Cooped Up for Christmas - Sabrina York Page 0,3

look. “Why yes, Olivia. Ten am, in the morning.”

She twined her fingers like a fricking Coventry orphan or something. Then she peeped up at me from beneath her bangs. “Some of them have already gone to bed.” Almost a whisper.

Gone to bed? I whipped out my cell phone. It was just ten. We had exactly twelve hours before Defcon 5.

“Well, Olivia,” I said with an evil smile. “Wake them up.”

Chapter Two

When the staff was all assembled in the tiny living room of the staff lodge, disquiet slithered through me.

Beyond Olivia, the housemaid, and Noel, the sautéed chef, there was Ben, the driver who doubled as a handyman and engineer. He seemed capable and clean, even though I’d dragged him from bed.

Jed was a different story. It was pretty clear I’d dragged Jed from bed. His hair was in one of those gelled, artsy swooshes some Generation Zs favor, but it was matted to one side from the way his head hit the pillow. Jed was a go-fer who covered valet service, luggage, room service, even cleaning and dishwashing when necessary. He was the lowest rung on the corporate ladder and he knew it. He acted it.

And, I wasn’t eighteen anymore, but that was still the smell of marijuana clinging to his logoed tee.

Then there was Ken Nora, the activities director. I was delighted to see Ken. I knew him by reputation as fabulous at his job. Some said he was fabulous at everything. I hoped that proved to be so.

The final person in the lineup was a petite female with long dark hair and dark make-up, who identified herself as Wren. Just Wren. She didn’t look like trouble, so I let it go.

“Is this all of us then?” I asked of Ken.

He flipped a page on his clipboard. “The client has also requested high-octane outdoor sports, so the company is sending a contractor for that. They’re due any minute.”

“Good.” High-octane outdoor sports meant less stress on the interior staff. Which was great, because they certainly didn’t seem high-octane in the least. And yes. Just then, Jed yawned loudly. When he caught me looking at him, he flinched and said, “Sorry,” with a laugh.

What. Ever. I dove in. “All right, kiddies. We have a client arriving in about twelve hours. We need to flip the house. Olivia and Wren, start with the bedrooms. Jed, take the bathrooms, and Ben—”

“Why do I have to do the bathrooms?” Jed asked in a snively voice. I hate snively voices.

My smile broadened. Or, it might not have been a smile. “Because,” I said. “If you smoke pot under my watch, you’re gonna get the shit jobs.”

“But pot is legal here. And the clients haven’t even arrived.” I was relieved he’d been briefed on that totem at least. Rules about ANY partying, while clients were renting the property—whether they were on site or not—were clear. Immediate dismissal.

I stared him down. “That’s not the point. You’re on the clock. On my clock. I’m not paying you to smoke pot. Now go scrub a toilet. And it better be perfect.” Oh, I should have been a mother. I bet I would have been a great mother.

Too bad that never panned out.

“Ben.” Yes. I was all business. Professional and remote. “I’d like you to check all the amenities—the hot tub, sauna, automatic shades…anything that could fritz out on us. Make sure everything’s in good working order. And Noel. I’d like an inventory of the pantry and freezer.”

The chef looked up at me as though I was a ray of hope in a dismal world for giving him a mission, snuffled, then wiped his nose on the cuff of his starched jacket, and nodded. He stood, with a heavy sigh, and plodded through the back door to the main house like Eeyore on his way to a root canal.

I allowed it, even though the meeting wasn’t over yet. We really didn’t need him for anything else. Except… “Oh, wait,” I called, fluttering a packet at him. “Here are their preference sheets.” That was another steadfast rule in my trade. Always follow the preference sheets. These people are too rich to put up with your shit. “Please make sure you study them,” I said as I handed them out to everyone else.

Olivia scanned her sheets, then squealed.

I glanced at her. As one does when a person randomly squeals like a horny peacock in the middle of a staff meeting.

“Ohmygod!” She said in a breathless huff, her eyes wide. “It’s Farley! She’s