Page 13 of Old Money
I glance reflexively at the giant, old computer monitor on his desk.
“Not that,” Jamie says. “I mean, yes, computers. But I meanalloperations. Dining reservations, function-room bookings—all the basic admin stuff. Oh, and a website.”
“Sure.” I nod, then pause. “Wait. The club has nowebsite?”
Jamie leans back, chuckling.
“When I say we’re out-of-date, I mean straight-up analog. Think rotary phones. Think Brody.”
I nod again. It’s fine. I was alive for dial-up.
“That’s the other thing about this job,” Jamie continues, sitting forward. “It won’t last.”
“Right, it’s just this summer, I know. The listing—”
Jamie shakes his head.
“I’d be surprised if it lasted through July. I gotveryreluctant board approval to make this hire. They don’t want the place ‘modernized’—none of the old guard do. Especially not this summer, with everything going on here.”
Jamie sits back, drumming his fingers on the side of his chair.
“I can’t tell,” I say after moment. “Do I have the job?”
He shrugs, eyebrows raised, his whole body skeptical.
“I can’t think of a reason not to hire you. Not a good one, anyway.”
I feel myself smiling. I’m sitting here blood crusted, and he’s got a stain the size of my cheek on his jacket.
“Aside from the dry-cleaning bill?”
Jamie glances at his shoulder.
“Oh no, I’m going to sue,” he deadpans. “You’ve got the job, but I’ll see you in court.”
“Sounds good.” I nod, standing and extending a hand. “Tomorrow then?”
This time Jamie does follow my lead, standing to shake my hand with a tight smile.
“Nine a.m. Oh, but no sandals. I’ll send you the dress code.”
I’m floored by how smoothly this whole thing’s gone. I guess part of me expectedworsethan just a head-on collision, a fainting spell and a bloody nose.
I pick up my bag and shuffle around my chair, heading through the open door.
“Alice?”
Something sinks inside me before I even turn around. When I do, Jamie is standing with his arms folded, his ears slightly pink.
“About this summer—the thing I said, about everything going on here?”
I look at him, lost. Finally, he spits it out.
“Sorry, I just have to ask. You do know about Susannah, right? I mean, about—”
“Oh! Yes!” I answer, far too brightly. “Definitely.”
“Okay. Great. I just had to—”
