Page 3 of Sapphire Sunset

Logan swirled his mouthwash and spit. “We worked somethingout, yeah.”

He spritzed himself with more cologne. A special brand witha name he couldn’t pronounce and a price tag that had made him swallow. But itsmelled nice, and it seemed classy enough for a place like Sapphire Cove. Whenhe returned to the living room, Sally hadn’t budged from where she stood overher patient-slash-victim.

“I’m not going to have you sexually harassing my son inexchange for the chance to ruin my weekend, woman.” Chip was staring up atSally now, trying to look tough, even though the rest of his body wasn’t alongfor the ride.

“He’s fixing my dishwasher, you old perv,” Sally said.

“Likely story.”

“No one’s getting sexually harassed,” Logan said.

Sally sat down on one arm of the sofa. It looked like shewas contemplating whether or not to knock him to the floor. “No, but I knowsomeone who’s gonna have to go put up with a bunch of rich bastards at thebeach tonight just to take care of your old bones. You might want to thank himinstead of giving him the ass.”

“Right now, you are the only one giving anyonethe ass,lady,” Chip said.

Logan patted his dad on the chest. “I might be late, Pop.I’m going to take all the shifts they give me.”

Suddenly Chip grabbed his wrist, holding it with unexpectedstrength. When Logan looked back, he saw something new in the man’s eyes. Pain,guilt, a vulnerability he’d never shown when he was younger. A man who neededto be taken care of and feeling plenty of guilt over the reasons why.

“Thank you.” In the silence that followed, even Sally seemedmoved, as evidenced by the fact that she’d stopped harassing his dad.

Logan gave his dad a quick peck on the forehead and pattedhis chest, when what he really wanted to do was throw his arms around the oldman and tell him it was all going to be okay. Because that was Logan’s job. Tomake everything okay. And he had a ways to go. Because right now things werehovering at marginally shitty.

As he headed for the door, his father called out, “And don’tlet those fancy fuckers give you any shit. Half the folks staying thereprobably won the trip in a contest or something.”

“Got it, Dad.”

He was halfway to his truck by the time his dad started his usualspeech about how no one who flew first class had actually paid for the ticket,how they either used miles or their companies footed the bill. Logan had heardit all before. And if it was how Chip made himself feel better about wherethey’d ended up, that was fine.

One thing was true.

Logan was about to drive out of a world where first classwas something you made fun of and into a world where most people considered ita reward for a job well done. No more part-time bouncer gigs at that club inAnaheim that played nothing but Insane Clown Posse, where more than one femalepatron had become physically violent with him when he’d told her he wasn’t intowomen. He was officially joining the security staff at a resort one travelwebsite referred to as the jewel of the Orange County coast, independentlyowned by the same family since its founding in the 1960s and with a reputationfor treating its employees almost as well as it treated its high-paying guests.

Working security at a place that nice would require a softer,classier touch.

Did he have it, or would he say the wrong thing to somebillionaire guest and get his ass, and his dad’s health care, kicked to thecurb on day one?

Logan had never considered himself much of a designperson, unless you were talking about Minecraft blocks. But a few hours intohis first shift, the lobby at Sapphire Cove was melting his heart.

Maybe it was the giant crystal chandelier that sent shimmersacross the white marble floor or the contended laughter of guests drifting infrom Camilla’s, the hotel’s main restaurant. It could have been the gardenia-scentedcandles flickering inside the small, mirrored cubbyholes that flanked theentrance to the gift shop. Or maybe, after years of deployments to places wherenone of the locals had welcomed the arrival of his Marine Expeditionary Unit,Logan just enjoyed being somewhere people seemed happy to see him.

There was a hard tap on his shoulder, and a now familiarvoice barked, “What’s up, Jarhead?”

Buddy Haskins was exactly the type of guy Logan had expectedto be working with when he’d landed the job. Thick as a brick wall, butstandoffish in a way that said he didn’t have any law enforcement or militaryexperience and was threatened by Logan’s. He spent most of their department meetingearlier sending dick pics to various women. Logan hoped the women had actuallyasked for them.

“Maybe a new nickname, Buddy,” Logan said.

“How ’bout Bullet Sponge?”

Awesome,Logan thought. A deliberately insultingterm more tech-reliant branches of the military used for Marines. Buddy knewthis, he was sure. Not because he’d served. But because he was a prick.

“I’d prefer Jackass, to be frank,” Logan said.

“Deal.” Buddy slapped Logan on the back. “How’s lobby duty,Jackass?”

“One nine-year-old kid who tried to smuggle out a bedsidelamp in his backpack. Other than that, not a lot of bullets for me to spongeup.”

“Look, I know it might not seem like as big a deal as theMarines, but if you don’t think this job can get rough, weddingseason’llprove you wrong, I guarantee it. One time thisbridesmaid got drunk and two hours before the ceremony told the bride that shethought her dress looked like a car accident. Sheesh. That was war, my friend.An all-outwar. I think there’s still a dent from a champagne bottle inthe wall over there. The groomsmen even got involved, and by the end there werehelicopters, you understand me?Hel-i-copters.”To make his point, Buddy tugged at the collar of his dress shirt to revealscars left by what looked like a single claw mark, a claw made of manicurednails. “Bridesmaid Battle, May 2015.” He tapped the scar with one finger. “Neverforget.”

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