Maybe that’s what I need from this whole Seascape Villas experience, a shining addition to my mostly-empty job resume, and maybe, just maybe, I need to keep my eyes open for a little flirtation, practice my mostly nonexistent skills in talking to guys. I imagine Cruise, sauntering up to the door, giving me that little half smile, his blue eyes half closed. I shake myself out of the fantasy. He’d definitely be an experience, but not the type I need.
I open my room with my key card, and begin the process of getting ready for bed.
Thinking back, I can’t believe the way I was staring at him. I’m sure he gets it all the time, but I’ve never ogled a guy like that. I could chalk it up to exhaustion, or his sheer attractiveness. Either way, it’s humiliating. At least, since Seascape Villas is a hotel, people come and go. Chances are, I’ll never see him again.
Chapter 2
After a night of tossing and turning, of trying to forget the stress from my first night on the job, and to and ignore the image a certain shirtless guy that somehow got burned into my brain—he definitely couldn’t have been as attractive as I’m remembering—I spend the morning walking along the beach, picking up and discarding shells.
I slip the prettiest shells into a netted bag that I picked up in the hotel gift shop. I’m not sure what I’ll do with them, but I don’t have the heart to discard them. The water is cool against my feet, and I dig my toes in, enjoying the sensation.
As I pass the Villas, I hear children laughing. I glance at Villa Seven, and imagine I see the lacy curtains falling back into place, as if someone was looking out. My heart lurches, imagining one of the girls who was with Cruise laughing at me, as I walk the beach alone. To be honest, it would be a miracle if anyone in Villa Seven was awake before noon.
Maybe I should call room service and send a tray of greasy hangover food to their door. I grin to myself, imagining how awful they must feel this morning.
I drop the shells off in my room, and then, in an effort to try to salvage my self-esteem, and to get on the path to actually improving the atmosphere at the hotel, I seek out Adrian Bancroft, son of the owner of the hotel. When Richard Bancroft left yesterday, leaving me in the lurch, he told me I could ask Adrian if I had any questions. Supposedly Adrian is in charge. But so far, I’ve barely seen him. He’s playing cards in the bar with the bartender. They both look pretty hung-over.
“Do you have a list of tasks that the night manager usually performs?” I feel ridiculous even asking this, especially since it’s barely noon and I’m prepared to start working when I’m the night manager. Adrian, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be working at all. Maybe he’s supposed to have weekends off. I still judge his lack of work ethic, considering his father has worked his entire life to manage the hotel.
A server brings Adrian a bloody Mary. He isn’t even trying to hide the hangover. He gestures to a seat beside him and across the table from the bartender. I sit, hoping he’s going to impart some insight about the hotel.
He shrugs. “This is Nick,” he gestures to the bartender. “We go back a long way. Good friends.”
The bartender doesn’t look convinced that this is true. He’s handsome, but somewhat forgettable. Maybe a good quality in a bartender.
Adrian gets a call and steps away from the table to take it.
“So, you’re new to the place,” Nick says.
“Yeah.”
“We don’t get new people much. Most of us are from town, or surrounding areas.”
“I love old places like this,” I admit.
He gives me a pitying look, like it’s not okay for an outsider to love the hotel.
“Just don’t get too attached,” he says. “You’re lucky, you can move on when this place fails. A lot of us have roots here.”
“It may not fail.” I channel that inner optimist once more.
Nick’s expression is dubious. “Between you and me,” he glances at Adrian, who’s standing in front of the window and listening intently to what someone is saying on his cell phone. “The family is having some trouble. I don’t like to gossip.” his eyes crinkle. “Not with the things I see as bartender. But just…don’t sign a lease you can’t break, okay?”
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
He shrugs. “This industry uses up people. I just hate to see it happen to you.”
He’s right. In my time interning, I’ve witnessed the way hospitality workers get worn down. When I have more clout I’ll speak to Mr. Bancroft about the schedules, about trying to be sure each employee has a decent amount of time off, and doesn’t get too burnt out.
“There’s this guy, in Villa Seven. There was a noise complaint,” I blurt, my voice a little breathless. I want to ask this before Adrian returns. I probably shouldn’t ask about that guy—Cruise—at all, but somehow I can’t help myself.
Nick’s brow wrinkles. “Villa Seven?”
What to say now, that I thought Cruise looked like a god come down to earth? That I know he’s staying in Villa Seven because he and his two girlfriends slammed the door in my face last night? I need to get out of this as gracefully as possible.
“He looked familiar,” I say lamely.