Strike (Gentry Generations)

by Cora Brent

“Write all the happily ever afters,” I called airily before I hustled over to the trusty old compact Toyota my sister and I had shared since high school. When I went away to college I’d left it behind and made do without a car but it was always nice to be back behind the wheel. Starting the ignition was like greeting an old friend.

  My mother watched me pull away from the house and I waved again before disappearing from her sight. When I paused at the corner stop sign I leaned forward and again peered with curiosity at the brilliant blue desert sky.

  No, there wasn’t the slightest possibility of getting struck by lightning today. In fact there wasn’t a cloud in sight.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dalton

  I was pumping maniacally and sweating bullets as I rode this motherfucker hard, gritting my teeth and pushing to the very end before I allowed myself to release and catch my breath.

  The terrain at the end of the trail was a smooth relief after so many rocky bumps and I coasted toward the edge of the parking lot. Once I hit gravel I paused and let my feet touch the ground. The sun was eagerly climbing, ready to reign over another scorching day, and I closed my eyes before lifting my face toward it. In a few short moments I heard the crunch of approaching tires at my back and I grinned as I uncapped a water bottle and waited for the rider to join me.

  “Fuck,” Griffin panted when he was at my side. “You ride like the devil’s chasing you, man.”

  I offered him the rest of my water. “Maybe he is.”

  Griffin chugged the water and then continued to pant while I waited, noting that the trail was still empty. There must be a shortage of people crazy enough to go mountain biking in the desert on the cusp of summer and that was probably a good thing. Every year there were a handful of stories about hikers, mostly tourists, who ventured into the mountains without realizing the peril until they required a helicopter rescue.

  Griffin was still panting and red-faced, sweat pouring off him like a waterfall and I felt a twinge of guilt, thinking maybe I should have taken it easy so he wouldn’t feel obliged to keep up. My old friend was still in good shape, but not as good as he once was. Griffin Sullivan’s pro athlete days were over.

  But then again, so were mine.

  “How often do you hit this trail?” Griffin asked as he loaded his bike into my pickup truck.

  “Now and then,” I said evasively, squinting up at the small mountain we’d scaled and then barreled back down. Lately I’d been out here three or four times a week. I liked the challenge, the solitude, the idea that I still knew how to push myself to the limit. There was no reason to think when I was on the trail, no time to cater to old wounds. And I could easily outride any creature that tried to chase me down.

  The devil indeed.

  Griffin wasn’t too far off the mark when he made that joke but in all fairness nothing and no one was chasing me. The devil in question lived only in my head, in the obstacles and setbacks I was dead set on ignoring.

  The popular trailhead was only a mile away from the Wild Spring Resort and I drove slowly while on the lookout for haphazardly driven golf carts. Out on the distant green I glimpsed scattered parties of golfers determined to finish their eighteen holes before the temperature hit triple digits. I’d never had much interest in the tedious game myself.

  “You got lunch plans?” Griffin asked as he waved at a few groundskeepers.

  “Not exactly,” I said. “I’ve got a few interviews to get through here and then I’ll be heading down to the training center to play ball with the kids. We’ve got our after school program going on now.”

  “So no more trouble with the city about leasing you the space?”

  “Nope and I still owe you a huge thanks for having a chat with the mayor.”

  “You don’t owe me a thing. All I did was toss the name of our favorite congressman into the conversation and he was happy to cooperate.”

  I laughed. “Speaking of Anders, he’s been seen at the club three times in the last week. Shouldn’t he be schmoozing with the rest of the political big shots on the other side of the country?”

  Griffin snorted. “As if there’s a lick of actual work that ever gets done in Washington. But while we’re on the subject of one of our fine elected leaders, he’ll be there at lunch today, along with the head of the Chamber of Commerce. Would be a good opportunity for you to drum up some support for your dream project.”

  “Maybe,” I said, knowing he spoke the truth but unable to gather much enthusiasm for drinking at noon and asking for favors. Neither task had ever been much to my liking.

  I swung my truck into the small lot on the east side of the resort.

  “Dalton,” Griffin said and I looked his way to find that he suddenly seemed thoughtful and serious.

  I raised an eyebrow at my buddy and waited for him to continue.

  “Look, I’m not trying to get all sentimental,” he said, “but you’re the shit. You’ve made the club crazy successful and I can’t even guess much time you’re putting in to make this training center for the kids happen. Nothing can knock you over. Not your bastard of a father or getting kicked around by the baseball gods or, ah, well you know what I mean.”

  Griffin kind of bit off his last few words and looked uneasy. I knew why. Bringing the name of my ex-fiancée into any conversation was poison. But I appreciated the sentiment anyway.

  “I do know what you mean,” I said, feeling grateful that there were men like Griffin Sullivan, men who were born to privilege and yet still managed to be decent.

  Griffin hopped out of the truck and with one strong hand seized his bike out of the back.

  “Think I’ll get some laps in after that punishing ride. You heading to the pool?” he asked, carrying the expensive mountain bike like it weighed no more than a ballpoint pen.

  I shook my head and grabbed my own bike. “Nah, not enough time. I’ve got to get hosed off and then head over to take care of some work.”

  “You ought to learn to delegate,” Griffin said.

  “Is that what you do?”

  He grinned. “Every chance I get.” He started whistling as he headed in the direction of the largest of the resort’s four swimming pools. Suddenly he stopped and turned around. “Let me know if you change your mind about lunch,” he called.

  “Will do,” I called back, but I wouldn’t be changing my mind.

  Griffin chuckled to himself and kept walking and I figured it was likely he knew exactly what was going through my mind.

  He’d been a good friend ever since we were in the minor leagues together, two wide-eyed Arizona kids from very different backgrounds, nothing in common but a love of baseball and the fact that we were both determined to prove ourselves while hiding that we were scared shitless. Then we both got sent up to the big leagues in the same year. Even though Griffin didn’t get to stay there for long he sucked it up down in the minors for a while before throwing in the towel and accepting a job managing one of the Phoenix area resorts owned by his real estate tycoon father.

  Griffin was already finished with baseball a few years later when an injury also sent me down to the minor leagues for a rehabilitative stretch. At the time I figured the move would be temporary but my speed never fully recovered and after a few seasons I had to admit that I’d probably never get another invitation back to the big show. When my contract expired and I was designated for assignment I decided it was time to move on. Unfortunately, the girl I had planned to marry couldn’t cope with the change of plans. Alexa had gotten too attached to the idea of being the wife of a star. She wanted me to pursue a broadcasting career or at least a major league coaching position but I balked at both those options. Shortly after I accepted a job offer from my old pal Griffin Sullivan to manage a new night club at his resort, Alexa and I had an epic fight. She couldn’t understand why I didn’t want the spotlight, why I was turning my back on the sports world and all the privileges that came with it. I never realized how thick her mean streak was until that day. She said t
hings I’d never be able to forgive her for, things that sounded painfully similar to the shit my father used to say. And she knew it.

  After Alexa plucked her engagement ring off her finger and angrily threw it on the floor the last thing she said to me was, “You can’t expect me to live a fucking mediocre life with you, Dalton.”

  I bent down and picked the ring up. It had just come off her hand and yet it felt cold in my palm.

  “I don’t,” I said.

  She left. I didn’t chase her.

  Not too much time passed before I got the news that she was involved with a former teammate who’d been traded to the Los Angeles Dodgers for a hefty sum. Even though I tried not to pay attention to such things, I had heard the news when they got married last fall and recently I also heard that they were expecting a child.

  As for the ring, I sold it and donated every cent of the money to a local homeless charity. I thought that maybe I ought to miss Alexa at least a little but I didn’t. Not at all. A year had passed and I had plenty to keep me busy these days. Griffin was always trying to throw women in my direction as if I wouldn’t be capable of locating them on my own but for the moment I was better off staying focused and keeping to myself. And if that meant I would wear out my hand jerking off to internet porn then so be it.

  After locking my bike in a nearby toolshed, I headed up to my room. My employment offer had come with use of one of the resort suites. The place was top to bottom luxury and living here sure made commuting a breeze. Griffin had a suite here too but he spent most of his time at his lavish multi-acre monstrosity at the foothills of Camelback Mountain.

  After washing off a layer of desert dust in the shower I dressed in a pair of jeans and a casual dark blue shirt. Whenever Griffin made the rounds among the staff he always dressed to the nines but the style seemed to come natural to him. Maybe that’s how it was when you were born with money. Personally, I hated the choking sensation of a necktie and slipping into an expensive suit made me feel like an imposter in stolen threads so I tried to stay in my lane.

  Before leaving the room I took a moment to scroll through my phone calendar. I had two interviews this morning in order to plug a few holes in the club staff. Sometimes it was a delicate balance finding the right people. Aqua Room wasn’t your typical pulsing hot spot, but a high-end establishment with an inflated membership fee, a hundred dollar tab minimum and live piano music every night just in case the setting wasn’t swanky enough. When Griffin had first explained the details to me I’d raised my eyebrows over the idea and privately thought it would never work. But it turned out Griffin knew exactly how to grab his kind of crowd.

  Aqua Room was technically on resort grounds but tucked away on the other side of the lake on the far north end. We were very aware that resort guests tended to crave peace and quiet so it wouldn’t be a good idea to have music blasting and drunks staggering around. My security staff saw to it that anyone who looked like they might be a problem was swiftly handled. Our regular customers included a number of sports stars, celebrities and even a few politicians always on the hunt for a networking opportunity. It wasn’t really my dream job but I was good at it and the pay was generous and I felt confident that I was accumulating the kind of contacts who might be future investors when it came time to put my own grand plans into action.

  “Good morning, Mr. Tremaine,” greeted Richard, one of the two doormen who were always standing at the main entrance in case a guest was arriving or leaving or wandering around in search of the pool.

  “Good morning,” I answered politely even though being called ‘Mr. Tremaine’ made me cringe a little because it seemed so stuffy and formal. I was still getting used to being in a position of authority around here.

  Richard held the glass door open until I walked briskly through it. I thanked him sincerely even though I was capable of opening the door for myself. But I’d have to be callous not to notice the eager expression on his face, searching for approval in the way a puppy would.

  The lobby managed to be both ornate and rustic with the rich colors of the American southwest. Above was a high domed ceiling adorned with a colorful scene commissioned by a well-known local artist. I remembered Griffin telling me the dollar amount attached to that project. In response I had spit out my drink and coughed, “Fuck me!”

  I was dying to grab a cup of cup of coffee and the smell of breakfast cooking in the café was torturing my stomach. But I wouldn’t risk being late so I didn’t make any stops. The administrative offices were downstairs on the other side of an imposing double door that looked like it might be the gateway to Willie Wonka’s chocolate factory.

  When I pushed the door open this morning I sure as hell didn’t find any chocolate. Instead I found a ripe ass that looked like it had been sculpted to fit into my capable palms. Even though the ass in question had been sealed into ugly khaki pants they didn’t do a thing to hide its shape and I just stood there for a moment drinking in the sight.

  A low whistle escaped my lips before I could gather my sex-deprived wits and the owner of the khaki-covered ass swiveled around, her long brown ponytail swinging over one shoulder. I’d never seen her before and I felt like a colossal creep when I realized she was pretty young.

  Her striking green eyes swept over me and then she nodded to herself as if she’d managed to reach an instant conclusion about who I was and what was going on inside my head. Even before she opened her mouth I could tell she was intelligent.

  “I’m looking for Anne Carter,” she said. “I was told to be here at nine.” She glanced at her watch and frowned. “It’s nine fifteen.”

  Anne Carter was the Director of Human Resources but that was only as a favor to her husband, a buddy of Griffin’s and a former golf pro who was looking for something productive to keep his flighty wife occupied. Anne was rarely where she needed to be when she needed to be there but that was a conversation for another time.

  Yesterday, Anne’s email had indicated that my first interview of the day was scheduled for nine thirty but she wasn’t always attached to finer details so I figured this girl with the shrewd green eyes must be that appointment. She wasn’t dressed like the usual job applicant but I could blow that off easily enough as long as she understood that once the sun went down we operated a little more formally in Aqua Room.

  I politely stuck my hand out and tried to forget that I’d been staring at her ass while starting to sport some wood.

  “Dalton Tremaine,” I said smoothly. “I’m sure Anne will be here any minute but if you don’t want to wait we can get started.”

  A hint of confusion touched her face but she returned the handshake with surprising firmness. “Camille Gentry.”

  Anne had attached the resumes of the interviewees in the email but I’d barely taken a cursory glance at them, figuring I could squeeze that in before the first one showed. Camille’s name didn’t ring any bells so I must not have looked at the resumes too carefully.

  I gestured to the conference room. “Let’s take a seat in there.”

  Camille paused for a heartbeat and I wondered over the puzzled look on her face. Had Anne explained nothing about who she’d be working for? Probably not. In any case, Camille recovered quickly and walked gracefully into the conference room as I held the door open. She primly hung her purse on a chair and then settled in with her hands folded in front of her as I took the seat across. I wished I’d looked over those resumes, or that I had thought to bring a hard copy in here with me. There was no polite way to squint at my phone in the middle of an interview. I cleared my throat as Camille looked at me expectantly.

  “I’m sure you’re already aware of the basics of the job,” I said. “I make it a point to personally interview every applicant. Why don’t you tell me in your own words why you want to work here, Camille, and then we’ll get into specifics.”

  “Cami,” she said.

  “What?”

  She smiled. “I go by Cami. Camille looks better on paper but whenever
I hear it I feel like I must have yet again done something to exasperate my poor parents.”

  “I see.” I smiled back. “Well, I’m eager to hear why you want to work here, Cami.”

  Her heart-shaped face became thoughtful. She wore little makeup. She didn’t need any. “Well, it’s a good opportunity to work on my people skills and step a little bit out of my comfort zone.”

  “Your comfort zone?” I prodded, trying not to frown. It sounded like she had little if any work experience.

  Cami nodded. “Yes, I’m a journalism major at UC San Diego with one more year left. This summer I had accepted an internship in New York but it fell through and by the time I got the news there were few summer jobs left.”

  I was starting to understand. Some departments around the resort employed college interns and temporary labor but I was trying to build a more permanent, dedicated staff in my neck of the woods. On top of that, I was really only interested in hiring experienced servers and bartenders. Our clientele expected to be attended by the best and no one had the time or patience to deal with a learning curve.

  Cami must have glimpsed my skepticism because she was quick to add, “But I’m very grateful to have found this position and I’m a hard worker.”

  I believed her. Cami seemed quick and clever and I had little doubt she would give the job her best effort. But nothing changed the fact that she was low on experience, not to mention a short timer who would be returning to San Diego by September.

  “Well,” I said, trying to figure out how to word things diplomatically, “I apologize for the confusion, but experience is really a pre-requisite for the position.”

  Cami frowned. “Yes, there is indeed some confusion. I was already informed that I had the job. Today is my first day.”

  Inside my head I unleashed a wave of four letter expressions. I’d already had a few words with Griffin over his unfortunate habit of handing out jobs like they were party favors. Cami must be either the daughter of someone important or else he’d taken a liking to her. I’d have to guess the former because she didn’t seem like Griffin’s type and anyway I doubted she was interested in being one of his casual conquests.