Page 19 of Maneater
The line clicks off as I make my way to the main pool in search of my fucking GM to try and find out what the fuck is happening here. Unfortunately, I’m stopped on my mission on the pool deck.
“Hey, Rowan, so happy you’re here,” Tanya, the spa manager, says, walking over to me, her long red hair swaying in a ponytail. The first thing I notice is that, while she’s technically in uniform, it’s about two sizes too small, making the white polo fit tightly against her chest and showing far too much cleavage than is acceptable for a workplace. I make a mental note to have Sutton confirm the uniform rules in the handbook and possibly have HR step in.
“Hey, Tanya. How are you?”
“Fine, except for, you know… everything going on.” She says it far too loud to be around guests, but it’s clear she’s got full dramatics on now: eyes wide with fake panic and concern, pouty lips, her hand moving to rest on my arm. “It was so scary, that woman having an allergic reaction. I couldn’t believe it.”
“Have we figured out how that happened?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“No. The last time the mud was changed out was a week ago, and we used the same protocol as always.” She swallows like she’s nervous the finger is about to be pointed at her. “I was there when it was changed. I swear, we didn’t do anything different or out of the ordinary. We’ve even cut out the most common allergens from the spa: almonds and other nuts, soy, and gluten. We only do milk on request and have a detailed protocol for cleaning it up. We’ve even significantly reduced the use of fragranced items. I have no idea how it got in.”
I nod, knowing all of this already. I was the one who put most of these things in place.
“Do you have the logs for when people have gone in and out of the supply rooms? Have we cleared out the room to make sure thereare no other items that could cause an issue?” All security went down the night of the fire, something we’ve been investigating with little to no result. Currently, my biggest concern is identifying who is responsible for this before something worse happens. Since we’ve found no evidence of who could have tampered with the mud bath, I’m wondering if we have even more issues with the security cameras than we are aware of.
“Yeah, we’ve made sure it’s all gone. You know, I’d really love to talk about all of this. I’m just…” A deep, exaggerated sigh leaves her lips, making her breasts in her far too low shirt rise dramatically. “I’m so stressed about it, you know?”
“We have a great insurance plan,” I tell her bluntly. “You should talk to someone.”
Annoyance fights with irritation on her face before that smile returns.
“I know, but I’d so rather talk to someone who understands the intricate details of this workplace, you know?”
I don’t, but I can’t say that because it seems like grounds for her to file a complaint against me.
“Well—”
“Hey, Mr. Fisher?” a voice calls, and relief that I’m being interrupted from talking to this woman floods me.
“Yeah?” I ask, turning to see the pool manager, Carol, looking at me nervously. This job was not the best choice for her since she can’t stand confrontation, and I can guarantee that’s what she’s about to inform me of.
“Um, a couple of guests just walked that way, toward the rental shack. There’s nothing really over there, but it’s still dangerous, you know? I don’t know what to do.” She bites her lip nervously.
“Do we still have everything roped off?” I ask.
“Yeah, but you know how guests are. They see a ‘do not enter’sign, and they think it means everyone but them.”
I groan, looking around. It’s busy on the pool deck this afternoon, and Carol seems to be the only one on shift right now.
“I’ll handle it,” I say, and she nods before a guest waves her down.I nod, telling her to go assist them, and give Tanya a small, polite nod before heading off. Annoyed, I make my way around the pool, taking a shortcut through the pool house until I reach the edge of the beach. Two figures far off duck under the caution tape, and I curse low before continuing toward them.
It’s not until I’m about twenty feet away that I catch a brief, familiar glance of one of the women’s faces and freeze before shifting around the corner in case she turns again.
Because for some insane reason, I’m pretty sure I’m looking at Josie.
Josie, the woman who has intrigued and confused me for months. Years, even. Josie, whose dates I can’t seem to stop myself from interrupting just to watch her jaw get tight with irritation. Josie, whom I bumped into at Dante’s bar, who got my dick hard just by arguing with me, who willfully followed me into the office belonging to my friend, who let me push her against a wall and kiss her, who moaned when I slid my fingers into her, who called out my name when she came, and who, most importantly, refused to give me her number.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time.
The first time I met Josephine Montgomery, she was an undergrad, and I was finishing the final year of my MBA. I’d been convinced by my friends to go out for once instead of obsessing about grades and work. There, I met Josie, who had been out celebrating her friend’s birthday, and danced nearly the entire night with her. When her friends tugged her away to go home, I asked for her number. She gave me a coy smile, shook her head, and said she doesn’t date.
I told myself it was fine, that I didn’t have time for some party girl barely over twenty-one. Especially not when I was on the fast track finishing my MBA, a degree that Daydream was paying for since even at twenty-six, Annette saw some kind of promise in me I couldn’t quite grasp at the time.
That is, until I saw her out a week later with some asshole whom I’d met in a statistics class the previous semester.
Doesn’t date, my ass.
