She smiled but didn’t immediately reply. Seeing him again seemed highly unlikely. But maybe one day he might wander over to the historic district and knock on her office door. Not likely.
“Sure, sounds great,” she replied. “Have a good night.”
He stepped back from the car and she pulled out of the spot and watched him shrink in her rearview mirror. Get the job, go on a date with him, and then my life will be perfect.
* * * * *
At his desk, Mark Edwards scanned over the numbers on his spreadsheet again before turning away to rifle through the top drawer for Advil. He hesitated when his search turned up empty. Had he used up the entire bottle already?
Walking over to the window, he looked out across the manicured lawn of the resort’s main building towards the river. Usually the view relaxed him. But instead, he caught a glimpse of his own glowering reflection. The deep frown line that had formed between his brows and the bags under his eyes made him look tired. He rolled his neck from side to side, eager to relieve the tension that had become a constant in the past year.
Last night had been interesting. Wrapping his arms around a beautiful girl to save her from herself. Mid twenties, he guessed, from the lack of wrinkles and the determination in her step as she’d raced toward certain doom. Not that falling was certain doom, but she’d been careening into the unknown. He’d been heading towards the unknown too, five or so years ago.
“Lizzie,” he said, testing the name on his tongue.
He liked how the name vibrated against his lips. He’d liked how he could wrap her slight waist in one arm. Brushing up against her, he’d breathed in the smell of fresh laundry and soap. He’d liked watching her walk away too, her pert behind accentuated with tight leggings.
Shaking his head, he settled in at his desk to review the spreadsheet again. Working in catering, he focused on the bottom line, constantly sifting through numbers in his mind. As far as he could tell, these numbers weren’t in their favor. With the economy bouncing back, the smaller events and weddings should be capitalizing on the surge of demand for their exclusive resort. But the prices hadn’t been raised or adjusted in at least three years. And what’s more, he’d gotten in a stack of contracts locking in another year’s weddings at government bailout era rates.
He shut down his computer, glad again for his insistence in turning down a laptop or tablet in favor of a boxy desktop. One of the few work-life balance choices he’d made. He turned off his light, locked up, and walked down the hall to his boss’ office.
“Hi Samantha, is he in?” Mark asked knocking on the outer door as he stepped into the room.
Samantha Andersen, the indomitable gatekeeper to Frank Cade’s office, nodded. She had the presence of an Eastern European wrestler during the iron curtain decades. Many people were put-off by her stiff demeanor, but not Mark. He appreciated her efficiency. Their boss was emotional and moody enough for both of them.
“Yes, he’s waiting on you. And I’m heading out for the night, so please text me if he suddenly needs me back,” she whispered, standing to put on her coat and hustle toward the door as she spoke.
Waving her off, he took in a deep breath. Frank expected him? He swallowed the lump in his throat. He rapped twice at the door in quick succession, and waited.
“Come in,” the deep voice beyond bellowed.
Cracking open the door, he slid in, careful not to betray that the secretary had snuck out a few minutes early. Tobacco permeated the air of the dark paneled room, resembling a private men’s only cigar club more than office. Frank Cade sat behind the desk, swirling a tumbler of bourbon in one hand as the other hand rested on his desk, the fingers tapping rapidly against the worn mahogany.
The man glanced up when Mark shut the door and gestured for him to sit down. Mark would prefer to stand. He’d prefer to get out of the stale, stagnant air as quickly as he could. He craved the sunshine and warm breezes outside his confines. After a day trapped inside, he longed to dive into the ocean and wash off the dried sweat. But he sat, as obliged.
“Ah, Mark Edwards, good, good. So what do you have to tell me?”
“Nothing that you’ll want to hear.”
Frank took a sip from his drink and nodded. “Tell me anyway.”
“They’ve got to raise the prices in events. We could easily be making more on our end for catering. I hate to even think about how little they’re probably charging for the locations.”
“I thought as much,” Frank agreed, he sighed. “I guess I’ll be getting involved, especially now that I’m overseeing this new Manager of Special Events job.”
Mark nodded, unsure how else to respond.
“Fine, I’ll take a look too and give them a call next week. But I wanted to bring up something else.”
Mark raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond otherwise. He’d learned Frank liked brevity.
“You haven’t applied for the Manager of Special Events job yet. Why?”
“I don’t have the experience. I deal with contracts and vendors, not with the public.”
Frank waved off his concern. “Please, I need you to do this job. I need someone rational, logical, and focused on the bottom line. This isn’t about just making brides happy. This will be dealing with corporate clients and foundations and tourists. And this will be about managing your team.”
Mark nodded. He’d initially considered applying for the job. The position would be a promotion and would be dealing with the bigger picture instead of counting each penny on every contract. But handling clients and the public? Mark primarily dealt with contracts and staff. He didn’t sell to potential customers and knew he lacked finesse in understanding others. At least, that’s what his ex had always said.
“What’s there to think about?” Frank interrupted his thoughts. “I want your resume on my desk by Monday morning. At the latest. You’re at the top of my list, Edwards, but they’re making me open the position up for interviews.”
Mark nodded.
What else was he going to do? Run off and live off your savings and figure out something you love. Maybe slow down and get outside and stop hiding.
“That’s all. Get out of here, it’s almost five and I want to get home. It makes me look bad, you staying later than me every night,” Frank said.
“Have a good night.”
Frank inclined his head and Mark showed himself out. Wasting no time, he jogged down the stairs, out of the hotel, and burst out onto the verandah. He needed to go for a run and he knew Scooter, his dog did too. He hopped in his car and sped off back across the river towards St. Simons Island.
The sun still shone brightly in the crystal blue sky, he loved how late days lasted in the clear heavens. Growing up in the Ohio River Valley, he’d spent his childhood in the gloom of overcast skies. He parked his car in his tiny, perfectly allotted spot in front of his cottage in East Beach.
The little tabby home sat nestled between palm trees on a sandy lot. Two bedrooms and a bathroom comprised the upstairs in the dormer and an eat-in kitchen, family room, office, and half bath downstairs. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the salty air of the ocean. The smell of seaweed made him feel like he was home more than anything else.
Pushing open the gate on his tiny picket fence, he let himself in the front door. His roommate, best friend, and dog, Scooter, had been waiting and jumped up, nearly knocking Mark over, when the door opened. A Newfoundland and Black Lab mix that he’d saved ten years ago from a shelter years before, had the start of cataracts and spent most of his time asleep.
“Hi buddy, how was your day? Anything good happen?”
Scooter’s massive tail swung back and forth, pounding against the wall.
“Come tell me about what you did today.”
Climbing the stairs to his master bedroom, Scooter followed close behind. Mark took off his suit, inspected for paw prints or dog fur before handing it for one more wear and changing into workout clothes. He kep
t the cottage tidy and neat, valuing efficiency even at home.
“You ready for a walk?”
Scooter played along with their nightly routine, leading the way back downstairs. The dog walked over to the hall closet, pulled his leash off the handle, then sat patiently while Mark clipped the leash onto his collar.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Together, the pair of them set off for the beach, careful to walk against traffic and avoid trudging through yards and driveways whenever possible. Mark waved at a few faces as he passed by their houses, but only got blank stares in return. Maybe if I took this job, I’d actually get to know my neighbors.
After a few blocks, the thin road opened into a large parking lot. Crossing the wooden plank bridge that extended out over the dunes and tall grasses, they stepped on to the powdery sand and trudged through. At the hard packed sand at the water’s edge, Mark unhooked Scooter’s leash and put it in his pocket. During low tide, the beach seemed to extend all the way across the St. Simons Sound to Jekyll. The waves rippled the sand as it retreated, littering the ground with tide pools full of starfish and sea urchins, like perfect miniature aquariums. But tonight, the high tide didn’t leave much room for them to maneuver.
“Okay, remember, go at your pace and I’ll come back. Right?”
Scooter’s wagging tail was all the agreement Mark needed before he set off at a light jog. He needed to run off some steam and frustration. Neither medicating himself with sleeping pills nor drinking alcohol every night appealed to him for relaxation. He didn’t want to become weak or dependent. He wouldn’t let his ex walking out conquer him. She had made that choice, he hadn’t. She had been the liar, not him. Everything Mark had done had been true and honest. He refused to see it any other way or to let doubt enter his mind.
Running until his heart pounded in his ears and sweat poured down his face, he stopped and hunched over to stretch his back and catch his breath. He hung his head between his legs to lengthen the stretch and saw Scooter nearly half a mile behind. He smiled. Years ago, Scooter lapped him. He straightened and jogged back. When Mark reached him, he put out a hand to stop Scooter and sank into the sand.
Scooter sat down next to him, nudging Mark’s arm up with his nose. Mark leaned in for a hug and rubbed Scooter’s belly. The dog had always been a source of comfort, giving his affection freely as long as his needs were met.
“Scooter, what do you think about me taking a different job? I could be home more. We could go to the beach, take more walks, play fetch?”
The dog gave him a wet smack from chin to forehead.
“Okay,” Mark dried his face against his shoulder. “Understood. I guess I’m getting a new job.”
Chapter Two
“I am qualified. I am capable. I am smart. I am going to get this job,” Lizzie told her reflection as she applied her third coat of lip-gloss. Her hands shook, either from nerves or her second cup of coffee; she couldn’t be sure which. She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath, opened them and observed the woman staring back at her. It was all too easy for her, on her own, to forget the she was a grown woman and not some girl playing at adulthood.
Swinging her big purse over her shoulder, she left the door ajar to her half bath, slipped into the heels she’d left by the front door, and walked outside. She took in a deep breath of the briny, brackish marsh water and locked the door behind her. She’d strutted across her front porch and had begun her descent down the staircase to her driveway when she heard a catcall.
“Rose?” she called out, shielding her eyes against the bright sunlight with her hand.
“The one and only,” her friend replied from the street in front of the house.
Rose power-walked over to the driveway. After embracing Lizzie in a warm, enveloping hug, she stepped back to survey her outfit.
“Nice. I like the dress with the blazer. And are you wearing heels? What’s the occasion?”
“I’m going to drop off my resume for the job this morning. I thought I might do it in person and try to get some face time.”
“Good thinking. I like that,” she yawned.
“I’m surprised to see you up and about. I thought you might have a wild night after tap.”
“They wanted to, but I never touch booze. Staying up past ten was wild enough for me.”
She chuckled; she’d say the same about herself. She opened her purse to pull out her keys and stopped. Looking at Rose, the words I met someone last night hovered on her tongue. She’d been up thinking about her handsome stranger long after she should have gone to bed to rest up for today.
“Is something wrong?” Rose asked, peering closely at her.
A gust of wind circled the tall pines in her front yard and shook down their loose needles, Lizzie followed their lead and gave herself a shake.
“No, nothing, I’m just a bit nervous about doing this,” she replied, anxious to hide her treacherous thoughts.
Rose reached out to grab her hands and squeeze them both.
“You’ll be great.”
“Thanks Rose.”
“I’m off. I have another mile to go.”
Waving goodbye, Rose became a blur of pink and purple as she strutted back down the driveway and out towards the street. Having that much energy and good health at eighty, like Rose, was her new goal. They’d become friends not just because of their proximity as next-door neighbors and their shared love of dance, but also due to Rose’s enthusiasm for life. Her encouragement and ready smile endeared her to Lizzie and, from what she’d observed, the world at large as well.
Climbing into her car, she slid in behind the steering wheel and pulled away from her house. Driving, first under the dappled light of the massive live oaks, then passing the swaying tall grasses of the marsh, and finally soaring over the Golden Isles on the cable-stayed bridge, had become a pleasure all on its own. She turned onto Jekyll and slowed down to drive towards the northern end of the island.
She scoured the few faces of the landscaping crew working outside, looking for her stranger. He’s not here today. She frowned, had she been expecting to see him? Was she disappointed? No time to think like that. Glancing at the dashboard as she parked, she still had thirty minutes before her workday began. Why wait to hand in her resume?
Crossing the parking lot, she entered the hotel by one of the French doors and made her way towards a back hallway, discreetly hidden from view of the guests. She climbed the steps and collided with a red tie and a navy blue suit when she reached the top. The impact of her force pushed the man backwards and she stepped on his perfectly polished double monk loafers. Her cheeks heated and she closed her eyes, afraid to open them and assess the extent of her embarrassment. She sucked in air and breathed in the heady smells of wood and citrus, the unmistakable combination of Old Spice deodorant.
“I am so sorry,” she rushed to apologize.
“Are you okay?” the man asked.
Something in the intonation sounded familiar. Lizzie opened her eyes to take in the man she’d nearly toppled over. Tall, slim, and impeccably dressed, looked at Mark.
“Mark?” Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped.
“Lizzie? What are you doing here?”
“Dropping off my resume for the new job. What about you? Do you work here?”
“I do.”
She nibbled on the bottom of her lip. What else could she say? She felt incredibly stupid for running into him, in that way, again. He probably thought she was the most klutzy girl he’d ever met. Tripping wounded her pride, as a dancer, she’d always valued her sure-footedness and grace.
He cleared his throat in the awkward silence.
“Do you think you’d be able to point me in the direction of Mr. Cade’s office?” she asked, pulling back her shoulders, sucking in her stomach, and raising her chin ever so slightly. It had always been her father’s advice to pretend confidence with good posture.
“Sure. Follow me.” He turned back towards the hallway and led her down
it.
“Do you work for the hotel?” he asked. “When you’d said historic district, I’d rather thought maybe you were a shop girl.”
“Huh, that’s kind of funny. I’d assumed you worked outside, based on your tan.”
Mark chuckled. “No, no. But I do try to spend most of my time outside on the weekends. So where do you work?”
“I work in the weddings and events department for the resort. I’m in my own little cottage office. I’m not surprised we haven’t run into each other before. I’ve only ventured up here a few times.”
Catching herself rambling, she stopped. Her anxiety at dropping off her resume had been replaced by bumping into Mark. But that didn’t mean she needed to talk his ear off with a thorough description of her movements on the island. It’s okay to be a little mysterious.
“And you work up here with catering?” she asked, steering the conversation to him.
“Yes, I’ve been here for a while. I’m surprised I haven’t seen you here before.”
“Usually catering comes to me, on site. I don’t have time to walk over if we have a problem.”
“Ah, I’m sure you’re right.” He came to a stop at the last door in the hallway and opened it for her. “I’ll see you around.”
“Thank you.” Without another glance, she stepped over the threshold, into the office, and closed the door behind her.
Thank you? I’ve got to work on talking to guys.
She stood in a small antechamber with another door to the left, probably Mr. Cade’s office, she reasoned. Before her, a secretary sat at a parsons desk, checking her computer, seemingly oblivious to her presence.
The desk bothered Lizzie. It was so entirely out of place with the character of the Victorian building, it was blasphemous. The resort had weathered world wars and economic crises to be resurrected and restored. Throwing a flimsy desk in it seemed disrespectful of the heritage of the place.
She approached the secretary, an older woman, dressed like a librarian with a blank face, devoid of any emotion. Lizzie smiled and waited patiently for acknowledgement. After a few minutes, the secretary turned to stare at her, offering no kindness in return.
Tidal Patterns (Golden Shores Book 1) Page 2
