Page 17 of Summer Ever After
My grip on the steering wheel eased. Every once in a while, Chloe showed signs of having a conscience, but it was never when we were in Christina’s presence. Before she got out, Chloe paused with her hand on the handle. “You could be kind of pretty if you tried a little bit.”
I narrowed my lips and nodded. Her apology came laced with an insult. “I’ll be back here to get you after my interview.”
“Don’t be late.” She got out of the car. “And good luck.”
Was there a good human being inside my stepsister or was she as selfish and evil as her mother?
The map book was dog-eared, but I found the page and traced my finger over the route. I still didn’t have a cellphone and had to rely on a ten-year-old map to get around town. Luckily. Windswan hadn’t changed much since the map was printed.
Black smoke burped out the tailpipe as I navigated to the marina. Christina had scribbled a name on the paper next to the marina’s address – Faye Graham. I wondered where and how I would find this Faye Graham, but that concern was dismissed as soon as I pulled into the driveway of the marina.
A man wearing a golf shirt and khaki pants was standing on the dock holding a sign that read “Housekeeping Interviewees.” He looked to be in his forties, with a bit of graying hair at his temples and crinkles beside his eyes. Was this the man that Christina had in her gold-digging crosshairs? Was Laird Starling himself picking me up for a maid interview?
I parked the car, tucked the file folder under my arm, and strode across the parking lot – wishing that I had borrowed a pair of shoes from Chloe – my black Converse All-Stars weren’t exactly interview-appropriate.
“Mr. Starling?” I held out my hand.
The man’s eyes twinkled as he furrowed his brow, a smile creeping across his face. “No. I’m Trey Laurier. I’ll be escorting you across the lake.” He shook my hand, which had remained suspended between his. “And you are?”
“Daisy. I’m here for the maid interview.”
The smile was back. “We call it cottage keeping over at Starling Estate. I’m head of logistics. Otherwise known as the chauffeur.”
He winked and pointed to the chest of his golf shirt. The name Trey was embroidered on the chest below a bird, a starling,
My cheeks burned. Growing up we’d had a chauffeur, a butler, and a maid – and that’s what we’d called them. “I’m sorry, I thought…” I couldn’t believe that I’d thought that the billionaire himself would be waiting at the dock with a sign.
Trey undid the lines of a modest pontoon boat and opened the gate, gesturing for me to enter. “Don’t be sorry. I’m flattered. That’s quite the compliment.” He started up the engine. “It’s unlikely that you will meet Mr. Starling though – or anyone in the family for that matter. They’re rarely here, although, with the event this summer, they might be around a bit more.”
“Event?” I asked over the sound of the motor, shielding my eyes with my hand as the sun peeked out from behind the cloud cover.
“You really didn’t do your homework, did you?” He had a smile on his face, and I felt at ease in his presence.
“I didn’t.” I shrugged. “All I know is that I’m meeting someone named Faye for my interview for a… cottage keeper.”
He pressed down on the throttle and the tails of my braids flicked in the breeze. The last time I’d been on Windswan Lake, I had been in Windswan Lake – with Max. As we cruised along the shoreline, I wondered which of the cottages belonged to him. Could he be in the boat that was speeding along the horizon? Or could he be the one wake surfing behind the slow-moving wakeboard boat to our right?
We rounded the point and headed into the open water. “The Starlings are holding a big fundraiser this summer. A fancy shindig.”
“How fancy?” I had to yell to be heard over the motor.
“Ball gowns and tuxedos fancy. What do they call it when you wear a mask?”
I blinked. “A masquerade ball?”
“That’s it.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Between you and me, Laird isn’t too happy about it – but the head of his charitable organization decided it was the best way to raise a lot of money.”
“Charitable organization?”
Trey slowed the boat to a crawl. “Come, Daisy. Sit next to me.” He patted the seat beside him.
While the waves of Windswan Lake slapped the hulls of the pontoon boat, Trey explained the history of the Starling’s involvement with Yates Petroleum, the setup of the family compound – a main island with the historical cottage, surrounded by smaller islands owned by the Laird’s children. I would be working on Starling Island, along with four other cottage keepers, a kitchen staff with a Michelin star chef, groundskeepers, and one other transportation coordinator like Trey.
“That’s the main cottage.” Trey pointed to the peaks that jutted above the treeline on the island straight ahead. I had grown up in a wealthy home, but it paled in comparison to the expanse of the Starling Estate. As we pulled into one of the ten boat slips next to a private gas pump, I asked Trey the one question that had been on my mind across the lake – the one question that would make the summer bearable. “What’s the charity?”
I held my breath.
“When Laird took over the western operations, he started up an environmental charity.”
