay,” I agree with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Always hard getting your bearings on the first day—and we’ve already hit the Christmas rush, I’m afraid.” She smiles again. “But you’ll probably find it’s similar to other hotels you’ve worked in, once you’re settled a bit.”

“Right,” I say again, with a slightly frantic head bob. I decide on the spot that it’s best not to admit that I’ve never worked in a hotel before, unless you count pouring champagne for a wedding when I was eighteen.

Lucie, however, eyes me up. “You’ve worked in a lot of hotels, then?”

Fuck. “Ummm…Not loads.” And that’s not a lie, is it?

Elodie’s eyebrows raise a little, and she turns to Lucie, firing off something in rapid French. Lucie replies, also in French, and the two of them enter into a conversation I can understand very little of. I catch the name “Brooks” more than once, something that sounds like “incredible” but probably isn’t, and what I’m pretty sure is the French word for England.

“I’m so sorry,” Elodie says, breaking off the conversation and smiling at me. “We’re being rude.” Lucie folds her arms and taps her foot, like she doesn’t care one way or another. “Come, you must eat with us. There are always staff dinner and lunch before the main shift starts, and I make sure there is plenty for everyone.”

The mention of food makes me realize that I haven’t eaten since the pathetic sandwich I had on the plane, and my stomach rumbles. Elodie takes me round to a corner of the restaurant, right by the glass doors that open up to a balcony. Balconies are clearly a thing here. There is a large round table where eight or so people are already sitting, helping themselves to food that has been placed in the middle of the table. Pasta salad and warm, freshly baked bread, with an array of chargrilled vegetables on the side. Well, at least I won’t go hungry. Elodie gestures for me to sit and starts loading up a plate for me, while the other people—an array of spa, restaurant, and housekeeping staff, if the different uniforms are anything to go by—eye me up curiously.

“I better get back to the desk,” Lucie says.

Elodie answers this by shoving a plate under Lucie’s nose. “Eat. Johann can manage for ten minutes.”

“This is Ali,” Elodie says to the table at large, taking a seat of her own, but not helping herself to food. “Our new GRM.” Despite her accent, her English is perfect.

The table’s attention seems to sharpen at those words. “You’re Ali Reynolds?” It’s a woman who asks—or girl, really, as she can’t be older than about twenty. She gets a warning look from Lucie in response to that, though I can’t figure out why.

I smile. “I am.” I’m introduced to everyone by Elodie and try to find a way to remember all the names. Charlotte—curly hair. Simon—sulky face.

“So you’re staying in the cabin out back?” Charlotte—the curly-haired twenty-year-old—asks.

I smile and nod. Which I’m doing a lot of, aren’t I? I wonder if I’m supposed to act more “boss-like” with anyone here, but I’m not sure I actually am anyone’s boss, despite my title, and I’m guessing Charlotte is in housekeeping, given the tunic she’s wearing, so wouldn’t report in to me anyway. “That’s right,” I say. “It’s great there.”

One of the men—again, on the younger side, and, dammit, I’ve forgotten his name already—snorts into his food, then gives Lucie a smirk. “Better luck next year, hey, Luce?” I can’t quite place his accent—Austrian, maybe? Lucie answers this by turning her face away from him and drumming her fingers on the table.

So is this why Lucie is off with me? She wanted the cabin?

“So where do you all live?” Though, actually, maybe it’s best not to ask that, if Lucie is already pissed about it.

But Charlotte is already answering, gesturing to a cluster of four of them. “We live in the staff housing down in the village. Trust me, you got the better deal.”

“That’s enough, Charlotte,” Elodie says firmly. “The staff housing is perfectly adequate—you should see what some people have to deal with.”

“I’m not complaining!” Charlotte says immediately. “Just saying, it clearly pays to know certain people, doesn’t it?”

Right, so Cal definitely pulled some strings, then. Maybe I should feel guilty, but I already love the cabin and can’t quite get there. “I don’t think I’d want to live on-site,” Sulky Simon says with a shrug, not making eye contact with anyone. He’s wearing white overalls. Kitchen staff, maybe?

“Well, she has other reasons to want to be there, doesn’t she?” Charlotte says with a snicker, looking down at her plate. Okay, I’m clearly missing something. I’m just not sure what.

“Don’t you have work to do, Charlotte?” Lucie asks, her voice a snap. At least it’s not only me she doesn’t like.

“Oh, Maggie said to take my time over lunch. So,” Charlotte continues, addressing me, “how did you meet?”

“Ummm…How did I meet who?” I stab a piece of penne with my fork.

“Your boyfriend,” Charlotte states, and my fork stops halfway to my mouth. “You’re dating him, right? You posted a photo of you together.”

Shit. She’s talking about the Instagram photo. “You saw that?” Why is my voice all weird and squeaky?