Chapter 8
8
Preston
G et in, get out, get it done.
That’s my mantra as I step into the Hott Springs Eternal conference room the next morning.
The activities calendar doesn’t need to be perfect, just good enough to earn a 4.5 average.
I’m used to dotting every i and crossing every t on multibillion-dollar deals. A 4.5 on a bunch of cruise ship activity sessions feels entirely doable.
Get in, get out, get it done.
I settle myself at the head of the table. I’m early.
I check my email, my texts. I check and recheck some numbers one of the junior analysts ran for me.
They still add up. The third time, too— i s dotted, t s crossed.
Hanna sticks her head in. “Be nice to her,” she says.
“I’m always nice.”
My sister rolls her eyes. I seem to be getting that a lot lately.
She leans against the door frame. “Did Kali come back to Rush Creek with you this time?”
Damn. I’d been hoping since she hadn’t asked about my ex-wife yet, we’d avoid this whole topic. No such luck.
“She’s super busy,” I say. Which is true, as far as it goes.
So, yeah: I may have neglected to mention to my family that I’m no longer married. And the longer I don’t mention it, the bigger of a thing it becomes. How do you tell your family that you made it all the way to signed divorce papers without mentioning to them that your marriage was fucked?
Hanna crosses her arms. Stares at me with icy blue eyes that remind me of our grandfather’s. Eyes that see right through my lies.
I almost crack, except that right then Natalie pokes her head in the door, smiling, curls bobbing. “Hey!”
“You’re late,” I tell her.
“Preston,” Hanna growls.
“Go,” I tell her, pointing at the door, and, glaring at me the whole while, she does.
Natalie consults her phone. “I’m not late. There’s a five-minute grace period on everything, and I’m only two minutes past that, which isn’t even five minutes late.”
“Early is on time; on time is late; and late is unacceptable,” I counter.
She shakes her head. “Early is early. On time is on time. And a little late is just being human.”
I frown. “No one ever said that.”
“They should have.”
She’s not remotely intimidated by me. Which is foreign and…also intriguing.
She steps all the way into the conference room. She’s wearing a pair of capri pants and a blue scoop-necked top. I try—unsuccessfully—not to notice how the pants fit snugly over her perfect ass and the top swerves suggestively over her way-more-than-a-handful tits. I make an internal note: Tonight, I’m Tindering and blowing off some steam, something I haven’t done in months. I’ve lost track, which tells me all I need to know. Enough of this bullshit.
Her hands are empty.
“Where’s your laptop?” I demand.
Natalie shrugs. “I don’t have one. I’ll take notes on my phone.”
“You can’t view a whole spreadsheet on your phone.”
“I wasn’t planning on viewing any spreadsheets.” She lowers her voice to a murmur. “Also, are we going to pretend you didn’t see me dancing in my bra?”
“Yes,” I say, because that is the only rational response to the situation. Nothing good could possibly come of dwelling on that moment. Of remembering what I saw. Efficiency is the name of this game.
“Wooo—okay, then,” she says and plops down into the chair next to mine. It’s around the corner, but she’s close enough that I pick up her cinnamon-apple scent. I scoot my chair away.
“We will need spreadsheets,” I say. “To keep lists of activities and to make schedules. I took to heart what you said about eighties team-building activities.”
She looks startled.
“I can compromise,” I say grumpily.
“Make sure you do,” says a stern voice behind me, and I turn to see Hanna, head poked into the conference room again. Which, in fairness, I probably deserve after my behavior yesterday. But today I’m turning over a new leaf. It’s the whatever will make this happen fastest leaf .
“Quit it,” I tell my sister, and her head disappears. I turn back to Natalie. “I brought some new ideas.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Bingo. And paint with gems.”
She squints at me. “Bingo,” she repeats dubiously.
“Hanna told me where you worked before this. There was an old calendar of events online, so I studied it. I figured those things were already vetted by you, so we should be able to get to consensus quickly.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “But that was a nursing home. This is a high-end dude-ranch-style wedding resort.” She purses her lips. “I have an idea. What if we do what I said yesterday and mostly partner with programs that already exist but then throw in some additional things that are relatively easy to implement. Basically then we’d just have to go vet the ones we wanted to partner with and spend the rest of our time putting together the others.”
“Examples?”
“For partnerships, I’m thinking the horseback riding, plus a few things Wilder Adventures could make happen for us—Hanna can vouch for Wilder, so we’d basically just need to talk to the guys in charge and see what they’re interested in doing.” She looks down at her phone for a moment. “Also, axe throwing?—”
“Nothing with deadly weapons.”
For a second her eyes meet mine, fire in them. I think she’s going to argue, and I discover I’m looking forward to it. But then she drops her gaze. “Okay,” she concedes. “No deadly weapons. What about a pop-up rage room? I think we could arrange with a vendor to bring that here.”
I roll my eyes but don’t protest because Hanna is still making occasional passes through the hall outside our room.
“If we had a splatter room…” she says wistfully. “Maybe we could improvise that? Or set up basically the equivalent of an outdoor one?”
I flinch. “What the hell is a splatter room?”
“It’s a room where all the walls are lined and you can make a complete mess. If we wanted to do body painting, for example?—”
“ Body painting? ”
“Yeah, like couples could put paint all over each other’s?—”
I wave my hand because I need that image in my head like I need—well. I don’t need it. No one will be painting anyone else’s body.
“Or Jell-O wrestling.”
“ Jell-O wrestling? ”
“It’s really fun.”
“I’m going to take your word for that,” I say, trying extremely hard not to picture anyone in a tub of Jell-O.
She bites her plump lip; she’s definitely trying not to smile. “Okay, what about…improv workshops, a casino night—we might even be able to get Five Rivers to come in and do it. Rock climbing—I noticed there are some nice faces on the property, and I think the Wilders are certified?—”
“You really do want us to get sued.”
“That’s what the partnerships are for,” she says. “I won’t do anything that could hurt Hott Springs Eternal or your sister. I need this to work. I need this job.”
She says it so earnestly, there must be a story in there. What makes this woman tick? She seems so unflappable, but she apparently wants this job enough to put up with me. Before I can ask Why is it so important to you ? she says, “You need a four-point-five, so therefore, you need activities that are actually fun.”
“Who thinks that stuff is fun? Improv? Body painting?”
Her eyes and mouth are both wide with disbelief. “Everyone?”
“We’re going to have to agree to disagree,” I tell her. “There’s nothing fun about risking your life or your pride or getting covered with paint.”
She buries her face in her hands. I can see Hanna coming back our way. Quickly, I say, “Okay. Okay. So what’s the plan?”
Hanna’s right outside the door.
“Meet me at Green Will Lake Campground Monday night at seven thirty,” Natalie says. “We’re going to pay a visit to Brody’s Boats.”
“What’s Brody’s Boats?”
“You’ll see. Just meet me and follow my lead.”
Hanna passes by, out of audio range.
Natalie whispers, “Like an obedient puppy.”
My gaze flashes to hers. She raises her eyebrows and smirks at me, and God help me, I almost—almost—smile.