Page 106 of Save Me
“Did you hire someone else too?” Jeremy scans our passengers in the water while chatting.
“No. Well, sort of?” Do I call Ronan a hire? But the trailer’s not even for him because he’ll be in my bed. “It’s for Ronan’s friend, who needs a place to crash because Ronan’s losing his house.”
“And Ronan is …” Bailey prompts.
“Her man,” Jeremy offers before I have a chance to answer.
“I don’t normally have non-Sea Witch staff staying there, but there’s a lot goin’ on right now.”
“Oh. Right.The hotel.” Jeremy nods.
“You’ve already heard? You weren’t even there today!”
“I got a few texts,” he admits.
“And? What’d you hear?” What is the staff saying about the crazy rooster commune lady?
“That you accused Henry Wolf of a bribery scheme.”
I cringe. “It was a little softer than that.” Not much, though.
“And Wolf fired Ronan.”
“Yeah, that part’s true.”
“Ronan, your boyfriend,” Bailey says, trying to piece our conversation together.
“Yes. He’s a director there.Wasa director.”
“At this hotel.”
“Uh-huh. Next door to my house, and the bane of my existence.” Though it’s beginning to feel more like Henry Wolf is the problem. The giant building beside me is suddenly tolerable.
“Was it because Ronan punched him?” Jeremy asks.
“No, though that didn’t help.”
Bailey’s head ping-pongs back and forth. “Wait, so Ronan punched this Wolf guy?”
“In the eye.” Jeremy points to his own eye. “Henry Wolf owns the hotel.”
“Where Jer also works,” I throw in with an accusatory tone.
“Only two days a week.” He gives me a pointed look that might as well say out loud that I sabotaged his career aspirations.
“Where you’ll be full-time after you abandon me in the fall,” I remind him.
Bailey’s forehead furrows. “So Ronan and Jeremy work for this hotel, and this is an issue.”
Jeremy chuckles. “Man, you’re so new. Okay, let’s take you back to the beginning.”
While Jeremy gives Bailey the CliffsNotes version, I keep watch of the people and boats around us. Everyone is enjoying the sun and water, blissfully unaware that my world is falling apart.
One of Sander’s dinghies is heading this way, the colorful banners peddling ice cream and boiled peanuts fluttering in the breeze.
I groan when I spot the driver. “I can’t deal with him today.”
“Who is he?” Bailey asks.
