Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
B ean was trying to hold on to her irritation, but it was slipping away.
She usually spent her Saturdays working in the comfort of her own home in sweatpants or leggings with zero need to dress professionally. There were no colleagues dropping in with last-minute requests, and she was able to work at her own pace, at her own leisure.
But no.
Esme had booked her Saturday solid. Down to fifteen-minute increments. Being a control freak herself, it was annoying simply because it wasn’t a schedule of her own making. And she hated being on other people’s schedules. But Bean went with it because she was too afraid to get on Esme’s bad side, and it meant she didn’t have to deal with Gavin.
Yesterday had been a Friday from hell. Quite possibly the longest day of her life. The guy had taken grumpy to a whole new stratosphere, and he’d been blowing up her phone with message after message about the charity event tonight ever since four this morning. This was exactly why she left this kind of stuff to Esme.
But now her phone was on silent, tucked away in the women’s locker room at the Pacific View Resort, a world-renowned luxury wellness resort located on the northwestern tip of Hudson Island. A guy named Sergio was adding pressure to her right trapezius muscle. Letting out a breath, she sank her face deeper into the head cradle. He’d been massaging her upper back for the last thirty minutes, and she was having a hard time remembering why she was so annoyed.
“You should really make massages a regular thing,” Sergio murmured. “You carry an incredible amount of tension in your shoulders. And since you sit at a desk all day, your lower back is extremely tight as well.”
“Talk to my boss,” she said with a sigh.
Oh, yes. That was why she was annoyed. Her boss.
After her outdoor excursion with Wilson Thursday morning, she had met with Doc at her office. With the headaches gone and no signs of a concussion, he’d given Bean the all clear to go back to work. However, he’d informed her that her blood work showed that she was anemic. He’d given her an iron supplement, a not-so-gentle lecture on her diet, and orders to take regular breaks so she didn’t work herself into more fainting episodes. Seeing as she didn’t want to smack her face on the corner of her desk again, she’d readily agreed.
Then, after she’d spoken with Gavin about the charity event, the infuriating man had somehow gotten wind of the anemia thing, and the bossy man had made it his personal mission to not only be her hydration monitor, but to feed her seemingly on the hour.
The man was ridiculous.
All day Friday, every time she’d finished an energy drink, Gavin had knocked on her door with a bottle of water and a healthy snack. But not in a nice, concerned way. No. He’d been a growly beast. A borderline jackass. Like he’d rather be doing anything else.
Every time he’d stepped into her office, he’d had some lame excuse of checking in with her on whatever project she was working on. The man wasn’t a micromanager, and he sure as hell didn’t micromanage her . She’d even double-checked the office’s video feeds to make sure he wasn’t spying on her, because his timing had been uncanny. Seconds after her empty energy drink hit the recycle bin, he was there. Bottle of water and snack in hand. And questions. So many damn questions about what she was working on, what was this, what was that.
Holy hell.
By late afternoon, she’d put her foot down and let him know she was done with his constant interruptions. Yes, the food had helped, and she’d actually felt better, but enough was enough. In hindsight, she supposed it was kind of him to make sure she was okay. It was sweet in a still-very-annoying kind of way.
“Whatever you’re thinking, sweetie, please think of something else. Preferably something relaxing,” Sergio said, his deep, melodic voice pulling her from her thoughts. “I can literally feel the tension returning to your back. We only have another hour or so before you’re whisked off for more pampering, hair, and makeup.”
“Sorry,” she murmured, consciously relaxing her shoulders. After a few minutes, she asked, “You know Esme, right?”
“I do. She’s a regular of mine.”
Bean’s eyes popped open, and she lifted her head from the cradle. “Esme gets regular massages?”
“She sure does. Every other Saturday.” Sergio chuckled and gently pressed her face back down into the cradle. “She called me earlier this week to let me know she’s sick and sending you in her place.”
It was a little presumptuous of her friend, but Bean mentally shrugged. It’s not like Esme had been wrong. However, presumptuous or not, her brain had a hard time wrapping around the fact that not only did Esme—who was just as much of a workaholic as she was—get regular massages, but that she was also on the island more than Bean had realized. Her friend lived in the Seattle area and only came to the Hudson office every few weeks. Or so she’d thought.
Frowning, Bean supposed it wasn’t all that much of a surprise that she was in the dark. Not really. She didn’t get out of her work bubble all that often. In fact, this was the most unusual Saturday morning she’d had in a long, long time. Maybe ever.
Per Esme’s detailed schedule, Bean had arrived at the Pacific View Resort’s world-class spa at nine. She’d been treated to a fancy breakfast in a private room that had a spectacular panoramic view of the Puget Sound. After she’d eaten, she was taken to yet another private room, this time a Himalayan salt chamber to relax. It had taken her a few minutes for her mind to settle, but there was something about the cool, salty air combined with the heated, plush recliner that had her nearly falling asleep.
After who knows how long—there wasn’t a clock in sight—she’d been brought to the eucalyptus-scented massage room she was currently in. As Sergio had said, she was scheduled for a mani-pedi, hair, makeup, and lunch. In what order? She couldn’t remember. She would be done by four, which would give her enough time to get home and change before Gavin picked her up at five to take her to the company’ s aircraft hangar, where they had a fleet of four helicopters and three airplanes of various sizes.
Simply put, the Saturday schedule Esme had arranged for her was bananas. Because Bean’s Saturdays were usually like every other day. Work. Which she was more than okay with. In fact, it’s what she preferred. It’s what she did. Who she was.
This? The massage, the made-to-order crepes with fresh fruit? The Himalayan freaking salt room? Not what she did. Ever.
A moan escaped her as Sergio dug into an especially tender spot along her side. Holy crap, maybe she needed to reevaluate adding this into her packed schedule.
She sighed under Sergio’s ministrations, and her mind drifted to the conversation she’d had with Gavin about her joining him at the McClintock charity event. Her lips twitched at the recollection. He’d been surprisingly awkward. But looking back on it, she found it kind of endearing.
Awkward. Endearing. Up until this exact moment, those were two words that she’d never associated with the man. It was nice to know that beneath that intense surface, he was actually human.
Forty-five minutes later, Bean was lying on her back, letting out a deep sigh.
“How do you feel?” Sergio asked, humor lacing his words.
“Jell-O. I feel like human Jell-O.” She smiled as she stretched her arms over her head. “Thank you so much. I may have to take Esme’s lead and make this a regular thing.”
“You absolutely should. Now, take your time. When you’re ready, get up slowly. You can redress in your robe, and I’ll be waiting for you outside.” He gestured to the side table. “There’s a bottle of water for you. Make sure you stay hydrated today. ”
The door closed behind Sergio, and she relaxed for a few more minutes before rising. Back in her robe and after chugging half the bottle of water, she joined her massage therapist in the hallway. He escorted her back to the private dining room she’d been in earlier.
“A light lunch will be brought in,” he said. “You’ll have an hour to eat and relax—or check your messages if you’re anything like Esme—then the girls will be in to get you.”
“Thank you again,” she said before he left her alone in the room.
Moments later, two uniformed staff members brought in an amazing-looking lunch. While they set her up at a small table near the floor-to-ceiling windows, Bean excused herself and rushed to the locker room to retrieve her phone. With it tucked into the pocket of her robe, she approached her private room, and the door opened.
“Everything’s set up, ma’am,” the man said, holding the door open for her. “If you need anything, there’s a button next to the phone. Just press it, and one of us will be right with you.”
“Thank you,” she said, noting the call button next to the room’s landline.
“Of course. Enjoy your lunch,” he said before closing the door behind him.
Bean’s stomach grumbled as she looked at the spread laid out for her on the table. A BLT on thick, crusty bread and a side salad with what looked like crumbled feta. She wasn’t a salad fan, but it actually looked good. Then again, cheese made everything better. Next to the glass of ice water was a dessert plate holding three small fruit tarts, with strawberries, peaches, kiwis, and blueberries creating a delicious-looking rainbow.
She settled onto the cushioned chair, not sure where to start. A small smile lifted her lips. Bacon. Always start with the bacon.
Taking a bite of her sandwich, she groaned as the thick-cut bacon’s salty goodness and the sweet, fresh tomatoes tickled her taste buds. As she licked the breadcrumbs from her lips, she wanted to go home and toss all her frozen meals in the trash. This simple sandwich was so, so good. After another bite, she chuckled. Yeah, right. Though she wished she could eat like this every day, the reality was that if it were left to her to prepare meals like this for herself—as simple as the food seemed—she’d starve.
Munching on her lunch, Bean did what she did best. Multitasked. She grabbed her phone and replied to countless emails and texts as she ate. Maybe one day she’d come back to the spa and do the full relaxation thing, but today was not that day.
After popping the final bite of the last fruit tart into her mouth, she sent Esme a text.
Bean
Thank you for this.
Esme
Tell me the truth—you were kinda pissed at first, weren’t you?
Bean grinned.
Bean
Well, yeah! But Sergio made me forget to be annoyed with you. Holy shit, the man has magic freaking hands.
Esme
That he does.
Esme
I figured you’d be nervous about the charity event. May as well get you as relaxed as possible before you start to freak out again about tonight.
Oh, her friend knew her well.
After a moment, Bean frowned.
Bean
I’m overthinking all of this, right? I mean, the cover story we settled on is solid and I’m just making this thing tonight a bigger deal than it really is, right?
Esme
Absolutely. I’ve been to so many of those types of events with Frazier that I’ve lost count. You smile. Nod. Shake hands. Since no one knows you’re with the company, it’ll be a breeze. What dress did you decide to go with?
She huffed out an exhale. Smile. Nod. Shake hands. No problem.
Bean
They were all gorgeous, but I picked the black one.
Esme
It was the shoes, wasn’t it?
Yup. Her friend knew her well.
Bean
Uh, you paired the dress with red Ferragamo T-strap pumps. You bet your ass it was the shoes!
Esme
Technically they’re “flame red” and you’re welcome. Actually, you can thank Frazier since he’s footing the bill.
Chuckling, Bean’s thumbs flew over her phone.
Bean
Even better. But seriously, thank you for arranging this.
Esme
Of course. Now, if my schedule is being correctly followed, the resort’s staff should be moving you to the next part of the itinerary soon.
A quiet knock sounded, and the door opened. Two women who looked a little bit younger than her stepped into the room. Giving them a warm smile, she shot off another text.
Bean
They just walked in. You’re kinda scary, you know that?
Esme
Ha! Enjoy.
Bean
Thanks again!
“Come on in,” Bean said, silencing her ringer and tucking the phone into her robe’s pocket.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Ventura. I’m Freya,” the woman with shiny black hair said. “I’ll be styling your hair.” She gestured to the woman next to her. “This is Brynn.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Ventura. I’ll be doing your makeup for the evening.” Brynn had the most spectacular eye makeup—a shimmering shadow in an ombre of pale purple to dark plum with a perfectly winged liner.
Looking between the two, Bean nodded. She was in good hands. “It’s nice to meet you both, and please just call me Bean.” She wrinkled her nose. “Ms. Ventura is a bit too formal when I’m dressed in a robe.”
“You got it, Bean,” Freya said with a laugh as she approached. “Esme just texted us a photo of the dress you’ll be wearing this evening. I have a few hair options for you to consider. Whenever you’re ready, we can take a look at the different hairstyles and Brynn’s makeup options to see what kind of vibe you’re going for tonight. While we do our thing, the mani-pedi girls will take care of you as well.”
Bean’s eyes widened as she processed everything Freya had said. Esme really had thought of everything. After the last few hours at the spa, Bean had been impressed with Esme’s planning. But this? This was next-level.
As nervous as she was about the event tonight, she had to admit she was excited to see what kind of glow-up Freya and Brynn could do. Taking a breath for courage, Bean stood. “Great. Let’s do this.”
Three hours later, her nails were done, and her hair had been trimmed, washed, dried, and styled. Makeup had been artfully applied and set. She’d even been given a small clutch of products so she could touch up her makeup throughout the evening.
Bean stared slack-jawed at herself in the mirror. Letting out an astonished exhale, she turned to the left and then to the right, studying her face and hair from every angle.
Yes, she dressed professionally pretty much every day. She knew she could rock a pencil skirt and heels with the best of them. But this? This was one thousand percent ridiculous. Her hair fell around her in loose, soft waves, and her makeup was immaculate. There were no traces of the lingering bruises on her face. Her eyes had a subtle smoky look that wasn’t too overdone but also had just the right amount of oomph. If she were being honest... she looked fantastic.
Yup. Forget the title of Director of Logistics. Esme was an absolute magician.