Well, the joke’s on you, Richard, because I can be a total thrill-seeker! At least I can make it look like I am, anyway, which is basically the same thing in the end, isn’t it? I mean, really, don’t most people do crazy, adrenaline-rush-inducing things just so they can say they did it? Nobody really likes to ‘live on the edge.’ Not even Richard, whose middle name isn’t exactly Danger. The most thrilling thing he’s done in the last few years is to order a curried chicken with a three-hot-pepper rating on the menu at Tandoori Tavern. And he couldn’t even finish it, he was sweating so much. I mean, honestly, it wasn’t even that hot. I had a bite, and at best, it was White People Spicy. Hypocrite.
I pull out my mobile and dial Alice, who is probably cleaning up from dinner at the moment. As soon as she picks up, I say, “You know, I’m not even sure I want Richard back.”
“Hello to you too. How’s paradise?”
“Hot and worky,” I say. “It just really hit me that Richard’s sort of a hypocrite for calling me dull when he can’t even handle spicy food.”
“Hold on…let me change rooms.” In the background, I can hear the firetruck Alice’s older brother bought Colby as a revenge gift for the drum set she and Jack bought his daughter. Alice covers the phone, and I hear her muffled voice telling Jack to watch the kids for a few minutes. I can’t hear his response, but I hear her say, “She needs me right now.”
A minute later, silence fills the line, then Alice comes on. “Sorry about that. Just finishing up the after-dinner dishes. Okay, first, let me say, thank God you got past the denial phase of this. I’ve been wondering how long it would take.”
“I haven’t been in denial. I was just completely positive we’d get back together.” I take a deep breath, then say, “Oh, shit. That’s denial, isn’t it? And now I’m angry. Does that mean…”
“You’re grieving, yes. But don’t think of it as a bad thing. It’s a healthy, normal process.”
“Right. I guess so. I just thought that maybe…”
“…He’d see all those fun Instagram photos and come running, only to find you looking gorgeous on the beach for an ultra-romantic reunion?”
“Maybe.”
“Yeah, thought so. Did you even go paddleboarding?”
“Did I actually stand on the board with a paddle in my hands? Yes. Was I on the water? Not as much as the photo makes it look.”
“Oh, wow. So, Denial River runs deep in you.”
“Not my proudest moment, but I was a woman on a mission.” I stand and walk to the balcony door, slide it open, and step outside into the hot afternoon air.
“Oh, hon. You’re definitely going through the grieving process. Denial, anger, bargaining, and closure. Wait — is that right? Closure?”
I gaze out at the property, secretly disappointed not to see Harrison, whom I haven’t set eyes on for days. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“But it is denial first, and I think anger is next,” Alice answers.
I nod to myself. “I should Google that. So, if I am grieving, does it mean my relationship with Richard is really over?”
Alice’s tone is gentle, like she’s afraid if she speaks too loud, I might break. “Yeah. I think it’s safe to say it is.”
“Oh God. What do I do now?”
“Start with that hottie resort owner. Do him first. Then move on to whoever you fancy next — but use protection. The last thing you need is a rebound baby. You’re going to have enough on your plate with needing to find a new place to live and all.”
“Right. Solid advice, Alice. Thanks,” I say sarcastically.
“You’re welcome, Libs,” she says, clearly ignoring my tone.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not sleeping with Harrison. Or anyone else for that matter.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I’m a professional. And not that kind of professional, so don’t even say it.”
The sound of a wailing child gets louder. “Christ, they found me,” Alice says. “Gotta run.”
She hangs up and I flop myself down into a chair in the shade, then Google ‘stages of grief.’
Might as well know what’s coming, right?
FOURTEEN
A Rosy by Any Other Name Would Still Scowl at Me…
Libby
The next three days are a less-than-fun extension of the week before. I barely see Harrison at all, which is good I suppose, since I am one angry bird. The fact that I’m angry means I’m right on track according to StartingOver.com, so at least I’m on schedule on something. I even took off my engagement ring last night and put it in my room safe, which has made my left hand feel oddly naked. I keep trying to turn the band with my thumb, only to discover it’s not there. Then I get in a loop of thinking about why it’s not there, which reminds me that I’m really pissed off at anything with a penis at the moment, including Handsome Harrison (for no reason at all, really).
As much was I wouldn’t mind being distracted from my feelings by his sexy abs, I’m not even sure he’d be safe from my rage, no matter how many packs he has on his abdomen. (It’s eight. Not the usual impressive six-pack. Eight. With a man-V. Not that it matters.)
Anyway, I spend long days in the office with Rosy, who frankly isn’t all that helpful. And I’ve been around her enough now to know I should take this personally, because she’s super wonderful to pretty much everyone who comes to the back office for anything, even the FedEx guy. Now that I think of it, it’s more like especially the FedEx guy.
But when I ask her for even the tiniest thing, she chews her gum for an inordinate amount of time while making direct eye contact, not saying anything. It’s like a game of ‘chicken,’ only with staring. Just when I’m about to cave, she shakes her head, sighs deeply, and gets what I need. I know she basically raised Harrison and his brother and sister, and I definitely get the feeling she’s über-protective of them, so maybe it’s not completely personal. I just wish I could find some way to get her to lighten up on me because this whole thing is becoming as awkward as the time I congratulated my neighbour on her pregnancy, only to discover that she had just been stress-eating because she was sure her husband was cheating on her. My punishment was a forty-five-minute conversation in which she listed all the ‘red flags’ and gave me way too much info about someone whose last name I can’t remember. (In case you’re wondering, it turned out he’d been sleeping with anything that moved, and when she finally confronted him, he blamed it on the extra weight she’d gained. You can see why I hate everything with a penis at the moment, yes?)
Grrr. But back to work. My scan of the financials is a preliminary one — nothing too in-depth — but I need to get enough of a picture of how the resort operates, so that if we should come to an agreement in principle and GlobalLux sends an entire team down here to do our due diligence, it won’t be a waste of time and money. So far, things aren’t looking great. It’s not that the management hasn’t been properly running things — it’s more like a string of bad luck lately that has them trying to dig out of a deep hole. There are definitely things they can do to cut costs and ways to increase their revenue, but the hole they’re in is so deep, it’s a wonder they’ve been able to stay afloat as long as they have. At this point, I’m confident I’m going to have to recommend that GlobalLux take over the property. We won’t have to do a major renovation because that’s been done already (and quite nicely at that), and there’s no evidence of anyone skimming off the top or any other major causes for us to abandon our offer.
What there is, however, is a plethora of evidence that Harrison is a dream boss. It’s like he’s a god around here the way the staff go on and on about him. One would almost think he coached them all on what to say, but I’ve seen him in action myself, and I have to admit, I’d love to work for someone like him (even though he has a penis). He’s just so reasonable and calm and generous.
A few days ago, I was evaluating the resort’s Brazilian Steakhouse, and I couldn
’t help but overhear the sound of some dishes breaking, then some yelling coming from the kitchen. It was very quiet because the restaurant was closed for their dinner prep, so it wasn’t hard to get the gist — not when you hear words like ‘butterfingers’ and phrases like ‘what will we serve the meals on if you break all the plates?’
A young woman in a dishwasher’s apron (let’s call her Butterfingers Girl), came out crying and sat down at a table in the corner for about ten minutes. Then, in walks Harrison with a warm smile on his face. He sat down with her and had a chat. Pretty soon she was laughing and nodding. Then she took off her apron, handed it to him, and gave him a big hug. On his way out, he glanced over at the table I was at, looking genuinely surprised to see me there. He stopped to see how things were going with the assessment, and when I asked about what had just happened, he shrugged and said, “Not everyone’s cut out to handle breakable things, so I found a more suitable position for her.”
On my way back to my room, I saw Butterfingers Girl folding towels by the swimming pool and swaying a little to the music, looking like she didn’t have a care in the world. I have to admit that the business analyst in me had a tug of war with my soft side for how to feel. Business Libby was shaking her head, because that girl most definitely didn’t have to pay for all those dishes she broke. If she had, she wouldn’t have been hugging Harrison and dancing. But Just-Being-A-Human Libby felt all gooey inside because that was just about the sweetest thing I’d ever seen an employer do.
And how do you put a monetary value on happiness? I mean, technically there is a formula you can use that has to do with staff turnover, paid days off, employee theft, and a few other variables. But still, a spreadsheet isn’t going to capture the look I saw on that girl’s face or the boost Harrison gave to her sense of self-worth.
See? Dream boss.
Also, did I mention he’s on the handsome side of the ‘looks spectrum’ and he has an eight-pack? Oh, I think I may have…
Anyway, today there’s been no sign of Harrison, with or without his shirt, and it’s been a particularly rough day with Scary Rosy. I can’t help noticing that somehow the air conditioning in the tiny office I’m in has ‘broken.’ So basically, I’m sweating my ovaries off here. My Annabel dress from Hobb’s Suit Yourself line has big wet spots under my arms, and worse than that, my hair doesn’t react well to the heat and humidity, so it now looks like I had a grandma perm done. The curls are so tight, I could store stationery supplies up there without them falling out. In fact, I have two pens and a pencil in there right now.
I’m bored out of my mind because I’ve been waiting for Rosy to get me a file I asked for thirty-eight minutes ago. I can hear her flirting with the FedEx guy again. Rosy could give my mum a serious run for her money for the Cougar of the Year Award—the guy can’t be more than one-third her age.
She finally appears in my office doorway with a thin file folder she sets down on my ‘desk’ (and I use that term lightly because I’m pretty sure it’s a room service tray with the wheels taken off).
Rosy smacks her lips together, then says, “This ought to be everything you need to know.”
I open the file and see it has one page in it, on which is written, You can’t have this resort, so go home.
My shoulders drop and I look up at her. “I get it. You don’t want me here, and I understand why, but—”
“No, you don’t,” she says, folding her arms across her huge boobs. Seriously, they’re extremely intimidating — like she could use them as weapons, possibly trapping and smothering an attacker and rendering him unconscious if needed. And she knows it.
I put my pencil down and sit back in my chair. “So tell me. I want to understand.”
“You think this is just another property to take over — a bunch of rooms and a beach — but it’s a community. We’re a family, and if somehow you manage to pry this place away from the Bankses, everything that makes this place special will be gone.”
I stare at her for a second, my heart breaking a little for her. “You’re not wrong. It would be different and it wouldn’t feel the same anymore if the Bankses are no longer the owners. But at least it’ll still exist. If Harrison turns down our offer and we move on, the resort could go bankrupt, and it could be sold off piece by piece. GlobalLux definitely wants to keep it operational, which would mean everyone would still have jobs.”
“Puh-leeze. Don’t try to tell me you’re the good guys here,” Rosy scoffs. “I know what happened to Mooncrest Hills.”
“That was a completely different situation. They were a much smaller boutique hotel without a solid return client base.” I pause, but she just stares me down instead of answering. Sighing, I say, “I know it’s hard, but you’ll have to trust me. I’m only trying to help keep the resort going in the long term — with or without the Banks family.”
Rosy purses her lips. “The Banks’ kids belong here and they wouldn’t be in danger of losing this place if big damn companies like yours weren’t buying up everything they can and making it impossible to compete,” Rosy says, lifting her chin.
“You’re right about that, too. That’s the case in virtually every industry in the world. But I’m not the person who started globalization, so this” — I hold up the paper — “isn’t going to change reality, no matter how much you or I wish it would.”
“You still don’t get it. This is home for all of us. These people are our family. My husband and I never had children of our own, so when those three beautiful lost kids showed up here…” Her voice cracks and she shakes her head.
I nod, hoping my face conveys the empathy I’m feeling for her. “Would it surprise you to know I can see how special this place is? Not as an analyst, but as a regular person. I see how Harrison looks after everyone — guests and staff included. He’s somehow everywhere at once, making everybody feel like everything’s going to be all right, even though to look at the books, it’s clear it won’t be.”
“It’s just a blip,” she says defensively. “We’ve come back from the brink of bankruptcy before and we’ll do it again.” Her pride shows on her face.
I shake my head and say, “Not this time, Rosy. I’m sorry.” And I am. Somehow, what should have been an easy in-and-out deal has become so complicated. I honestly don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore, but I do know what’s right for GlobalLux (and for me, for that matter) isn’t what’s right for Rosy or Harrison or for Butterfingers Girl.
Sitting down on the folding chair opposite me, Rosy sighs. When she looks up, her eyes are filled with tears. “Well, can you help us, then? You promised Harrison you’d tell him if there was any way he could keep this place going on his own. Are you a woman of your word or were those just lies so you could get him to sign over the resort to GlobalLux?”
My throat feels thick with guilt, because deep down, I know how this ends and I’m just telling them what they want to hear so I can get what I need. But, it’s just business, right? “I made Harrison a promise, and I intend to keep it.”
“Then find a way to make this work, please, because if Emma, Will, and Harrison don’t have a place to come back to, they won’t have roots anymore. They’ll just end up drifting all over the world alone, I know it. And I can’t protect them if they’re not here. Our little family will just slowly disappear instead of staying together and the thought of that…” She blows out a puff of air and blinks fast.
As I stare at Rosy, I see a woman who wants nothing more than to protect the children she loves and keep them with her. I’m suddenly aware of how much I’ve missed out on in my life, and the thought of tearing apart a family that wants to be together is suddenly unthinkable. Dammit. My voice comes out all shaky as I tear up. “I’ll try, okay? I promise. But I need your help.”
FIFTEEN
A Wild Night Out
Harrison
It’s Friday evening and Nelson’s on his way here to pick me up. We’re heading to a local pub called The
Turtle’s Head (seriously, I could not make that up. It’s owned by an English ex-pat who decided he wanted to spend the rest of his days pulling pints somewhere sunny and hot). As I finish getting dressed and grab my wallet, I feel a sense of relief washing over me. I’m badly in need of an evening out with my best friend, sipping cold beer, playing billiards, and watching sports on big screen TVs. It’s Nelson’s turn to drive, and I intend to cut loose. It’s been one hell of a week.
Ever since the whole parasailing thing, I’ve been carefully avoiding Ms. Dewitt. She’s clearly not for me — or for anyone at the moment, really. She’s a hot mess who’s still clinging to a strand of hope that she and her dickhead fiancé are going to live happily ever after. She’s also the one person who’s either going to help me save this place or will head up the charge to ruin everything. Why I ever let my libido take over when I was around her is beyond me. So, she’s cute as hell. So, she’s got curves for days. So, she has a sexy, smooth voice, and she’s funny and smart and quirky. She’s not for me. Period. End of story.
When I get to the parking lot, Nelson is standing near the lobby, chatting with one of our security guards, Mateo. Mateo went to school with us—in fact, almost half of our graduating class has ended up at the resort over the years, so for Nelson, popping by is like a bit of a reunion.
“Hey, guys,” I say when I reach the pair of them.
“There he is. You all set?” Nelson says, punching me on the shoulder.
“More than.” Glancing at Mateo, I say, “We’ll be at The Turtle’s Head. Stop by if you get a chance.”
“Wish I could. It’s Jolissa’s birthday weekend. I’d never hear the end of it.”
“Birthday weekend?” Nelson asks, laughing. “I bet you’re so glad you got married.”
Mateo gives a deadpan expression. “Every day is better than the last. Especially when her mother is in town for a month.”
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