I squint at Raul, one of my three stooges. “We replacedthem yesterday, Raul, and typically we supply enough towels for them to get through the morning without an issue.”
“I don’t know why you had to go and change the order,” Marsha mutters under her breath, though intentionally loud enough for everyone to hear.
“I didn’t,” I press, my tone firm. “Clearly there was an error.”
She makes a dismissive noise. “Yeah, another error. How many does that make this week?”
“I agree. These continued mistakes only seem to have started since you took charge.”
“Marsha, Raul, while I appreciate that you’re both puppy hurt that you didn’t win best in show, how about instead of standing here petulantly whining about it, you get to work and do your jobs? And no, that’s not a suggestion, it’s an order.”
“Fucking bitch,” Marsha snaps, again under her breath, but thankfully, both she and Raul leave.
“I didn’t want to say this in front of them because they’ve been talking all kinds of trash about you behind your back, but the lunch order for the king, the prime minister, Lady Althea, and the prime minister’s aide didn’t populate this morning either, and when I refreshed it, it was completely different and included a dish with peanut sauce, which the prime minister is allergic to. We also don’t have enough linens to get us through lunch and dinner service.”
I close my eyes. “Linens aside, I double-checked the menu yesterday afternoon when I returned from the festival.”
Jennine shrugs. “I don’t know what to say.”
I grit my teeth. “I went over it with Margarite, so she should hopefully have an idea of what was on the original menu. I’ll go into the system and see what I can figure out, and I’ll get on the phone with the linens company immediately.”
“Great. Thanks.” Jennine scurries off, likely to handle breakfast for the royal family and our guests, and I get to work on all the fires that need putting out.
Something is sticking with me, though. This is the third or fourth issue that’s happened in the system, but they’re showing up as changes I made. I’m logged into Emily’s iPad under my credentials. Who else knows the code to unlock Emily’s iPad? Once they’re in there, it would be easy enough to make changes under my name.
Emily had her surgery on Friday and is still in the hospital. The last thing I want to do is burden her with any of this. She’s set to come home to her new quarters by the end of the week. I can change the login code on the iPad and tell her about it then. I also need to make a thousand percent sure that everything is set and in place for her.
Dammit! I never should have gone to the festival yesterday. I knew it too.
After I change the password, I set to work on fixing all the issues. Thankfully, Margarite had already printed out a copy of the lunch menu because she is, and I quote,old school and works better with paper than a tablet. Works for me. Lunch crisis averted, but how fucked is it that someone tried to give the prime minister something he’s allergic to?
I’m far from an innocent lamb in anything, but that’s beyond trying to make me look bad. That’s straight up potentially killing an innocent. Maybe they assumed it’d be caught, and I’d simply look incompetent? I don’t know. But it’s still fucked.
The linens are another matter, and the owner of the company says he can get them here by twelve. Let’s pray he’s on time because lunch service is at twelve-thirty. Once that’s all done, I head across the palace to the family side, keeping my eyes and ears open for Esme, Marsha, or Raul.
I have no proof that it’s actually them doing this. Just my suspicions, but damn do I wish I did. Revenge would be so sweet.
I finish the king and queen’s suite and the king’s office andstudy without any issues. The king’s laptop isn’t here. It must be with him, so I don’t have the option to snoop or hack. Sara managed to wash two sets of towels and linens she took from empty bedrooms and has made up the prime minister’s and his aide’s rooms. Just as I start to relax, a voice in the hall stops me.
“Hey, can I ask a favor?” Alice, the housekeeper who typically does Rowan’s, the children’s, and Althea’s rooms, questions.
“Of course.”
“I have a massive migraine hitting me. Lady Althea’s and the children’s rooms are done, but would you mind attending to the prince’s for me? I can’t handle the smell of cleaner and just need to lie down for a bit. I have medicine in my room I can take, which should help, and I swear by tomorrow?—”
“It’s fine,” I cut her off, even if it’s not fine. “I understand. Go rest up and feel better.”
A grateful smile partially turns up her lips. “Thank you so much. I changed the sheets on the prince’s bed yesterday, so he just needs the bed made and the room tidied.”
“Got it.”
She takes off for her quarters, and now I’m stuck having to clean Rowan’s room. A place I’ve avoided like the plague. His study is difficult enough.
The door opens, and I’m instantly assaulted with the scent of him, all masculine and woodsy and freaking delicious. It’s one thing to be near him and smell it. It’s another to be immersed in it. I start with his bathroom, hoping to find it disgusting so there can finally be something about him that turns me off.
But no.
It’s not disgusting. The toilet seat is up, but that’s about as far as it goes here. Everything is neat and organized, and it doesn’t take me longer than five minutes to clean and reorganize his space.