Their Last Resort, page 10
“This week won’t be easy,” he starts. “Every year these people devise new ways to test my patience. Last year it was an underground government they ratified within the first forty-eight hours. By the time we got word of their insurrection, they’d already established a currency and trade routes to neighboring islands.” As Cole continues, he sounds like a tempered war general giving a prebattle pep talk to his otherwise doomed warriors. “We’ll be outnumbered . . . but we will survive.”
I almost pump an imaginary sword in the air and pound my chest plate, responding with a mighty “For the king!”
“Camila? Where do you start today?” Cole asks, keeping his attention on the growing crowd.
“I have a deep-sea fishing charter that leaves in about an hour.”
“Okay, make sure Oscar goes with you. After last year, I don’t want to take any chances.”
Oh right. I’d almost forgotten about that.
One of these guys insisted on catching fish with a harpoon rather than a fishing pole. The details are fuzzy. I’m not sure the boat captain knew about the harpoon beforehand, and things devolved quickly. A guest ended up in the water by mistake, screaming “Mayday! Mayday!” instead of listening to the boat captain’s calm instructions to swim over and find the ladder to get back up into the boat. Or, at the very least, grab ahold of the life preserver they’d tossed in.
“Paige?”
Cole’s looking down at me with careful assessment, as if he might be genuinely worried for my welfare.
“I’m taking a group out on a hike, and I already know how it’s going to go . . .”
I did a hike with these guys last year. One guest came prepared to suck murky brown groundwater through an off-brand LifeStraw before wiping his mouth on his sleeve and raving about the 99.99 percent filtration abilities. The rest of the group was suitably awed, but given the opportunity to sample it for themselves, 99.99 percent stuck to their run-of-the-mill CamelBaks.
“But if you’re worried about it,” I continue, “I could take someone with me. Oscar’s taken, but maybe Blaze?” I say it like the thought had only just occurred to me. Oh right, that one guy, Blaze. He could work.
Cole’s mouth flattens into an unamused line. “Somehow I think you’ll manage just fine without an accomplice.”
Right. Good to know he values my well-being far less than Camila’s. She gets a beefy Australian bodyguard. I have to fend for myself.
The hike takes it all out of me. The guys aren’t even listening to me talk about the trail’s history. Like toddlers intent on putting anything and everything in their mouths, they immediately home in on the plants surrounding the path.
“What’s edible here?” one of them eagerly asks.
“Oh . . . actually, I’m not an expert on that. Let’s stick with the trail mix the resort provided us. If you’re allergic to nuts, I also have some jerky.”
Not two seconds after I finish this polite but assertive recommendation, one guy picks a few berries off a bush and eats them, claiming they’re “completely harmless and chock full of fiber.”
His tongue’s already swollen to twice its normal size by the time I get him back to Dr. Missick.
There are two other preppers sitting in the doctor’s waiting room when we arrive. One presses an ice pack against a pronounced goose egg on his forehead. The other clutches a barf bag, his face ashen, eyes glassy. I recognize him as the corned beef hash guy from the lobby that morning.
“Turns out, those things do expire,” he tells his friend just as Dr. Missick opens the door with sweat trickling down his forehead. He sees me and groans. “Good god. What now?”
At dinner in the staff cafeteria, we all exchange war stories from the day. Cole’s whiteboard in the break room has been claimed by a new countdown.
DAYS UNTIL THE PREPPERS LEAVE: 4.
“4” is written in red and circled a hundred times over.
That night, I linger in the lobby at the excursion desk as long as I can manage it, wanting every morsel of action I can get. My eyes eventually grow too heavy, though, and I know I’ll need to rest up for tomorrow if I’m going to survive another day with these guys.
I’m taking a shortcut around the back of the resort when I see Cole outside, just past the double doors. Oof. He looks like he’s been through the wringer a time or two. He’s shucked off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. His hair is mussed, too, like he’s been tugging at the roots all day in exasperation. He’s not alone; he’s talking to Beverly from HR and Annabelle, one of the singers from the resort lounge.
At first I think they might all be commiserating. If Cole were a smoker, he’d be draining a pack right now. No doubt his nerves are shot after today. I wonder how many fires he had to put out. How many staff members he had to placate. How many weapons he had to confiscate from disgruntled guests. “Come on, now. This isn’t a weapon, it’s my hunting machete!”
Only upon closer inspection, I realize that Annabelle is crying and shaking her head. Her shoulders are quaking, and Beverly is rubbing her back, trying to console her. I can’t see Cole’s expression, but it makes my stomach hurt, seeing them like that. I’m tempted to step closer, somehow insert myself in a situation that has nothing to do with me just so I can get some answers, but I wisely leave well enough alone, scurrying along before any of them see me.
I don’t have to wait long for answers.
I’m working through a bowl of oatmeal in the cafeteria the next morning when Lara takes the seat across from me and hisses, “Annabelle got fired last night!”
My bite gets lodged in my throat, and I force it down with some effort. “What?”
“Yeah, she’s gone. Like gone. Camila’s dorm is right next to hers. She said she saw Annabelle leaving the resort this morning with all her stuff loaded on a cart. A security guard was with her, but Camila thinks he was just trying to help out. Not like escort her off resort premises or anything, but who knows?!”
My stomach squeezes tight. “How sad. I actually saw Cole talking to her last night. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t realize that’s what was going on.”
“Wait! You saw it happening?!”
I shake my head, unsure.
“It could have been something else . . . ,” I mutter lamely.
She shakes her head, adamant. “He’s the one who did it.”
My body goes rigid as I meet her gaze. “How do you know?”
Lara checks over her shoulder like she’s paranoid someone’s listening in on our conversation. Once she confirms we’re in the clear, she leans in and speaks fast. “There have been rumblings going around for a while about some layoffs. This is the third one in a week. First it was that old clown, which, okay, yeah, we all saw that one coming. Then a few days ago, one of the boat captains got fired. It was Dale, you know him? We assumed he deserved it, too, messed up or something, because he’s sort of like that. He’s late for his shifts all the time. But now with Annabelle getting fired too? What are the odds? I mean, everyone getting the axe is from our department. How do we know we’re not next?!”
I refuse to believe it. “No, c’mon. Maybe it’s a coincidence? We don’t know for certain that all three of them didn’t have it coming. You said it yourself, Dale wasn’t the best employee . . . and not to be insensitive, but I’ve heard Annabelle sing and . . . you know what? Maybe the stage wasn’t for her. When one door closes, another door opens, right? And the clown . . .”
I shiver just thinking about him.
My little speech does nothing to settle Lara’s suspicions. She’s as resolute as ever as she shakes her head. “I’m not buying it. Word on the street is that Cole and Todd are in cahoots. Annabelle told Tamara, who told Camila, that while Cole was firing her, he said something about how they want to reconfigure the resort staff and make this place ‘more efficient.’”
Efficient?! Cole loves efficiency.
Crap.
“I swear to god, if I lose my job, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She’s already spiraling. “I have nothing saved. Nowhere to go. My life back home . . . it’s just—” She shakes her head and pushes her tray of food away. She suddenly looks like she might be sick.
Before I’ve fully thought it through, I’m volunteering. “I’ll talk to him, okay? I’ll talk to Cole.”
“Oh thank god. Just, will you please put in a good word for me?” She laces her fingers together with a plea. “Make sure he knows how important this job is to me.”
“Of course, yes.”
I agree to go through with it, but after I toss my barely eaten breakfast into the trash on the way out of the cafeteria, I wonder if I should have just kept my mouth shut and let her vent. Why did I feel the need to try to play the hero? Besides, I’m still not certain I believe Cole’s a part of this. Deep down, I know he’s not that cruel. He might not be great at showing it, but he really cares about the staff at Siesta Playa. When one of the older groundskeepers, Vincent, hurt his back last year when he was painting on the property, Cole didn’t fire him. He trained him to answer phones in reception while he healed up, and Vincent did great. He still picks up shifts in the lobby every now and then when he wants extra spending money. When Anita needed extra time off after having her baby, she told me Cole fixed it with HR so that she was given an additional six weeks of paid leave.
He’s not heartless. I know it. This is just a big misunderstanding.
But . . . there’s also this nagging feeling that Cole would put the needs of the company first, before any of us. I know he prides himself on running this place like a well-oiled machine. What if he is behind this?
I have to know. Now. I was going to wait and try to catch Cole later, but this will drive me crazy. I have thirty minutes to kill before I need to be down on the beach for surf lessons, and if I wait around until the end of the day to talk to Cole, I’ll probably lose my nerve. So after I leave the cafeteria, I head straight to Cole’s office, waving at reception as I pass them by. The two women give me a sheepish wave back, like they know something I don’t. What? Am I really the last person to hear about these rumors?!
I grow queasy, and I’m tempted to turn back, but then I think of how desperate Lara was at breakfast. She and Camila have been so kind to me; this is the least I can do. No one understands Cole like I do. He and I can talk this through. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation for the layoffs. There has to be.
After I’m done, I’ll carry the good news back to Camila and Lara, and the others, and we won’t have to spend the rest of the day worrying over something that’s not that big of a deal. Probably just watercooler gossip that’s gotten out of hand.
I walk down the executive hallway, experiencing déjà vu from the other night when I went to Cole’s office to ask him for advice about Blaze. That seems like small potatoes now, frivolous and silly compared to what we’re about to talk about. I brace myself as I pass office after office. Every door is shut except for Cole’s. He’s left his slightly ajar, just like last time. I’m about to knock and see myself in when two voices drift out into the hall.
Cole and Todd are inside talking.
“How did Annabelle take it?” Todd asks.
“Hard, but I think ultimately it was the right decision for the company. We offered her a severance package and the option to stay on in a different department, which she ultimately refused.”
I go absolutely rigid with shock. My hand—the one that’s poised, ready to knock—stays frozen in the air.
“Good,” Todd says, sounding a little too giddy about it. “I knew I could count on you. Little by little, we’ll continue trimming the fat. There’s a storm headed our way that should help us. With any luck, we’ll sustain some damage, which will help justify continued layoffs.”
“That could work,” Cole confirms.
I finally move, inching just a little closer and pressing myself against the wall. A terrible feeling settles over me as I continue eavesdropping. I feel like I’m listening in on two diabolical villains plotting to take over the world. Up until this point, I always had Todd in a league of his own. Gross, smarmy Todd with his perpetual bad breath and his beady little eyes. Now I realize I might have been wrong not to include Cole right along with him.
It’s easy to miss. Cole, unlike Todd, carries himself so well. He’s handsome and well dressed. I genuinely thought he cared about his employees, about . . .
“Who’s next on the chopping block? Paige?” Todd suggests my name like I’m nothing, a speck.
My chest painfully constricts as I hold my breath.
“Yes. She’ll be gone by next week,” Cole promises without a single ounce of remorse. His tone is so clipped it snips something inside me.
Gone?
WHAT?
He could be talking about a perfect stranger, a nameless nobody.
The realization makes it feel as if I’m losing my footing and falling backward.
How could I have been so stupid? So oblivious?
This is their plan? They’re going to fire me?
For a year, Cole and I have shared a playful rivalry, one I assumed was filled with shallow hostility and harmless banter. I thought we shared a perverse sense of loyalty to each other, even some kind of strange little friendship, but I was wrong. To Cole, apparently, the rivalry was the real deal all along.
We were never friends. I mean nothing to him. He wants me gone.
All of that is crystal clear now.
The realization comes as such a sharp betrayal I feel physically sick from it.
Leave it up to Cole to hurt me where it matters the most. He’s really thought this one out. This is his grand finale: strip Paige of the thing she loves the most! Torture the girl who’s never had a real home until now!
It’s brilliant. I have to hand it to him. If he succeeds in firing me, I’ll no longer have a place here at Siesta Playa—no more work family, no more camaraderie. I’ll be back at square one.
I shudder as the thought sinks in.
I’ve built a sanctuary for myself here, and with the snap of his fingers, Cole plans to take it all away.
An ugly twisted feeling starts to grow in my gut: pure hatred. How could he do this? How could he look me in the eyes day after day while plotting against me? Does he even have a plan for execution, or will he just come find me one day and explain in a simple, flat voice that I’m fired? Pack your things and leave. He’ll dress it up in legalese. I’m sure he’ll have an entire speech preapproved by HR that will include all the important talking points. Maybe he’ll even offer me the same severance he gave to Annabelle. In my wildest dreams, during this exchange, I’d take the heel of my hand and shove it up against his face. With any luck, I’d succeed in breaking his nose. You can take that severance and shove it up your—
Cole walks over to the door to close it, but I don’t move out of the way fast enough. Even against the wall, I’m not hidden well. He sees me and comes to a sudden stop as our eyes lock.
I’ve never felt emotion like this, like red-hot flames are licking me from the inside, crawling up my legs, my waist, consuming me. He must see how much I hate him. I’m not doing a damn thing to mask my feelings.
I expect him to mirror them. After all, I’m eavesdropping outside his door. Though anger doesn’t seem to factor into the equation for Cole. It’s panic that seizes his eyes first as they widen into round saucers. Then, his eyebrows furrow with worry. He’s telling me something—screaming at me in silence—but I can’t see past my own hurt right now.
Worried I’ll make good on the fantasy of breaking his nose right here and now, I whip around and race down the hall, grateful that at least my tears don’t come until I’m far enough away that he can’t see them.
Go. To. Hell. Cole. Clark.
Chapter Thirteen
COLE
I’ve seen Paige sun kissed and happy on the beach, muddy and tired after a long hike, annoyed and on the brink of losing her patience with a difficult guest, drunk in the shower, bikini clad at the pool, and mesmerizingly beautiful on a sandbar under the stars. Never did I imagine seeing her like I did just now outside of my office.
The humor in her eyes, that light she always carries?
I sufficiently killed it.
When I caught her standing in the hallway outside my door, she didn’t bother to try to hide her emotions. Every raw feeling bubbled to the surface. It was like watching a heart split in two before my very eyes.
Whatever it is we’ve been doing this last year—playing a game, flirting, falling for each other—that’s done. She wanted me to see that loud and clear before she turned and fled down the hall.
My gut instinct is to race after her. I want to catch her, grab her hand, and pull her back against me. I can almost feel her body nestled against mine. That rage battling inside her. I can take it. I can withstand anything, so long as she eventually lets me say my piece and explain what she just overheard.
I almost do it. My feet carry me forward. My hand grips the doorknob. I’m swinging the door open, and then Todd asks me a question and I blink out of my trance.
I’m at work right now. My boss is standing behind me in my office, waiting for a response to an asinine question, and I have to stay here because Paige’s future at Siesta Playa depends on me playing my part in all this to a T.
I can’t chase after the girl.
Fuck.
Todd’s oblivious to my pending meltdown. He sits in my chair with his feet propped up on my desk while his fingernail digs for food near his right incisor. He’s stinking up my office to the point where, later, I’ll have to call housekeeping and ask them to come Lysol every surface so at least it smells like antiseptic rather than his body odor.
