Chapter 7 #2
A second frame opens, and Nathan Beaumont appears on the screen. I recognize him from the board photos on the Beaumont website, but here he looks younger—mid-thirties max—and blindingly handsome.
“We’re not in the habit of poaching staff from St Chalamet,” he says with a smile.
“They’re our competition, but we work with the utmost respect for each other.
” Holy Mother…that British accent is swoon-worthy.
“Your American experience is interesting,” he continues.
“We’re building a portfolio in that market, and we have very few Americans on our team at the moment. ”
“Are you planning to open hotels in the States?” This is news to me, and I’m latching on to it as if this were the last bus passing this stop forever.
“We’ve started building our first project in Massachusetts and are looking to expand. We have an in-house recruitment policy wherever possible, and with several new hotels opening in the States, it would be nice to have some experience in-house already. We’ll be recruiting a lot of staff.”
My heart is in my throat. I can’t miss this chance. Getting a foothold within Beaumont when they’re starting out in the US would be a game-changer.
“Do you have questions for us, Alexandra?” the recruiter asks.
“Um, the position in Ne’emba Island is only for three months? Why is that?”
An awkward silence hangs as the recruiter stalls and Nathan blinks at the screen. Their hesitation is just that moment too long. For once the recruiter has been caught off guard by a question. It always amazes me how much can be said in a few seconds of silence.
I shift in my chair. Something’s off here, but I can’t figure out where it comes from or identify the smell yet.
Nathan clears his throat.
“Of course you’d want to know,” the recruiter says. “The couple who were managing the resort had a family crisis, so they had to cut their contract short. We’ll be recruiting for someone for a long-term contract over the next few months.”
“I see.” A tiny red flag. That’s what I see. “And who’s managing the resort now?”
“We occasionally get into this type of situation, but Ne’emba runs itself with our permanent staff on the island.
Jem and Mike Shabani, who manage the admin and activities, have been there for thirty years,” Nathan says as he leans back in his chair, giving me a glimpse of a mahogany bookcase filled with leatherbound books.
“As for the face of Beaumont management, we have a loyal employee base and can ask our experienced couples to come out of retirement to help us. We have a couple there now who’ve been with Beaumont for over forty years. ”
I nod, seeing my future unfold again like I’d always envisioned it with St Chalamet.
“I see you have ample event experience,” Nathan continues as he glances down at something. Must be my résumé. “We have a couple of high-profile guests staying at Ne’emba in the first quarter next year, plus six weddings. The weddings are high maintenance.”
“I bet.” I chuckle.
“And usually not because of the event itself. The guests are the factor we have limited control over, and they tend to be a mixed bag.”
Don’t I know it. “I’m sure there’s nothing I haven’t come across already.”
Nathan laughs, and it’s rich and velvety.
“You’ll let us know. With your experience at St Chalamet Manhattan and their usual guest profile, I’m not worried about those events.
Finding a manager for the resort isn’t our challenge.
It’s the dive center that needs more attention right now.
The type of diver who comes to Ne’emba usually wants to see and experience more than pretty fish.
So the fact that Tristan is a marine biologist is a big plus for us. ”
And there lies the crux of the matter. I’m not the important half.
I only get in by piggybacking on Tristan’s credentials.
I nod, wanting to sink into my chair as if it could swallow me whole.
The interview has been thorough—too thorough for a first round.
They’re dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s here.
And not because of my skillset, but because of Tristan’s.
Worst of all, I will never know what was said in his interview.
“At Beaumont, we hold our employees to the same standards as St Chalamet, if not higher. For us, our integrity, dedication, and pride in our work is what makes Beaumont stand above the rest,” Nathan continues.
“Your résumé is impressive, and I think you are an excellent fit, Ms. O’Reilly.
See this time at Ne’emba Island as a type of probation.
If it all works out, we’d consider having you on board when we open our first hotel in Massachusetts.
” Nathan smiles, and it’s so genuine it only makes mine feel fake.
“Not to worry, though, we’re looking at Miami too, and I suspect long term that is where you’d want to be. ”
Oh God. He’s referencing Tristan and his work. What did he say about us?
“That’s it from our side,” the recruiter says. “Any more questions?”
So many. But my head is a scramble of brain best served hot—the staff accommodations, how many staff are on the island permanently…
God, the list is endless, but Nathan Beaumont is staring directly at me from the screen, his mouth in a half-smile.
“No. No, thank you. I’m good.” I have to get off this call before I blurt everything out and screw myself over. I have to think this through.
We wrap up with final goodbyes, and I exit the meeting, then promptly plonk my head down on my desk.
Everything I want and desperately need might be coming my way, tied with a pretty bow and all, but it’s thanks to Tristan Martinelli.
And a fake engagement.
For a long moment, I break down the concept and what it would entail.
Shared accommodations at Ne’emba? Probably.
I don’t even want to go there. There’s no reason to dig too deep.
It’s not a done deal, and bottom line, if nobody knows or finds out, we could get away with it.
After all, faking an engagement is just another way of bending the rules to get what I want.
But then a helpful voice in my head chimes in…
Just like I bent them with Brent Fisherman, convincing myself that having a relationship offsite was okay. What a fail.
I bent them again when I reported the Mia Reed incident five days after the fact. In my head, I was still reporting it, if a tad late in an attempt to save my own skin. Another fail.
And now, a fake engagement to Tristan Martinelli? Do I really believe the third time’s the charm?
We haven’t bagged this job yet, and probably never will, but I’m penciling in rule #3 in the Lexi O’Reilly rulebook for happy employment: bend rules with caution, it’s the breaking part that comes with hazards.