The Bachelor Beach: The Love Connection Series - Villa One

by Ryan, Shari J.

  They all appear stunned by my reaction, but seriously, stalking and following someone isn’t cool, and for there to be more than just a few of them doing this, who wouldn’t be freaked out by a mass of men chasing them?

  “We’re so sorry,” another one of the guys says. I don’t think I’ve met him yet either. He has shoulder-length blonde hair and surf shorts hanging from his hips. He’s hot, but no. No. “Are you thirsty?”

  I grab the sides of my face with frustration. “No, no, I’m not thirsty. If we were standing in the middle of a desert right now with no water in sight, I still wouldn’t be thirsty. So, please, let me finish my run, in peace.”

  They look distraught over my pointed statements. Did they not see this coming?

  One by one the men disperse, and I’m surprised they actually listened.

  Anger is raging through me as I complete my two miles, and I’m happy to see no one occupying the beach in front of the villas as I return.

  Just as I reach the back patio of my villa, I spot one of the men sitting on his ground-level porch with his head flattened against the siding. He’s pale and flopped in a lazy position. I feel like I met him yesterday at some point, but he wasn’t one of the men following me during my run.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I ask, craning my neck to get his attention.

  He sits up in attention at the sound of my voice. “Oh, crap. I must have fallen asleep. Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine,” I tell him, taking another step closer. Upon another look, I see he’s sweating, and his eyes are a bit bloodshot.

  “Gee, thanks,” he says, laughing through a cough.

  “You’re sick, huh?” I ask.

  “I’ll be fine. It’s just a chest cold.” Sniffle. Sniffle.

  My first inner thought consists of wondering if anyone is around to take care of him, but I gather no one lives with a roommate here, except for me, of course. “Maybe you should go to the doctor?”

  “I already did. The doctor said it’s a chest cold, and to drink plenty of fluids, yadda-yadda.”

  “Yeah, I know the spiel,” I tell him. “Listen, I’m heading to the grocery store in a bit once I find a way to get there.” I still have no car. I should have pre-planned this. “Want me to make you some soup?” I hear a cough in the distance, and I turn around, catching three men in a conversation on the beach, trying to act like they didn’t just overhear what I said to— “What’s your name again? I’m having trouble keeping up.”

  “Colin. Colin Meyers,” he says. “I’d shake your hand, but I don’t want to give you my germs.”

  I try to smile, though it probably looks fake because odds are this guy is just suffering from the good old man-flu. “It’s okay.”

  “Wow, that’s so sweet of you, Colin says. I—yeah, I already grabbed some soup at the store this morning. Thank you for offering, though. Plus, I wouldn’t have wanted to put you out like that on your first full day here.”

  “Oh, it wouldn’t have been a problem. Plus, I don’t put out,” I tell him, realizing way too late what I said versus what I meant to say.

  “I figured,” he says with a crooked smile, taking advantage of my slip of the tongue.

  “I meant you wouldn’t have put me out,” I quickly retort, trying to undo what I did.

  “It’s so weird, something must be going around,” I hear from behind.

  It’s Theo, the only guy I’m familiar with at this point, despite only having a few short conversations with him. “Are you sick too?” I ask.

  “Nah, but a few of the others look like they might suddenly come down with whatever Colin has.” Theo rolls his eyes, casually as if the thought should be assumed. It wouldn’t have taken me long to figure out what would be happening next since I nicely offered to help a sick guy out. I’d be questioning whether he was telling the truth, but he looks the part, so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “If you need to grab some things at the grocery store, I can take you to the store if you want,” Theo says. “I was going to run over there today too.”

  I can only imagine that the glances around me are shooting out like daggers. This place and these people are unbelievable. “Oh, that’s okay. I want to venture out on my own today, but thank you.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Theo,” Colin grunts.

  “No problem at all. Let me know if you change your mind,” Theo says.

  “That sounds good.” Except if I were to change my mind, I have no clue which villa you live in and I certainly don’t plan on going around ringing doorbells, despite that being the thing to do around here. I’m not changing my mind, though, so it’s fine.

  I feel the need to step away, backing up toward my sliding door, hoping no one else approaches me for the moment.

  When I close myself inside, I find Kricket and Krow at the breakfast nook, chowing down on cereal. All I want to know is … where they got the cereal. I didn’t see any when I was looking through our so-called stocked cabinets.

  “Have a nice run?” Kricket asks while chomping down on a dry bite.

  “Sure,” I tell her.

  The ringing of my phone thankfully interrupts this once-again-awkward encounter. I don’t recognize the number, but now I’m choosing my poison between a random guy or a conversation with these two.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Hi, yes, I’m looking for Ashley.”

  “This is she,” I answer, hesitantly.

  “Great. This is Noah James from The Clam Pit. I was wondering if you might be able to squeeze in some time for an interview today?”

  My heart thumps a little harder than it was from my after-workout burn. “Oh, hi, Noah, yes, I would be happy to meet with you today. What time is best for you?”

  “How about three? That way we can avoid the lunch and dinner rush.”

  “Three works for me. I’ll see you then.”

  “Great,” he says. “Oh, make sure to look out for those moving street lamps.” He doesn’t laugh, and I feel the need to melt into a corner.

  “Yeah, I’ll be sure to keep an eye out,” I tell him. Great first impression. I’m good at those.

  “Wow, look at you, fancy pants. Did Chef Hotpants from yesterday offer you a job over the phone ?”

  Ignore her, and she’ll go away.

  “Just a job interview. Nothing to get too excited about yet.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing a low-cut shirt can’t handle,” Kricket continues. “I’ve got handcuffs too, if that’s more your style?” Wow. Okay. I can’t do this.

  Rather than focus on Kricket’s snide smirk, I take a quick look at Krow, who is bawling her eyes out. “Cereal was Richard’s favorite breakfast,” she groans and sniffles between words.

  Kricket places her hand down on Krow’s wrist. “No, Krow. No. Richard only ate eggs for breakfast. You told me he wouldn’t eat cereal because it did nothing for his body. Remember?”

  “But still,” she cries out.

  And, we’re done here. Again.

  It’s not even eight-thirty in the morning, and I’m already exhausted from today.

  Chapter 9

  A pair of black leggings, a hot pink camisole, and a navy-blue blazer will complete my look for the interview with Noah. As I turn from side-to-side, staring at the wall-length mirror, I wonder if a lower-cut shirt could help me snag this job. Clearly, the guy does not have space issues after watching his interaction with the hostess, Lavish, yesterday.

  I tug on my camisole, creating a slight bit of cleavage. Just enough.

  I have a college degree. I should be able to get a job without my breasts, but I won’t pretend like the world abides by the notion of hiring someone based on their skillful capabilities alone.

  Every time I walk downstairs, I find Kricket and Krow in a different corner of the villa. They’re either eating or on their phones, and I’m wondering what they typically do all day when they’re not working—other than lounging on the couch with a bowl of grapes
, of course.

  “You look classy,” Kricket says.

  “I’m heading to my interview at the restaurant,” I tell her, grabbing my purse from the kitchen table.

  “I can’t believe that guy actually called you after you walked face first into a street lamp.”

  “Yeah,” I say, sounding as winded and exhausted from just responding to her.

  No good luck. No goodbye. Not even a blink as I walk past the TV and out the door.

  I find myself walking quickly through the cul-de-sac to reach the curb faster than necessary. It only takes a few minutes to make my way down to the restaurant. With the floor to ceiling windows boxing in the front of The Clam Pit, I spot Noah James hovering over Miss Lavish again. It’s clear something is going on between those two.

  She’s beautiful, so it’s understandable.

  I take in a deep breath before pulling open the glass door. I can do this.

  “Ashley,” Noah greets me immediately. “It’s so nice to see you again.” He glances down at his watch, “And you’re early. That’s what I like to see.” He nods his head toward the back of the restaurant. “Come, follow me to my office.”

  “I have a thing about being on time,” I tell him, stealing a line from the career development class I took last winter. Being punctual is my biggest weakness. It’s a joke, but if it kisses the right ass and works, so be it. Besides, I wouldn’t mind kissing his ass a little.

  We walk through the kitchen doors. There isn’t a whole lot of activity going on back here, but the restaurant is relatively empty at the moment too. Everything is clean and covered in brushed steel. The kitchen I used to work in was outdated with old equipment, so it’s nice to see they most likely have good upgrades.

  A steel door at the end of the area we’re walking through looks as if it could be a walk-in freezer. However, when Noah opens the door, I’m surprised to find a stairwell. We walk up what must be two flights of stairs, that lead into an office enclosed by full-length windows, overlooking the beach.

  The office is simple and barren except for an executive desk, a well-padded leather chair, and a laptop.

  “This is beautiful,” I tell him.

  “My dream was to work on the beach. So, here we are,” Noah says.

  “I guess dreams do come true,” I tell him, admiring the view, rather than his face, although his face is comparable to the sights outside.

  When I redirect my attention to him, he’s smirking at me … like I said what I was thinking . . . out loud.

  “Tell me about yourself, Miss Ashley,” he continues.

  I cross my hands and rest them on my lap. “Well, I just graduated with a degree in hospitality management from Hartford University. I was originally planning to stay up north, but my brother offered me an opportunity I couldn’t pass up, which entailed moving here, and yeah, now I’m here.”

  Noah pushes away from his desk, rolling his chair back a few inches so he can cross one leg over the other. Ah, and there’s another junk shot. I need to stop looking at this poor guy’s crotch. He’s been nothing but respectful to me, and yet, I’m acting like a total sleazeball. “I don’t care about school, Miss Ashley. Tell me about you.”

  About me.

  Well, right now, I feel like I might be imagining the fact that you’re seductively dragging the pad of your thumb across your bottom lip.

  I want to tell him that. It’s like he’s trying to distract me from answering his question.

  Never mind the fact that his question catches me off guard, I know how to interview. I know what’s appropriate to say and what’s not. I realize some personal questions are bound to come up, but he’s not wasting any time in learning about me as a person rather than my qualifications.

  My mind goes blank, of course. I can’t think of one interesting thing to say about my life. I had a normal childhood; I did okay in school, stayed out of trouble, went to college, and graduated. There isn’t too much bragging I can do. “Can I be honest, Noah?”

  “I hope so,” he responds. “I prefer honesty.” Noah continues listening to me while running his fingers across the bottom of his chin. I swear his eyes are undressing me. I’d go ahead and picture him naked, but that might not be the best idea to regain my confidence here.

  I close my eyes for a second to recenter my focus. I need to continue on a professional path, despite what he wants to know personally about me. “Well, I have spent the last four years of my life trying to ensure I have a promising career in the future. Except, I spent the last five months assertively looking for a job, finding nothing on the horizon. I’m aware it takes time to gain experience to move up in a profession, so when I saw your hiring sign, I knew this could be a good place to start. Of course, having the beach to stare at while doing so doesn’t seem like the worst way to start out, right?”

  Noah brings his forefingers together and presses them against his lips. “You’re here for different reasons than I expected,” he says.

  “Is that a good thing or bad?”

  “I’ve been looking for someone like you,” he begins. A waitress with a drive? “There is an opportunity for growth here. Within the next few months, we plan to open our facility up for events and catering. The Clam Pit is a self-grown enterprise with over fifteen locations across the United States and soon-to-be in the U.S. Virgin Islands, as well.”

  “That’s incredible,” I tell him, feeling a little star struck that this man, at such a young age, is so successful. Here I am, looking for a meager waitressing job.

  “I’d like to offer you a position here. We’ll start you off waitressing, but I want to put you into a management role once you’re comfortable. What do you think about that?”

  “I think you have a lot of faith in me for not giving you so much as a resume,” I tell him. I realize it’s not the best thing to say to someone offering me the world, but I have a big question mark floating through my head.

  “According to your application,” he says, touching the trackpad on his laptop and glancing down at the screen, “you have held quite a few internships at various hotels within Connecticut, including a full summer at one of the top hotels in Boston. It seems to me, you know where you want to go, and that’s what I want in my franchise.”

  I suppose he has a point. “I don’t have a lot of experience.”

  “Are you trying to talk yourself out of a potentially large salary in the coming months?” His question feels pointed, and his brows knit together with an austere glint to his mesmerizing eyes.

  “Oh, no, just being honest.”

  “Ashley, I would like to bring you on board. What do you say?”

  Keep it together. Act professional.

  “Yes, yes, thank you so much. I am excited to get started.”

  “Perfect,” he says, unfolding his legs. Well, at least his junk can breathe again. “I’m going to put all the paperwork together for you, and we can get you started as soon as you’re available to begin.”

  “I can start tomorrow,” I tell him. No part of that sounded desperate. None of it.

  “Tomorrow works for me.” Noah reaches across his desk and offers me his hand to shake. “Why don’t you plan to arrive at eleven and we’ll get you started with a lunch shift.”

  I shake his hand in agreement. “Perfect.”

  “I’m sure you noticed the attire. Black shorts and a white polo. Downtown, there’s a uniform store that should have the items you need.”

  “Great,” I tell him, bouncing my knee as the nerves zing through me.

  “One more thing. I feel the need to be upfront about this before I bring anyone on because it seems to be a trending issue in the local restaurants, but we frown upon interwork relationships. I hope that won’t be an issue for you?”

  Isn’t he the one who has been hovering over the hostess each time I’ve spotted him? My fantasies of this man and his junk will have to come to a quick halt, I suppose. “Of course. That makes perfect sense.”

  “Very well
, then. I’m happy to have you on board, Ashley. I’m looking forward to you joining the team.”

  “Same. I’m looking forward to working under you,” I tell Noah, standing from my seat. He’s just staring at me, and I wasn’t planning to be the first one to stand, but I’m wondering if he’s expecting me to leave his office now.

  “Uh, we can work side-by-side for now. How about that? No one needs to be under anyone, am I right?”

  Did I just say I’m looking forward to working under him? Oh God. Why doesn’t my mouth work the way it’s supposed to? “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know what you meant,” he says, laughing wryly.

  “Okay good,” I say, sweeping my hair off my neck, or unsticking it from my neck, rather.

  “Here, I’ll walk you out,” he says, standing from his desk. Noah comes up behind me and places his hand on my lower back before reaching forward for the door handle. The warmth from his hand seeps through my shirt, offering me a quick sensation of zings.

  I swear his hand slips a little lower as we descend the stairs. “Hey,” he utters, stopping me in the middle of the stairwell. “Sometimes in life, we have to be professional to the point of keeping us from acting out on what we want, but I’d be happy to show you around the downtown area if you need a tour guide.” I think it’s safe to assume he saw me staring at his engorged junk. I’ve been acting like a dirty man staring at a broad set of breasts. What is wrong with me?

  My pulse is racing, feeling his whispered words melt against my neck, the way his hand is gently wrapped around my wrist. This stuff is not supposed to happen in job interviews. “A tour guide?” Is he being literal? Of course, he is. He’s my new boss. Maybe it’s essential to the job that I’m able to discuss the area with the patrons. I’m sure that’s all this is.

  “Yeah, minus the loudspeaker and hiked up khaki shorts,” he jests.

  “I’ll let you know if I need to be shown around,” I tell him, smiling as I might puke.

  I take another step down, and I should have figured I would skip the next step after that because I can’t seem to get my legs to work here in this state. Noah catches me by my arm, pulling me upright before I fall. “Should I be worried about you carrying a tray?”