Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
LEXI
“Iblame Evan for this,” I groan into the phone. My streak of melodrama seems to be skiing down a very steep hill, on the verge of losing all control. We all know how that ends: a wreck.
“Evan’s just looking out for you, Lex,” Tessa says. “And it isn’t a done deal by far.”
“Evan ran with it because he had my résumé on his laptop, and now I’ve got an interview!” I close my eyes, frustrated because I technically gave him the green light in a moment of snark.
“But that’s awesome!” Tessa sounds delighted. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“Yes, but—”
“How is it that only you have an interview?” Tessa asks. “Isn’t the job for a managerial couple? What about the dude? Tristan?”
The dude. Ha! She wouldn’t call him that if she saw him in person.
“I don’t know. He’s hardly been around, and I haven’t checked with him.
” It’s not as if I have his number. The last time I saw Tristan, he was passed out on the sofa looking almost angelic in sleep.
I could’ve stared at him the whole day, but I had errands to run.
After that morning, I lost track of his whereabouts.
He hasn’t been at home by the time I go to bed for several nights in a row now, and he’s gone early in the mornings.
Part of me whispers that I could probably fake being his fiancée quite easily if he was never around like this.
“You should check with him, but for all you know, they want to interview you for a different position—one where he doesn’t need to be your plus one.”
This has crossed my mind a thousand times since I got the interview invitation.
One half of me wants to strangle Evan, the other half admires his go-getter attitude, because it’s gotten me this far.
I worked hard to get my promotions at St Chalamet, and I can’t let this opportunity slip through my fingers.
My experience and dedication have to count for something.
Beaumont could have other suitable positions to fill, and I can’t blow all my chances because of Ne’emba Island’s small stipulation.
“I’m doing it, if only for the experience.” I’ve never been interviewed for a job outside of St Chalamet, and I’m nervous. It’s a hurdle I need to leap over.
“You’re going to be fantastic. It’s over Zoom?”
“Yes, first thing tomorrow morning, with someone from the headquarters in Paris.”
“La-dee-da. Wanna do a test run? I’ll put on an accent and all.”
Thank God for BFFs. By dinnertime Tessa has asked every hard question ten times over. I’m brain-drained but floating on a cloud of optimism as I walk out to the veranda.
Evan sits on a deck chair, a beer dangling from his hand, deep in conversation on his phone. He glances up at me, and the corner of his mouth forms a half-smile. “Yes, I understand. I’ll get her to sign the paperwork, and we’ll take it from there.”
My heart drops. What a mood-killer. I sit down and wait for him to finish. “Who was that?” I ask when he hangs up.
“Tristan. He’s got a lawyer from his dad’s firm to help out.”
“Oh. He didn’t run it past me.”
“He didn’t have your number.”
For fuck’s sake. That’s how in tune we are, and Evan wants us to fake an engagement?
“Okay. What’s the verdict?” There’s been no more word from St Chalamet, and not a peep from the hackers.
Not that I’ve checked. For all intents and purposes, I’ve been wiped off the internet.
A few horror shots from my teens still float around on other people’s accounts, but ever since I started working for St Chalamet, I’ve kept my accounts private and gossip fodder to a minimum.
Company policy. Makes sense now and thank God for that.
“It’s a waiting game. And it could drag on forever.
” Evan drinks deeply. “Bottom line, the hotel must pay to protect your identity since you were working for them at the time of the security footage. They, in turn, can demand that you not expose them. So basically, both of you are between a rock and a hard place. It all depends on Mia Reed and what she’s going to do next.
We don’t have any of that information, and no right to it either. ”
I’ve never felt this helpless in my life. “What do you need me to sign?”
“He’ll email us the retainer.”
Hot panic flushes over my body. “I’m not sure how I’m going to pay him.”
“It’s standard practice, so don’t freak out.
So far there’s nothing to pay, and it might never come to that,” Evan says with a squeeze of my hand.
“We’re just lining everything up in case.
It’s highly probable that the hotel group will have to pay your legal fees too.
It’s not your fault they got hacked, and your group cover included personal liability insurance. So, technically, the money is there.”
“Okay.” I’m not getting out of it, and I don’t have the know-how to deal with this situation on my own. “Where is Tristan?”
“He’s been going to Rosenstiel to wrap up some research he’s working on with two other PhDs. He technically works for them too.”
Busy guy. Running around the University of Miami’s Marine Sciences department. And he found time to chat with his dad and get me help. I swallow the pebble in my throat. He said he’d do anything… “Do you know if he got an interview for Ne’emba Island?”
“Nope. We didn’t talk about any of that.” Evan gives me a hard stare. “And I wouldn’t put my one chance on the line because of him, if I were you.”
“I know. I’m doing the interview to see what happens.”
“Good.”
“Best you give me Tristan’s number,” I tell Evan. “I need to know where we stand before tomorrow morning.” And I need to thank him for helping out on the lawyer front.
With Tristan’s number saved in my phone, I retreat to my bedroom and send him a message.
Me
This is Lexi. I have an interview tomorrow morning at nine for Ne’emba Island. Have you been contacted too?
I press send and wait. I’m in bed by the time he replies.
Tristan
Got a call today and took it on the fly. The guy wanted to check if I know what I’m talking about so I walked him through my pedigree and showed him my socials.
Pedigree? Probably means his string of degrees.
Me
Who interviewed you?
Tristan
Didn’t catch his name. Sorry, was rushed. He’s a Brit. It was a solid interview. Guy knew his diving, that’s for sure.
He keeps typing.
Tristan
Nathan Bauman or Baumont or something?
With that, my heart sputters and dies. Nathan Beaumont. I dug deep on that Beaumont website. I’ve drilled down all the layers.
ME
FUCK, TRISTAN! That’s just the freaking CEO of Beaumont Hotels. Like in BEAUMONT hotels!!!!!!!!!!
Those three dots dance their jig.
Tristan
Well shit. It went fine. Don’t get those panties wedged up there, Lexi.
My hands are shaking so much, I can’t respond.
Tristan
Good luck with your interview. Let’s catch up tomorrow. Sleep tight.
I toss my phone away and drop back in despair. Tristan dismissed me. I’ve no idea how he can be so freaking chill about the whole situation. He just skipped the line straight to Beaumont executive management and took it in stride.
At ten to nine the next morning, I sign in on the link to the interview. I haven’t had time to talk to Tristan. His bedroom door is closed, and I’m not sure if he’s in there. For all I know, he’s sleeping somewhere else. Not that I care.
On the hour, the recruiter dials in. She smiles with her lips only, and we start with the usual pleasantries.
It takes me a minute to get used to her French accent, but somehow it helps that this isn’t in person.
Five minutes into the call, someone else logs in but doesn’t switch on their camera or microphone.
“It’s Nathan Beaumont,” the recruiter says as she lets him into the meeting. “He’ll listen in but probably won’t ask any questions.”
Holy Mother of God.
“Usually we have a longer procedure for recruiting,” the recruiter continues. “But because Ne’emba Island is our flagship tropical resort, and the position needs to be filled soon, we’ve streamlined the process a bit.”
“Right,” I say with a nod. For the next half an hour, we cover all my work experience at St Chalamet. Soon I’m at ease. I do, after all, know what I’m talking about.
“We followed up on your references with St Chalamet,” the recruiter says.
“St Chalamet Manhattan hotel had only the best to say about you, so I have only one last question.” She pauses and lets the statement hang.
My heartbeat speeds up again, jerked out of the lull of reassurance. “Why did you leave St Chalamet?”
I swallow, keeping my face straight. Tessa drilled me on this one, but every answer we concocted sat poorly with me.
Twisting the truth is just a gentle way of lying, but I can’t tell the truth here.
I have an NDA—not that it helps my conscience.
It hits me that the easiest lie would be one that doesn’t involve the hotel at all.
“To be with Tristan,” I blurt out. Shit.
“Ah. Very good.” She smiles. “You’ve been together a long time?”
“I’ve known Tristan since I was ten years old,” I say, not hesitating at all. “And, well, then we just sort of…happened.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either. I don’t know what it is. We haven’t happened, but the recruiter can fill the gaps with whatever she wants.
“So sweet,” she says. “Couples who know each other well and who’ve been together for some time usually settle best in a location like Ne’emba. As I’m sure you understand, having worked in this industry, we only employ couples at our small, off-grid establishments.”
I don’t understand at all, but I feel too stupid to ask why. I’ve spent ten years at St Chalamet and just sold myself as knowing everything. I manage a smile that I hope doesn’t look like a grimace.
“Do you have any questions, Mr. Beaumont?” the recruiter says.
My palms burst out in sweat.