A week later, Buffy stood took a deep breath as the elevator doors slid smoothly open and she got her first view of the floor she was to manage. Level twelve out of the total fifteen floors of the huge hotel was one of the more expensive suites, and thus came with the full customer service package. Of the fifteen levels, only the top four and the penthouse suite had their own teams of staff. Floors ten and nine shared a team of equal size to Buffy’s, and the other floors were tended to by the same number of staff found in most hotels worldwide.
The floor itself was two thirds suite for the client and one third private quarters for the overseer. Though she had found the idea of a live-in job daunting at first, Buffy had soon realised that she was expected to cater to all the customer’s needs at any time of the day or night, so living in such close proximity would turn out to be a blessing, she was sure. Stepping out onto the thick, lush carpet, she took in her surroundings, her lips parting on an awed gasp.
The hallway was a pristine, creamy off-white that made the narrow space look infinitely larger than it was. Two chandeliers, small enough to be tasteful but glimmering with exquisite beauty nonetheless, softly lit the long room, the soft carpet stretching for what seemed like miles ahead of her. Every five metres or so, an elegant painting gleamed in a flawless gold frame, matching the gilded brackets of the overhead lighting.
She decided to check out her own flat before exploring the customer’s suite. Passing the dark, varnished oak of the client’s door with its graceful, curving letters proudly displaying ‘Suite 9’ she continued on. Her own door was in much the same style, though there were no elegantly swooping letters for her. Instead she was surprised to see a small but shiny brass plaque with ‘Buffy Summers, General Overseer’ printed on it. To the left of the door was a simple doorbell, with a sign above it that read If you have requests, problems or questions, do not hesitate to contact your general overseer. Please press the button and wait for assistance.
Raising a brow, she put down her two fairly large suitcases of belongings and reached for the key she’d slipped into her pocket. Pulling it out, she inserted it in the lock and twisted. With a firm push from her foot, the door swung inwards. She gripped her suitcase handles hard and, with some trepidation, stepped into her new home, the door swinging silently shut behind her and automatically locking with a soft click.
Buffy looked around, a relieved smile sliding onto her lips. Her flat consisted of a small entrance hall, complete with utility room containing a washing machine and tumble dryer, a bathroom, a living room, a kitchen, an office and a bedroom. Beyond that, she could fill it with whatever possessions and furniture she desired, provided she cleared it out if she found that she wanted to leave.
Though they were by no means as effortlessly elegant as the hallway leading to them, her quarters were homey and quite spacious for someone living alone. The entrance hall had a glossy wooden floor and a single display cabinet, large but not overbearingly so. A tall lamp with a simple wrought iron stand that twisted up and disappeared under a cream lampshade provided ample light for the room.
From there she passed through a door to the left, which led straight into the kitchen. The walls were painted a light blue with darker blue trim and the floor was tiled with soft plastic squares of blue and white in a checkerboard style. Pretty white cupboards lined the bottom half of the wall along one side of the room, topped with dark blue tiles to form a work surface. In one corner a fridge with a small freezer on top of it hummed quietly, a microwave standing next to it, the clock figures displayed there glowing warmly. A fan oven was settled in place of a cupboard at the opposite end of the room, next to it a dishwasher that lay dormant.
Going through a door at the top of the room, she went in turn through the living room, her office, the bathroom and the bedroom, each decorated simply but with a minimalist kind of elegance. The bedroom held the only true luxury in the whole flat. A king-size bed took up most of the room, complete with posts and a gauzy cream canopy. This one frivolous pleasure made up for the almost too-simple décor of the rest of her new living space; with a few personal touches here and there, it could be turned into a warm and comfortable home.
After depositing her suitcases on the soft mattress and unpacking the one that contained all the basic necessities, she stowed it away under the bed and straightened, pausing in front of the bathroom mirror. She touched up her eyeliner and the clear lip-gloss she wore instead of garish lipstick, she smoothed her hair back into a simple ponytail and coaxed imaginary wrinkles out the suit she had decided on buying – a gorgeous silk-and-cotton affair that had set her back a fair amount but was in a midnight blue so dark it was almost black that set off her colouring perfectly.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped her key into the discreet inside pocket of the jacket and grabbed the clipboard and pen she’d been provided with. She exited her flat, waiting only long enough to hear the click of the lock activating before turning to the matter at hand. It was time to meet her team, the people who would be her primary mode of care-taking when it came to clients. Without them on her side, her job would be very difficult indeed. The suite door was activated by an electronic key-card, unlike her own quarters, so she knocked gently when she got there.
The door was almost instantly pulled open by a tall, dark-haired man with neat glasses perched on his nose. He was dressed in true butler fashion, down to the white gloves on his hands. He bowed her through the door with a polite “Good evening, madam.” She noted his English accent with faint surprise: he was a long way from home in the City of Angels. She grinned, remembering the way she’d overheard a couple of pleased tourists referring to the hotel as the City of Angel; it was certainly busy enough.
Thanking him, she let him lead her into the suite’s entrance hall, far more richly decorated than her flat’s simpler counterpart but by no means gaudy. There in a semi-circle, all dressed for a days work, stood her team. Some regarded her with curiosity, others with nervous but welcoming smiles and one or two with hostility. Biting back her own nervousness, she greeted them with a dazzling smile.
“Good morning, everyone. My name, if you haven’t already heard it, is Buffy Summers. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” A brief pause, in which she let her eyes settle on the butler, who had stood himself at one end of the curved line. “Could I ask you all to introduce yourselves? I can’t guarantee to remember your names of course, but feel free ‘accidentally’ forget mine if I call you some hideous nickname.”
There was a low, muted hum of mirth and she almost felt the tension in the atmosphere lift. The ice broken, all but a few of the men and women before her smiled as her eyes came to rest on them. First she greeted Wesley Wyndham-Price, the surprisingly young but very British butler. Then there were Anya and Willow, the two cleaners, Warren, the chef and his two assistants, Andrew and Jonathon. Buffy took an instant liking to the shy, blonde-haired Tara, the massage expert, but felt a flicker of irritation as Drusilla, the PR coordinator, and Harmony Kendall, the personal secretary glared at her with evident dislike. They hadn’t even got to know her, but seemed to have an aversion to her already.
Determined not to let the two women’s antagonism get her down, she recited their names, drawing a ragged cheer when she got them all right first time. Giggling, she shook hands and, in Willow’s case, received a warm hug. When the chatter of voices died down, she cleared her throat. All but Drusilla and Harmony gathered round to hear her speak, recognising her as a boss who was likely to be more fun than not, at least for the time being. When she was sure she had their attention, she spoke with quiet authority.
“Well, it was good to meet you all and I hope you’ll get used to seeing me around sooner rather than later. I have an announcement to make. Tomorrow afternoon, we’ll be getting our first customers.” She glanced down at her clipboard. “Misters William Giles and Alexander Harris will be arriving here at approximately ten p.m. tomorrow night.”
She stopped abruptly as she noticed the deathly silence and the pale, excited faces of her staff. Frowning, she put one hand on her hip. “Is there a problem? I know it’s not much time, but…”
Willow raised a hand. “Umm, Miss Summers? You don’t… Don’t you watch TV?”
“It’s just Buffy, and no, not that often. Why?”
Harmony’s nasal voice rang out scornfully over the gathered assembly of staff members. “Oh no reason. We’re only going to be meeting Hollywood’s next big things.” Her voice dropped in volume, but there was no mistaking her next words. “God, culturally retarded much?” The other staff members except Drusilla gasped; the PR rep only sniggered.
Buffy raised an eyebrow coolly. “Is that a problem for you, Miss Kendall? If you don’t feel up to the challenge of looking after a high-profile client, I can give you an extended vacation and hire someone in your place.” Her voice was sweetly polite, at odds with the veiled threat of her words. When Harmony pouted but shook her head sullenly, Buffy smiled and clapped her hands.
“Good. By tomorrow lunchtime, let’s say two o’clock at the latest, I want this place spotless. I don’t see any need to do an inspection, I trust your abilities to do your jobs, but I want everybody in full uniform and ready to greet our guests by nine forty-five. Is that alright?” She smiled at them and they smiled back, pleased by her compliment. “Excellent! If you have a problem, don’t hesitate to come and find me. I’ll be in my office most of today, just ring the bell. Lunch break will be from twelve until two, provided you think you can get the place pristine in the time that gives you. I’ll meet you all back here at six. Goodbye, my darlings.”
She fluttered her fingers in an exaggeratedly girlish wave and exited to the sound of their laughter. Once outside, she sagged against the wall. Thank God, I didn’t screw it up. Shaking herself out of her self-indulgent moment of relief, she went through to her office to look through the documents that the customer’s agency had faxed through. The company came down very hard on the fact that this was a vacation for the two, and they would prefer not to be bothered by fans during their stay. Buffy thought of Gunn, the devastatingly handsome security guard with the lean, deadly grace of a panther, and smiled.
Neither man had any allergies, but both preferred not to eat mushrooms or spinach. Making a note to talk to Warren and his assistants about setting a menu for the men’s week-long stay before tomorrow evening, Buffy laid the first few sheets of paper aside. She scanned through the initial list of publicity events that the agency wanted the men to attend and set it aside to go through with Drusilla (the thought made her groan with weary resignation). The other documents were various and assorted bits of legal rubbish, and other pompous demands from the agency.
By the time her alarm beeped at one o’clock, she was being loudly reminded by her stomach that she hadn’t eaten for some time. Knowing the fridge was empty, she grabbed her purse and headed out to the nearby supermarket. When she returned, laden with bags, she felt a pair of strong hands gently but firmly prising them from her grip. She looked up into smiling, dark eyes in an equally dark face. Gunn’s drawled voice made her giggle.
“I can’t let a lady carry her own bags. C’mon, let’s go to your room.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. She blushed and laughed but punched his arm lightly. He gave her a mournful look with wide, innocent eyes and she stuck her tongue out at him. They made their way up to her floor and he waited patiently for her to open the door before gently setting her grocery bags down.
“Thanks, Gunn.”
“No problemo.” He gave her a quick salute and strolled back down towards the elevator, whistling quietly.
By the time Buffy had stowed all her new goodies away and eaten a cheese and ham sandwich, she was feeling decidedly more relaxed about her job than she had been only that morning. She met with the staff again briefly at six o’clock, explaining that for the workers who had to commute to the hotel for only brief periods each day, namely Tara, Willow, Anya, Harmony and Drusilla, she would be working out convenient schedules tomorrow morning. She asked them to have a list of the best hours for them each day, and she would try to fit them in with the client’s needs.
For those who worked longer days, Warren, Andrew and Jonathon, she had checked with the customers’ agency, and the mealtimes had been agreed on. Breakfast would be served at eight in the morning, lunch at one o’clock, and dinner at eight in the evenings. The chefs were allowed to decide when they would come in, but she gave them each a copy of the menu she’d drawn up. Warren and his assistants instantly agreed that it was fine, made a few minor adjustments and promised to be in early enough to have the meals prepared on time.
Wesley was the other worker who had dauntingly long hours, though he wasn’t quite as readily available as Buffy herself was. He was to be available to the customers from seven each morning to eleven at night. During the night time hours, Buffy herself would be there to field all requests or questions, though the clients were reminded before they booked that keeping their caretaker’s need for sleep etc. into account would be appreciated.
She dismissed the team after her quick talk, telling them to get an early night. Once they’d left, she returned to her flat. The time flew by, and Buffy retired to bed early, setting her alarm for eight o’clock the following morning, as her team was due in at nine; she’d given them a lenient starting time for their first day of working under her. She slept well, and woke feeling refreshed and ready to face the challenges of the new day.
By the time ten o’clock rolled around, the staff members were all waiting nervously in the appropriate positions. Wesley stood by the door, ready to take coats and bags. Willow stood slightly behind Buffy and to one side, holding a tray on which sat two flutes of chilled champagne and two mint-cream filled chocolates. The rest of the team were ranged around them in a semi-circle, all looking immaculate despite the long day’s work.
There was the low murmur of voices outside the door. In the sudden silence inside the suite, the rasp of the key-card and the beep that signalled the door opening suddenly seemed too loud. Wesley pulled the door open all the way, bowing the men through the door and taking their coats and cases. The men kept their backs to the team, thanking Wesley in quiet voices. As he shut the door and turned, Buffy stepped forward, extending her hand.
“I’m Buffy Summers. Welcome to the Hotel Elise.”
Her voice abruptly stopped as the taller man turned to face her and she looked up into the most startlingly blue eyes she had ever seen.
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