Honestly, I’m way past that. In fact, I’ve progressed to corporate…what? Espionage? Sabotage? Dwelling on it too deeply makes me a little ill, so I won’t. I won’t take it that far, anyway. I won’t need to. It all became clear the moment Connor sent me the hiring paperwork. It’s not about making Bliss Resort look bad—just average. He’s got a team of people at Global optimizing every new social media trend as it happens, so he can make whoever the competing client is look like a million dollars.
What I need to focus on is that the signing bonus from Connor was just enough to rent a moving company to take my stuff to a Ruby Bay storage unit at the last minute, get myself here, and make some credit card payments.
So no, I’m not that girl anymore.
But the Bliss Resort has a towering ficus that’s perfect to lurk behind while I plan my next move. I’ll only be here for a moment so I can catch my breath and compose myself into the grown-woman version of me. The version of me who swore on the drive to Ruby Bay that not only am I going to work for Roman Bliss, I’m also going to show him exactly what he’s been missing out on.
I do have one critique for him already, and it has to do with parking instructions. The man is already throwing out stumbling blocks, but I will not be stumbled.
All the hiring materials tell you is where to park—in the employee lot behind the main resort building—but they’re not particularly clear about where its offices are. From behind the ficus I can see one sign with an arrow—OFFICES—but I’m not sure where it goes, or whether I’m supposed to walk right past the front desk, or anything else.
Be professional. That’s the first rule of this job, and it’s especially the first rule for today. For professionalism is the key to attractiveness. A guy like Roman Bliss is only going to be into me if I can get on his level—which, as I recall from school, was a million miles above everyone else. And I knew I’d never get there unless I reshaped myself into someone new.
And now I’m teetering on the brink of falling right back down to where I was if I fail this assignment and he sees the part of me cowering in my high heels.
Not a chance, not a chance, not a chance. I am no longer Genevieve Starlight, second-lowest on the social ladder at all of Ruby Bay High. I am Jenny London, social media queen and definite professional who can absolutely, one-hundred-percent handle working for Roman Bliss, and more.
Behind the ficus tree I straighten my back, hike my purse up on my shoulder, and arrange my face into the warm, confident half-smile that graces each and every one of the YouTube videos I’ve made to shore up my business.
Yes. Confidence. This is what it’s all about. I will enter this day with confidence, with grace, and a big step out from behind the ficus—
And directly into a bellboy carrying a tray of champagne glasses.
His facial expression metamorphoses from neutrally welcoming to a flash of irritation to oh, fuck me all in the space of an instant, and while I’m watching the display of human facial acrobatics in action, the champagne glasses do a different kind of acrobatics. They leap gracefully from the tray and swan dive toward the floor. Two of them have their fall broken by my boobs.
In my white dress shirt.
Glass breaking on tile snaps me out of this momentary fixation and back to the present.
“Oh, ma’am, I am so sorry—” The bellboy whips a white cloth off his arm and thrusts it toward me. His face does another hectic sprint through horror and yikes and boobs before he realizes that he should not, in fact, dab at my boobs with his cloth and hands it to me instead.
“It’s fine.” It’s not fine. “It’s completely fine. I’ll—”
I’ll just stand here and short-circuit, that’s what I’ll do. I’m supposed to be meeting Roman Bliss in his offices in ten minutes, and now I look like I’m competing in the Bliss Resort’s first-ever champagne wet t-shirt contest.
All the work I’ve done flies straight out of my brain and into the puddle of champagne at my feet. I’ve prepared for a number of different scenarios, and this was not one of them. The Tide pen in my purse isn’t going to dry champagne in ten minutes. A hand-dryer in a bathroom might, but I’d have to count on them having one, and knowing where the bathroom is. I spin on one heel, squeaking my way a full three hundred and sixty degrees, but I don’t see the bathroom that I know must be here.
When I complete my revolution my stomach lurches.
In fact, I don’t have ten minutes.
In fact, I’ve completely run out of time.
Because here comes Roman Bliss.
He strides across the lobby with a look of mild consternation on his face.
I might as well be standing in the hallway outside art class again, knowing he’s about to come out of world literature, cheeks burning even though a guy like Roman would never bother to see a girl like me. I feel exactly that hot and bothered at the sight of him—at the sight of his tall, muscled frame, at the sight of those Bliss blue eyes, at the styled dark hair that’s never once looked dorky, unlike me, unlike everything about me—
Oh, God, stop. This is finally my chance to one-up him. I can’t melt into myself.
I’m rooted to the spot. This time, we’re not in high school and he’s staring right at me. He has seen me in all my terrible disarray, and this is not how I wanted to—
For some reason, all I can think to do is to tug my shirt out of my pencil skirt so it’s not tucked in anymore. The moment it comes free my brain explodes in a shrieking chorus of what the hell are you doing???? and I have no idea. What was I thinking? Was I going to tie it up in a little knot like a pre-transformation Britney Spears? No. And now I’m standing here with an untucked shirt, with big round spills of champagne making the white very nearly transparent, and Roman Bliss.
He comes to a stop at an intimate distance, which I immediately realize is to shield me from the rest of the lobby, and looks down at the bellboy. “Get a key to the corner suite on three. Don’t just stand there—we also need someone to clean this up. Can’t have any guests tripping.”
Greg the Bellboy takes these orders like a soldier in the field and hustles off. Suite? Three?
Then Roman’s eyes are on mine, and there’s a flash of surprise in his gaze, one that fills his eyes and cascades over the rest of his face. He blinks, like he was expecting to see something else entirely. “Genevieve.”
A second ago I thought I might burst into flame, but hearing that name is like being submerged in ice water. I draw myself up to my full height, transparent shirt be damned. “It’s Jenny. Jenny London.”
“I can’t believe—” He snaps his mouth shut and I feel a little thrill of pleasure. “Let me take you upstairs to one of our suites. You can take a moment before we meet. His voice is still as smooth as it was back then, only deeper and more manly and a thousand times hotter than I’d anticipated. “Greg will be right back with a key.”
“A whole suite?” I try to be dismissive, but my voice isn’t quite cooperating. “That won’t be necessary. I can just—” Just what? Sit across from him like this? That’s no way to get his attention.
On the other hand….
“It’s the least I can do.” Then Roman takes me by the arm and ushers me across the lobby like I’m a visiting dignitary and not his newest employee, and I…