Chapter 5
My stomach was tying itself in nervous knots as I waited for seven to roll around, so I decided I would just leave early and wait in the parking lot.
I grabbed a poppy seed muffin I’d brought home from the diner, locked my door, and stepped outside into the cool mountain air.
I was just about to reach my car when I heard heavy footfalls coming up the running trail.
My heart sped up for a second, not expecting anyone to be out in the forest at this hour.
Thankfully, when I spun around, I recognized Jay and Luna running on the trail almost immediately, and the growing panic subsided.
“Oh, it’s just you,” I mumbled, a chunk of poppy seed muffin still in my mouth. I quickly tried to chew and swallow, but I’d definitely bitten off more than was ladylike.
“Sorry to startle you again,” Jay said, slowing down to a walk with a very excited Luna at his side, tugging on her new leash.
I hurried to swallow my muffin and prayed I didn’t have seeds in my teeth when I spoke again.
“No worries. I’m just heading out for a job interview.” I mentally smacked myself for being so weird. He definitely did not ask.
Jay’s mouth twitched. “A job interview, huh? Well, that’s exciting.” His gaze shifted down to the other half of the poppy seed muffin in my hand. “Careful. That’s an opioid muffin. If they require a drug test, you might come back positive.”
I choked on a laugh. Opioid muffin was actually hilarious, and I clapped a hand over my mouth as I swallowed. “You’d need a lot of poppy seeds before it would even register on a tox screen.”
His grin widened; he was most definitely teasing me. “At least four to five muffins before the morphine metabolites would show up.”
I giggled, shocked at just how giddy I was upon seeing him again. Chill out, Hope. Act. Cooler.
I pointed at him with what remained of my muffin. “You’re in medicine. Bonnie at the diner may or may not have spilled that you are, in fact, Doctor Alarcón yesterday.”
“Ahhh, gossip spreads faster than skis on fresh powder in this town. You can pretty much find out anything if you speak to the right person.” He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, a slight smile tugging at his lips. He was being deliberately vague, and it made me want to pry.
I opened my mouth to press further, but my phone buzzed in my bag. One glance at the time made my heart lurch. If I was sticking to the schedule I’d created in my head—the one that would allow me to mentally freak out in the parking lot thirty minutes before my interview—I needed to get going.
“Oh no. I’m going to be late.” I waved the muffin at him in farewell and hurried toward my car. “Rain check on the doctor thing, yeah?”
I heard him chuckle as I opened my car door and started to climb in.
“Good luck on your interview!” he called out to me just as I slammed the door. I waved at him and Luna as I sped off down my gravel driveway and into the trees.
Twelve gorgeous mountain views and sharp switchbacks later, I parked in front of Big Bear Resort’s five-star hotel, arriving exactly thirty-six minutes before my interview.
It was stunning. It was over forty stories high and had a luxury cabin vibe similar to Jay’s house. It was all dark-wood timbers, sparkling windows, and peaked beams. The giant sign displayed on a thick wooden backdrop and posted directly above the massive front entrance read:
Hartman’s Mountain Resort
I’d brought a book with me and decided to read a few chapters while I waited. My anxiety eased slightly by arriving early, but I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at the clock on my dashboard every minute or so.
I read a chapter or two, rather distractedly, until five minutes before my interview arrived.
Five minutes early was good, right?
I tucked my floppy, beat-up paperback into my purse, walked up the expertly landscaped front entrance of the resort, and breathed in the crisp mountain air. The smell of pine trees and fallen leaves calmed my nerves a bit.
Inside the hotel lobby, I saw bikers preparing to hit the mountain trails, couples heading toward the ski lift to admire the views, and families in luxury hotel robes and slippers heading to the pool. It felt relaxed and carefree—something I wasn’t used to. But I immediately liked it.
I headed toward the massive mahogany front desk, settled beneath another massive wooden sign that read:
CONCIERGE
“Can I help you?” the concierge woman asked.
“Yes, I have an interview with Aaron,” I replied.
“Are you Hope?” The woman continued clicking away on her computer.
“Yes, that’s me.”
She grabbed the phone receiver and pressed a few numbers. “Your interview is here.”
A few moments later, a young man, who couldn’t be older than seventeen, came sauntering out in tan shorts and a T-shirt. He had a friendly demeanor and an easy smile.
“Hi, Hope. Thanks for coming in,” Aaron said, extending his hand.
“Hi, thanks for having me,” I replied, returning his gesture. I’d been unsure of what exactly to wear, so I’d chosen slacks and a blouse to be safe, but now I felt overdressed.
He motioned for me to follow him. “Come this way; we can talk in my office.”
I was a little surprised that someone so young was interviewing me, but I remained open-minded as I followed him. Surely, he wouldn’t be the manager unless he was qualified.
But my open-mindedness quickly started to diminish when my eyes were drawn to the unusual office décor.
Aaron’s office was filled with an assortment of ski-themed items that gave it the vibe of a teenage boy’s bedroom.
The shelves above the desk were crammed with action figures of skiers and snowboarders in various dynamic poses, while posters of skiers gliding down the snowy hills of Big Bear adorned the walls.
There was even a massive mural of Aaron himself, captured midair while performing a trick on his snowboard, painted across the entire right wall.
I sat down in the seat across from the desk, unable to find words. His desk was cluttered with magazines, a couple of energy drink cans, and a half-eaten candy bar. His nameplate was off to the side, shoved aside by the clutter, but I could still read what it said.
Aaron Hartman.
I remembered seeing the same name on the front sign. It couldn’t just be a coincidence—he had to be related to the owner in some way.
Aaron sat down across from me, glancing at my résumé briefly before setting it aside next to his Snickers bar.
“So, Hope, we’re looking for someone to help guests get on and off the lifts and assist at our boutique where we sell Big Bear merchandise. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in?”
I nodded, trying not to be deterred by the fact that this seventeen-year-old kid was determining my entire fate at the moment. “Absolutely. I think I could do a great job, and I’m a quick learner.”
“Perfect,” Aaron said, leaning back in his chair as he lifted his feet to rest on the desk. “You saw online that it said twenty-five dollars an hour, right?”
“Yes, I did. That’s actually one of the reasons I applied,” I admitted, glancing at his crossed feet and the brightly colored sneakers right in front of my face. I leaned back slightly.
Aaron chuckled. “I figured. Well, that rate is actually for employees who’ve been with us for five years or more.
The owner just has us put it in the advertisement to get people to apply.
So the starting wage is actually sixteen dollars an hour.
I know it’s quite a difference, but there’s potential for raises over time. ”
My face fell, and my hands balled into fists in my lap. Thankfully, the table blocked him from seeing my frustration. “Is the position even full-time?”
“Not exactly. We only need someone part-time at the moment. But there’s always a chance for more hours during our busy season.” He smiled confidently, like he really thought that was a bonus perk.
I sighed, realizing that this was most definitely not going to work for me.
I stood up, fighting the urge to tell him to get his shoes off the desk like I was his mother.
“I see. Well, I appreciate you taking the time to interview me. But I suggest that, for future applicants, you update your online advertisement and state exactly what you’re offering.
Maybe more truthful advertising will help you find the right fit. ”
Aaron frowned and finally removed his feet from the tabletop. “Are you sure you don’t want to think it over?”
The last thing I wanted or needed was to get involved in another family business. And the way the owner was allowing his son—or grandson, or nephew, or whoever this kid was—to run his interviews was a major red flag.
I gave a fake smile, no longer bothering to save face. I was officially bummed out. “I think I need something a bit more consistent right now. But thank you.”
Thank you for wasting my time, I wanted to add, but I refrained. I didn’t want to waste my breath either.