45. Sloane
“ W ho are we scoping out tonight?”
I jump as Rebel swoops in, pressing my phone to my chest to hide the screen. “No one.”
“Uh-huh.” She sets the filled cooler in the sand and then, fishing out bottles of Sapporo, passes one each to me and Skye before settling into a chair.
The ritual of finishing our summer nights out by the oat grass, with a fire crackling and the soothing sounds of crashing waves from the nearby darkness, is a longstanding one.
Another tradition from Gigi that’s stuck through the years.
Any Sea Witch staffer is welcome to pull up a seat and unwind, and many accept the invitation.
On any given night, we’ll have eight to ten people here, occasionally with someone busting out a guitar.
If we’re lucky, Frank will bring out his ukulele.
“Okay, spill,” Skye pushes.
Right now, it’s just the three of us, which is why I’m willing to hold my phone to show them the candid close-up of Ronan from the Wolf wedding.
I found it after going down a deep and sordid rabbit hole that led me to the photographer—a French artist famously known for taking close-ups of the female anatomy, mid orgasm.
To say I didn’t know things like that existed—and that people pay small fortunes for the invasive pleasure of this Joel pervert—is an understatement. Rich people are weird.
She squints. “Ooh, is that the hot guy who came in looking for you last week?”
“Yeah.” Exactly one week ago, the same day that we had sex and then he ran out of my house like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I haven’t seen him since. Not a phone call, not an appearance at the coffee shop. Not even a text. Vanished like he never existed.
I guess Ronan got everything he wanted.
And I got what I expected . I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me, that I hadn’t held on to a shade of hope that Ronan would be different from all the others.
And then I remember his reaction when I asked him not to say anything, how he chuckled, and swore the last thing he would ever want to admit to is fucking me.
I still can’t believe I let him inside me without a condom. After I found out about Cody cheating, I swore I would never allow it again. But with Ronan, there was no thinking involved. I lost all control and sensibility.
“Are you two hooking up?” Skye asks.
“ No .” It comes out too harsh, so I amend my tone to add, “There’s nothing there.”
A glance flickers between them.
“I don’t want anything to do with him,” I declare with conviction. “He’s a senior manager at Wolf.” He probably has Henry Wolf on speed dial.
“No shit. How’d you find that out?” Rebel asks.
“He mentioned it,” I say vaguely, tossing a warning glance at Skye. She’s the only one who knows I crashed the job fair, but she doesn’t know the devil’s deal I made.
“He’s hot, Sloane,” Rebel says. “Like, really fucking hot.”
“Yeah. I’m aware.” A twinge of jealousy stirs in my stomach as these two fawn over Ronan. How many other women are doing the same, over at that hotel? He’ll screw them too, I’m sure. “He’s also a giant dick .” Who happens to possess a giant dick.
“Why? What’d he do?” Skye is pouting like this news personally offends her.
“Look who decided to grace us with his presence.”
Frank appears from the darkness to save me from this interrogation, his arms loaded with wood and Rolland trailing behind him.
Frank wasn’t kidding when he called the kid scrawny.
He’s like a newborn giraffe, all knobs and limbs.
The obscenely baggy T-shirts he wears hide the protruding ribs I caught a glimpse of one afternoon while he was wiping his sweaty brow.
But he’s quiet and he tries, and he hasn’t quit yet, which is all I care about at this point.
“Welcome, cutie!” Rebel beams up at the lanky kid as she reaches into the cooler and fishes out a beer.
“Uh …” He looks from it to me to Frank, reminding us that he’s only eighteen and, according to the little he’s spoken about his family to Frank, was raised in an ultra-strict household.
“I’m not your mother.” Frank drops the load of wood with a clatter. “But you better sleep in one of the empty trailers if you have too many.”
“Just one.” Rolland collects the beer from Rebel with a thanks, his flushed cheeks noticeable even in the fire’s glow as he takes an empty seat on the other side of Skye. They turn their interrogation on him, saving me from having to lie about Ronan.
Minutes later, Mick, Ron, and Will show up, and another round of greetings ensues.
I force a smile and pretend I’m none the wiser to their recent plans for a mass exodus. From what Rebel and Skye heard, they received rejection emails from Wolf Hotels the same afternoon Ronan submitted his approvals—and disapprovals .
They showed up ready to work the next day and, according to Frank, no one seems sour or disgruntled, so maybe it really was a matter of chasing the shiny new thing. Still, that prick of guilt lingers every time I see anyone I sabotaged. It’s quickly followed by the sting of betrayal.
Amanda never showed up for her Monday shift, making up a story about needing to leave the state to take care of an ill relative.
AJ called me on Sunday afternoon to tell me he was taking a job at Wolf and he wouldn’t be able to give me two weeks.
He thanked me for employing him. There wasn’t much else to say.
Jeremy hasn’t said a word, but I know through Rebel that he’ll be working Friday and Saturday nights at the Wolf beach bar—a ritzy courtyard overlooking the water that serves a menu of martinis and other complex cocktails at twenty-five bucks a piece.
Apparently, he’s been studying the manual front and back all week.
He’ll do well there, and I’m happy for him.
Frank wedges his giant body into the chair beside me. “You stopped trying to murder them with your eyes yet?” he murmurs, quiet enough for only me to hear.
“Trying.” It’s especially hard to fake nice with Ron. He’s staying in Surf’s Up for the summer. I run into him every morning while feeding the birds.
“Try harder. You gotta let it go.”
I know . “Skye made Gigi’s chili recipe. Crock-Pot’s on the counter inside.” There’s always something on the stove around here in the summer, with enough to feed a dozen mouths.
“I’ll grab a bowl in a bit.” He rotates his wrist.
“How’s it going over at the compound?”
“Fixed the outdoor shower and a rotten board on the steps. Gonna get Rolland to throw another coat of paint on the trailer. Freshen it up.”
“Good idea.” Gigi inherited that property two decades ago from a lonely army vet named Bobby who had a soft spot for her.
He was highly paranoid and had the place fully fenced and wired against trespassers, making it secure for our needs.
Hence, the nickname compound . It’s only a block away from the beach.
Bobby’s trailer was a plain gray single-wide that Gigi insisted on jazzing up with robin egg-blue walls and yellow trim. It serves as an office and resting spot for the staff during the long, hot summer days.
“How you doin’ with the tiki boats?” he asks.
“Fine. Tired.” I’ve had to play captain every day this week, taking groups out to Starfish Island where I drop anchor with countless other boats and babysit for four hours while they swim and drink and laugh.
I used to love it. Now, I find it exhausting, always needing to be “on” for vacationers, striking conversations, regaling them with fun facts.
And that’s all on top of everything else I have on my plate.
“Your banana boat is booking up.”
“Told you it’d be a hit.” Frank turns his trunk of a neck this way and that to stretch what I’m sure are aching bones.
True to his promise, all the Sea-Doos and rental equipment are moved, repaired, cleaned, and ready to be hauled back and forth to the beach daily.
Just in time, too, because the first big influx of tourists starts next week, and it only gets busier from there.
So far, it seems the Sea Witch has avoided a crisis. But we’re not out of the woods yet. “I hired a new girl to replace Amanda. She starts tomorrow. Her name’s Lara.”
“Hope she’s better than the last one.” He chugs his water. “Anyone else come in?”
“A woman named Sage for the tiki captain job.”
“And?” Frank’s bushy eyebrow arches. “What’s wrong with her?”
He can read me so well. “She was high as a kite so … I’m thinking no.”
He chuckles. “How’s next week’s schedule? ”
“Two sails every day. Losing money every day we don’t have the third float out there.” I’ve had to block the calendar so we don’t book more than we can handle.
“I hear Cody’s available.”
I snort and beer shoots out my nose. It’s a moment of hacking before I can clear it out of my system and then I’m laughing. “Okay, I needed that.”
“Why? Is there something else buggin’ you?”
I know what he’s really asking about. He hasn’t brought up that day he caught Ronan at the house, and I haven’t mentioned it.
“Nope. All good,” I lie.
Frank clinks his water bottle against my beer. In sixteen years, I’ve never seen him touch a drop of alcohol. “One day at a time, Parker.”
With a deep breath, I echo, “One day at a time.”