12. Emerson

Iwas the boss. By default, that meant that I had to be the hard-ass sometimes. I couldn't laugh and joke around with my staff, try to be their friend. If I showed any sign of weakness, it would leave me vulnerable to being stepped on. I had to keep a stern and serious demeanor, and when they did something wrong, I had to handle it, either teach them how to do it properly in the future or admonish their behavior, even fire someone if it was called for. Because of this, I would never be their favorite person, and I was fine with that. I expected it, even.

Now, however, things had gotten much, much worse. In their eyes, I was no longer their boss—I was the villain.

As I strode down the hall toward housekeeping, I heard whispering behind me. I spun around and caught Benny and Joseph having an intense gossip session, while staring directly at me. They didn't even try to hide the fact that I was the topic of conversation. Benny actually sneered at me!

My mouth opened with all the excuses I wanted to make—it wasn't my fault that Roland quit, I'd begged him to stay, they couldn't hold it against me forever—but there was no use. Joseph just rolled his eyes and walked away. I snapped my mouth shut with a hard clack of my teeth. There was no point in arguing with them.

They'll get over it eventually, I thought to myself, without really believing it.

When I got to housekeeping, I found it empty. The laundry was empty too, the machines quiet. Where the hell was everybody? It was the middle of the day. Everyone should've been hard at work.

I wandered through the halls until I heard a murmur of voices coming from the kitchen. It struck me as odd because it was just a gentle buzz of chatting, instead of the usual clang, clatter, sizzle of the lunch rush.

Pushing open the door, I was met with a handful of staff standing around, picking from a plate of fries on the counter between them. They turned to glance at me when I came in, but otherwise ignored me.

"What the hell is going on here?" I sputtered, my blood pressure spiking. I didn't want to yell, but gods, this was ridiculous!

Emily turned to glare at me, her usually friendly face marred by a heavy scowl. "What does it look like? We're having lunch. Why don't you go back to kicking puppies or whatever the hell you do all day." She made a shooing motion with her hand.

"What the f—" I just barely managed to bite back the curse. I huffed an angry breath. Weren't there customers in the restaurant to serve? Linen to wash, rooms to clean? "Are you on strike? Is that what this is?"

"Call it whatever you want," Cherie said, her lip curling in distaste. "You fucked up, and everybody here knows it."

When I took a step forward, the dishwasher Coral blocked my path with her broad frame. She crossed her thick, tattooed biceps the size of my thighs over her chest and shook her head at me, pink curls doing nothing to diminish her obvious threat. "I think it's best if you leave," she said firmly, brooking no argument.

"But…" I began. I searched my mind for the right words to make this better, but what argument did I have? Honestly, I didn't have a leg to stand on. I couldn't blame them for hating me. Hell, I hated myself. Roland was the sweetest, kindest man, and everybody here loved him like a little brother. And all thanks to me, he left.

And I should know. I felt his absence more harshly than anyone else.

My shoulders sagged, my mouth evening out into a hard, flat line. "I'll fix this," I promised them. I didn't know how to make this better, but I had to try.

There was no point in my staying at the hotel now. The staff were more likely to put in the work if I wasn't there to harass, so I headed for the door, a plan beginning to take shape in my mind. I nearly walked straight into the glass door, so used to having the door attendant open it for me. I stopped just in time and caught Sandy's eye through the window as they very purposely stood at their station beside the door. Then they looked away.

"For fuck's sake," I grumbled, pushing the door open for myself.

I needed to talk to Roland. I needed him to come back to work, and it didn't matter how I convinced him. I figured it wouldn't hurt to come bearing gifts, though, so I headed down the street to Crave Coffee to grab some of his favorite chocolate croissants.

As soon as I stepped into the warm, fragrant café, I loosed a breath, feeling the tightness in my chest ease a fraction. The place smelled like Roland, like rich, roasted coffee and cinnamon and sugar. I closed my eyes and breathed him in. Longing tugged me toward the counter. As I got closer, though, I was distinctly aware of a shift in the air. There were eyes on me, I could feel them.

When the man at the counter finished serving the customer in front of me, and I stepped forward to place my order, he suddenly just turned and walked away. "Uh, excuse me?" I called after him. I might've thought he hadn't seen me standing here… if I hadn't just been snubbed by every single one of my staff members.

"Seriously?" I growled, leaning over the counter to try and get someone's attention, but everyone working here was suddenly too busy to help me.

As tempted as I was to simply walk behind the counter and help myself, I figured that wouldn't do me any favors in the long run. They were obviously Roland's friends and were supporting him, and I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that. So instead, I raised my voice and said, "Does it matter that I'm buying something for Roland?"

A man I recognized as the owner, Hugh, stepped through the doorway that led to the back, thunderous frown on his face. His green eyes seemed to darken. "Is that true? Or are you just using him to get your fucking coffee too?"

The sound that came out of me was animalistic. "Yes, it's true. I'm trying to make amends, and all I want is to buy some of favorite snacks."

Hugh narrowed his eyes at me. "So, bribery? Is that your game?"

I whimpered in frustration. I couldn't win. No matter what I did, the hole I'd dug myself was so deep, there was no crawling out. Didn't they realize I was already suffering? Wasn't losing the love of my life enough of a punishment?

"I just wanted to fix what I broke," I tried to explain helplessly. "I want to show him that I care. It's an olive branch, not a bribe."

He seemed to think that over, and then he reluctantly made his way over to the pastries and started throwing a few croissants into a paper bag; he somehow managed to multitask, glaring at me while he worked. He brought the bag over, pressed a few buttons on the till, then said, "That'll be 50 dollars."

My eyes must've bugged out. "Fifty bucks?! Are those croissants dipped in gold?"

He leveled me with a malicious smirk. "Do you want them or not?"

"This is bullshit," I muttered under my breath as I pulled out my wallet. I had to hope it would be worth it.

I'd never been to Roland's apartment, but I had the address on his employee record. And I knew it wasn't the best part of town, so I wanted to think I was prepared for what I encountered. The streets in this neighborhood were narrow, both sides filled with parked cars, bumper to bumper, mostly rusty beaters. There were a few window boxes filled with brightly colored flowers, but it didn't do much to counteract the overall grungy feel of the sidewalks below, and I was fairly certain I witnessed a drug deal happening on the corner.

I hated that Roland lived here. It was likely all he could afford. I'd always wished I could pay him what he deserved, but he was the type of guy to report when he'd accidentally been paid too much. He would never accept charity.

When I found his building, I was appalled to find the front door lock was broken and I was able to just walk straight in off the street. I desperately wanted to track down the building's owner and give them a piece of my mind… if that owner weren't Eva. I gritted my teeth, trying to dislodge the unbearable need to throw Roland over my shoulder and carry him the whole way home where I could protect him properly. Instead, I trudged up the narrow stairs, wood risers worn in the middle from decades of shoes, and I came out on the second-floor hallway.

Raising my fist, I rapped my knuckles on his door. I made sure to hold the brown paper bag up high enough that he could see I brought gifts if he looked through the peephole. He needed to answer the door, even if it was for no other reason than sugary treats, so I could talk to him face to face. Surely he would see reason and come back to work. The staff missed him—hell, I missed him. The hotel wasn't the same without him there.

When he didn't answer the door, I knocked again. "Roland? Are you in there? We need to talk." I was pretty sure I heard rustling on the other side, and a shadow cut in front of the peephole. "Roland, come on. Answer the door. I'm sorry, okay? We can work this out. You don't need to quit."

While his door remained stubbornly shut, a door to my left opened, and an elderly woman shuffled out in her housecoat and slippers. "Are you here to finish the job?" she snapped, her narrowed eyes magnified through her thick glasses.

"Pardon me?" Who was this woman, and why did she think she had a right to judge? What did she know about who I was and what I was dealing with?

This tiny woman snarled at me, and I halfway expected her to attack. "Seriously, haven't you done enough? I assume since you're here trying to beg for Roland's forgiveness that you're his selfish, na?ve, omega-using boss. Tell me I'm wrong."

Shame heated my cheeks. "Well… I wouldn't have used quite those words, but—"

"No more talking," she said sharply, cutting me off. "If Roland wants to talk to you, he knows where to find you. Otherwise, don't you dare set foot here again, unless you want me to shove my slipper so far up your ass, you'll be giving birth to a whole litter of footwear."

"Oh." I cleared my throat. The woman was tiny but fierce, and I had to admit, knowing Roland lived next to her made me feel marginally better about his safety. "All right. I'll go." I handed her the bakery bag on the way by. "Please tell him…" She waited for me to finish the sentence, but I realized there was nothing new to say. He knew how I felt, and he knew things would never change.

"Right," I said, nodding my head once before turning toward the stairs, grief swelling inside my chest and threatening to swallow me whole. "Have a good night."