A daughter burdened by the past of her ancestors, tied to La Maison de Léandre for eternity, must navigate the difficulties of not only hosting the living, but the dead.
~x~
The Vampire Society Conférence Internationale is annual occurrence, but a s...
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"Thank you for choosing La Maison de Léandre," I said as I handed the guest their valet ticket. The light blue slip of hardstock crossed the desk and was snatched by the irritable Mrs. Fowler.
Her expensive fur coat swayed and bounced with her as she marched through the lobby and out our grand doors. I heaved a sigh and placed my palms on the desk. No matter how long I do this for, the eternal rage that lives inside me for guests like her will never subside. You can do so much for them, order a masseuse for them, play a specific jazz song every morning at 7am to wake them, ask the bellhop to only dress in brown because the guest "hates navy," and yet, they still have the nerve to act like it wasn't enough.
My seething thoughts were interrupted. "Jeez, what's her issue?"
The slightly nasally voice spoke my internal commentary aloud. I turned to Whitney and shook my head in exhaustion. Throwing my elbows on the concierge table, I snapped, "Mrs. Fowler did not like the harshness of the water in the toilet. Whatever that means."
"Bitches like her are the reason we can't be happy," she claimed.
While I agree with her statement, she shouldn't necessarily be saying that in a lobby filled with paying customers. "Whit-"
She ran a hand through her curly hair and pointed a finger at me. "No, no. Hear me out. People like that have never worked a job like this in their lives and they stomp all over us."
In my hasty attempt to silence her I whispered her name again.
Whitney wagged her finger and squinted her eyes like a salamander. "I bet her husband left her for his secretary and that's why she's so bitter. I'll put money on it."
My eyes widened and I grabbed her hand in mine. Careful to not put too much force, but enough to let her know I was tired of it. "Saying those things will get you fired real quick. Now shut up before someone hears."
Understandably, we were all tired. The entire staff had been dealing with the holiday season for the last few weeks and the last thing we needed was to be berated by a bimbo in Giuseppe heels. Cute, I'll admit, but the personality hardly matched.
La Maison de Léandre prided itself on providing the utmost luxury to all of it's guests. Settled in a large clearing in the forest, it gave guests the privacy to do whatever they pleased while still being close enough to North Crestin.
We had politicians, businessmen, and Hollywood stars stay with us year round, so that wasn't an infrequent encounter. I did my best to keep a grin on my face while plotting their demise in my head. It wasn't all too bad. For two weeks out of the year, we were to be gifted with the circus of guests soon to arrive.
Whitney pouted and adjusted her uniform blazer. "Only a week left, you know."
I stopped typing on my keyboard and looked at her with a small smile. "Trust me, I'm aware."
