“Have fun, Mr. Bancroft,” I manage to say with a straight face, and only a slight bit of irony. I hope he has a miserable time, wherever he’s going.
In fifteen minutes time, I’ve managed to lose my glorious mornings on the beach and my managerial self-esteem, as Adrian Bancroft made it clear he thinks I’m replaceable. Oh, and I nearly drowned. Today sucks.
“Oh, I will have a marvelous time.” Adrian snaps his fingers and one of the bell boys collects his leather Louis Vuitton suitcase and follows him out to the town car.
“Good riddance.” Sheila says from behind me. She stands beside me, her face concerned. She’s holding a stack of fluffy white towels. Seeing my bedraggled state, she hands me one.
“I thought you were a fan of the Bancroft family,” I say, even though she’s never said this outright, when she speaks of the family, there’s always a sense of respect.
“I appreciate the family,” she says finally. “Mrs. Bancroft was a saint. She died seven years ago. And Richard Bancroft’s father, who built the resort from the ground up was a great man. But sometimes families who have it to easy get soft. Adrian Bancroft is definitely soft, but he’s too narcissistic to know it. Adrian Bancroft is toxic, and everyone but his daddy knows it. Still, I never forget where I got my start.”
“How long have you worked here?” I ask.
“Twenty-five years. I started out as the most junior maid. Imagine I’ll be here until I can’t work anymore.”
“I bet you’ve seen some crazy stuff,” I say.
She grins. “You wouldn’t believe some of it.”
“Maybe I would, after that fight in the lobby the night before last.”
“That wasn’t…something that happens regularly.” She knows I’m fishing for more information on Cruise, but her enigmatic expression says she isn’t going to ease my curiosity.
“What can you tell me about him?” I ask.
“Where were you last night?” she asks.
“With Cruise.” I look her in the eye as I admit it. Maybe now she’ll reveal something about him.
“You need to get as far away from that one as possible.”
Exactly what he said. But I know I can’t do that.
“Why?” She hears the anguish in my voice and relents
“Cruise is a good boy who went down the wrong path. Until he finds his way, he’s not going to be any good to anyone, especially women. Particularly women. He was born with a little too much appeal to the opposite sex, and without a mother to guide him, let’s just say he doesn’t have the respect for women that I instilled in my own sons.”
“Maybe the right girl—”
“Don’t put yourself through that. He breaks hearts and doesn’t even notice. Protect yourself, Maya.”
I can’t promise to do that. Not after last night, so to change the subject I say, “I’d better get dressed. Adrian just gave me a temporary promotion to daytime manager.”
“So he can go gambling,” she mutters. “Take your time, dear. You deserve at least a few hours off.” And, in case she sounded too kind, she adds, “You didn’t get enough sleep last night, it seems.”
Like a mother, she has the ability to make me feel ashamed, even though I do not regret spending the night with Cruise. No matter how much of a jerk he is, it was an experience I’ll never forget.
Chapter 8
Luckily the afternoon shift goes smoothly, because I don’t know if I could handle extra stress right now. Quite a few guests have checked out. The receptionist assures me that we’ll have a new batch of guests arriving over the next few days.
I put the bellboys to work polishing the brass in the lobby, and spend my afternoon on call with the walkie-talkie in case someone makes a complaint that the staff can’t handle, and head out to the villas. I noticed, when I was asking Cruise to turn down his music, that the window boxes needed some weeding. Sheila says Mr. Bancroft let the gardener go to save money, and just has a lawn mowing company come in once a week to trim the area in front of the hotel, and weed-eat. They obviously haven’t been doing anything for the flowerbeds, and flowers are an important part of a resort of this caliber.
Taking it upon myself to pull weeds from the window boxes is a good way to start my plan to improve the property. Not a shameless ploy to run into Cruise. I only glance at Villa Seven occasionally, as I improve the perennials on Villas One through Four. At Villa Five two older ladies in cat’s eye sunglasses sit in lawn chairs sipping martinis.
When I introduce myself, they offer me a chair and a drink.
“If you can’t drink while you’re on duty, we have juice,” Mrs. Charleston, the more talkative of the two, says. She raises her glass, revealing a pinkish liquid that I think is probably grapefruit juiced mixed with vodka and vermouth.
“Have you stayed at Seascape Villas often?” I ask, because they have the air of old campaigners.