Why are you such a disappointment, Nolan?
I grab my phone and press West’s home contact again. It rings through to voicemail, so I just hang up. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing. We have this little thing going between the Misters. Like we used to do back in school. Fucking with each other for old time’s sake.
Now that Mr. Perfect has settled down, Corporate’s been hounding me to do the same. All of us, actually. And so he concocted this little plan to set up Oliver—Mr. Match—with a girl who frequents the online dating site he runs with his sister. That’s how Oliver made his money since college. Online dating.
“Don’t you think it’s strange that Oliver has no girlfriend when he runs an online dating site?” West asked when I saw him last. “It’s the wrong kind of business for him.”
But it’s no worse than feeding people drinks in a club, I guess. I say let Oliver take over the virtual world if he wants. Who are we to say it’s not the right path for him?
But West didn’t agree. He says it’s time to grow up and make a difference. Like Perfect. But there’s a reason everyone called Mac Mr. Perfect. He is, after all, pretty fucking perfect.
Maybe Oliver and I aren’t interested in making the world a better place? And who the fuck knows what Mr. Mysterious is up to? Perfect’s engagement party a few months ago was the first time I saw him in ages. He lives in LA. Knows lots of important people. I’ve heard people whispering his name at the clubs. And even though I was pretty sure at the time it was only because of who he was in the past, I think it’s more about what he’s doing now.
There are no five-star hotels in Borrego. There are two four-stars that do a passable job and an RV park masquerading as a hotel that doesn’t even count.
It’s a good plan, Nolan.
That’s not my father’s voice in my head. It’s mine. My father hasn’t said a nice thing about me since my mother walked out on him and took me with her back when I was twelve. She didn’t take Claudette, just me.
And even though Claudette should hold a grudge about that, she didn’t. Doesn’t. She’s far too much like my father to foster feelings of abandonment.
Still, I need ideas. Fresh ideas. Ideas that no one’s thought about. Ideas that will build interest in this resort besides what it has to offer in amenities. There are a million spectacular hotel pools. There are many professional golf courses. Why should people come here?
That’s what I need from the two men I have working on the marketing campaign. They are the best in the business right now. And both of them have excellent jobs. They don’t need this job. They are here, on my dime, using their own vacation days in order to interview. They are taking a risk on me and that is the only good thing I have going right now.
At least two people, outside of Claudette, believe in me.
Well, Corporate believes. But he believes in everyone. His job is to see the potential in people and match them up with employers looking for what they do best.
Which brings me to Ivy Rockwell. I scan my desk until I see the folder, then open it up and take out her résumé.
She looks good on paper, but what the hell, West? Twenty-two years old? I get that she’s smart. But twenty-two? There’s not enough real-world experience there to offset her youngness, no matter what kind of go-getter she’s proven herself to be in school.
I can’t send her home tonight. I have to at least give the impression she has a chance or she might pull the woman card on me. Call me sexist. Imply that she didn’t get the job based on her sex.
The fact is, she’s too pretty. Claudette would never give the thumbs-up to hire a woman as beautiful as Ivy Rockwell, so tonight I’ll give her an assignment and have her present it tomorrow morning. She’ll be on the jet back to Rhode Island before noon and then I can get the guys started on the next project. I only have a few days to come to a decision that might make or break my success here at the resort, so I can’t waste time on placating Ivy Rockwell.
I really should consider hiring both these guys I have here interviewing. They are talented.
But it’s a big risk to tie up that kind of potential.
I grab a few things and stuff them in my briefcase, then head over to the cabana I’m staying in. I need a dip in the pool. I need the sun to burn this negativity off me. I need to relax.
I pass the few guests who were personally invited as I make my way through the main lobby. They are huddled in the bar, mostly, where the AC is kicking out full force. I smile, and wave, and say pleasant things as I continue walking, then drop the smile when I walk through the back doors to the main pool.
The heat is suffocating and there’s no one at all lounging under the umbrellas. The misters, which go off in strategic locations every thirty seconds to keep sunbathers cool, are a waste of water.
Don’t think about it, Nolan. You have six couples here, that’s all. If the place was full there’d be plenty of action at the pool.
But I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it.
I go through the gate that separates the residence section from the hotel and I’m already taking my suit coat off before I even get inside. I throw it over the couch, the briefcase follows, and I go to work on my dress shirt.
Two minutes later I’m wearing swimming trunks and diving into the private pool in front of the cabanas.
When I come up for air I look straight at Ivy Rockwell in a bright yellow bikini.
I flash her a Romantic grin out of habit, then catch myself and let it fall into a frown. “I’m glad you’re having a nice afternoon at the resort, Miss Rockwell.”
She lowers her white sunglasses and peers down her nose at me. “I’m testing out the facilities, Mr. Delaney. The misters are off-target and the pool water is too hot.”