39. Ronan
Tasha
That’s amazing. Congratulations.
OMG, Carrie is getting married and I just had a brilliant idea for her bachelorette! We should do it at your new hotel! When does it open? I need to organize something soon. Hook a girl up?
Carrie would love you forever (she’s still pissed we’re not together anymore).
Why didn’t you warn me how muggy Miami is?
I reread the string of texts that started last night, the last one coming in while I was using the staff locker room shower. Tasha is clearly trying to open a line of communication after two years of radio silence. Does she remember how we broke up? Because I sure as hell do and it wasn’t pretty.
But it’s been so long. I don’t even think about her anymore until she shows up on my phone screen.
This is stupid. Why am I toiling over how to respond and what things might mean?
It doesn’t matter because we’ve been done for years.
I couldn’t say how many women I’ve slept with since.
If Tasha and I can come out at the end as friends? Fan-fucking-tastic.
I can definitely hook a girl up.
I feel Belinda’s dissecting eyes on me, so I dump my phone into my pocket and return to scanning the hordes of people filling the hotel ballroom, in various stages of the screening and interview process. It’s a complete shitshow. “What ever happened to emailing résumés and calling people in?”
“Is that how you were hired?” Belinda retorts.
“No,” I admit. “It was a college job fair.” Wolf Hotels had a table, and people could apply and interview on the spot for everything from administration to collecting trash, working all over the world. I’ll admit, Henry’s company has a stellar reputation. The line of candidates was long.
Her heels click as she leads me through the crowd at a leisurely pace.
“This may be painful, but it allows us an opportunity to evaluate applicants up front and quickly, especially when we’re hiring seasonally for a hotel that opens in less than three weeks.
For example”—she lowers her voice to a murmur only I can hear—“that one over there is applying to serve in our fine dining establishment.”
I follow her focus. “The mullet?”
“Precisely. He wants to serve our clientele thousand-dollar bottles of wine and premium oysters. Do you think his name will reach the hire list?”
“You’d kill someone’s future over their hair? You know they’re back in style,” I add, half jokingly.
“Mullets were never in style. The hair is a questionable choice, but he’s applying for a high-end customer service job in flip-flops and torn jean shorts .
” She sneers. “He won’t get past the first round of scrutiny and if he does, Lena’s managers will end that quickly because they know what is required of our employees. ”
I met my counterpart yesterday and the disapproving once-over she gave me told me everything I needed to know about her. We aren’t going to get along. “What if he’s qualified to do the job?”
“If he were qualified to work in high-end service, he would not have arrived for an interview dressed like that .”
“Fair enough.” I smirk. “Though, I didn’t show up too much better yesterday.”
“Precisely. You’re not qualified for your job either.
But it’s amazing what the right clothes can do.
” Belinda’s sharp, assessing gaze drags over the white button-down and tailored palm-green dress pants I changed into.
While I’m not thrilled by this location’s color scheme, I have to admit, the clothes Belinda chose make me feel like a baller.
The double takes I’ve caught are tenfold the average. This is how Wolf must feel.
But I’m still not wearing that fucking tie.
I assess the vast group of hopefuls. Some of these people will know me as their boss beginning next week—a reality I’m still adjusting to. There are a lot of them. “Are these all Mermaid Beach locals?”
“Here and the towns over the bridge. Or seasonals who have come down with jobs already lined up but are hoping to upgrade.”
Like Sloane’s staffers, based on the tail end of that conversation I overheard. How many of her people are ready to ditch her? No wonder she has no love for Wolf. Still, it’s unhinged to react the way she did when she found out I’m working here.
But I already knew she was unhinged.
Damn it, though. How is Sloane, that beautiful creature who knelt beside me in the sand today, also the check-ripping, hateful sign-crafting, deranged neighbor who has picked a war with Henry Wolf?
“I imagine some are aiming for permanent year-round positions.” Belinda shakes her head.
“Honestly, they think they can show up to an establishment like this in stained tank tops? And look, that one just came from the pool.” She juts her chin toward a young woman whose bikini has soaked through her T-shirt, leaving two round wet marks across her chest. “She wants me to trust her with cleaning a guest’s room?
I could cull half these people in the next five minutes.
” She pauses in her rant. “At least he looks like a serious applicant.”
I find her new target, and familiarity hits me right away.
It’s Sloane’s ex, the arrogant fuck I met this morning at the Sea Witch.
Well, “met” is a stretch. I witnessed him try to bully her into a favorable reference.
I have no idea why they ended their engagement, but it was clearly not on good terms.
“What position is that for?” He’s dressed in a cheap suit and tie. It’s funny, I didn’t know the difference between a suit you buy at a big-box store and one made by a man named Lorenzo who shifts your ball sack to ensure the perfect fit until I met Henry.
“Bartending. Good fit. Pretty faces sell drinks. To be honest, I’m amazed you chose yard work over that. You could have raked in the tips.”
I smirk. “Are you calling me pretty?”
“You know you are.” She juts her chin at Sloane’s ex. “So does he. And barring a criminal record, Lena will take him.”
“That would be a mistake,” I say before I can stop myself.
Why do I care if Sloane’s ex gets a job here?
She all but told me to go fuck myself. I shouldn’t care at all, and yet the idea of him coming out on top burns, especially after watching him taunt her and how her face paled.
It sounds like he’s not the only one who might want a reference from the Sea Witch—a notion that stressed her out greatly.
“Why? Do you know him?” Belinda asks.
“Not exactly.” How much do I want to share? Belinda already wants Sloane’s head on a pike. She’d hunt down and hire every Sea Witch employee out of spite. “I know his ex?—”
Belinda holds up a manicured hand. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t want the sordid details of what you and that fuckboy friend of yours have already gotten up to in your short time here. Speaking of fuckboys, did I hear from Henry correctly that you are giving Connor a supervisory position?”
“That’s right.” I grin. “I know him and I trust him.” For example, I know the idiot will drink too many margaritas tonight and will be nursing a brutal hangover tomorrow, but he’ll make sure to escort out the woman he brings home from the bar and lock the door behind her.
She shakes her head. “I give you three shifts until we have an HR complaint and then have fun firing your …”
Belinda’s scathing prediction fades as a swirl of familiar ash-blond hair catches my attention.
What the hell is Sloane doing here ?