I can do this for him, even if being tied to a desk for the foreseeable future is the last thing I want. Maybe if I’d been a better grandson I would’ve known how dire things were and stepped up earlier.
I’ve been so goddamn angry at myself for it. It’s been a rough four weeks dealing with my grief and discovering the extent of the company’s problems and I haven’t hidden my irritation well. I’ve snapped at staff, been abrupt to the point of rudeness with the board and almost sacked a decade-long employee for daring to question me.
I’m not proud of my behaviour, so when Kevin tactfully suggested I take a daily dose of happy pills—translated to snap the fuck out of it—I knew what I had to do. Shelve my guilt at being a poor excuse for a grandson. Make up for it by focussing on restoring the hotel chain to its former glory. Then appoint a great manager and hit the road like I always do.
‘I’d rather meet the PR rep on my own, then when her boss arrives maybe the four of us can get together later tomorrow?’
‘Fine by me.’ Kevin tosses back the rest of his drink. ‘Anything else you need?’
‘Kev, you’re my PA, not my butler.’ I point at the door. ‘The night is young. Go mingle.’
‘I could say the same about you.’ He hesitates, a wry grin creasing his face. ‘Maybe that’s why you’re so grumpy. When’s the last time you got laid?’
Too long ago to count, not that I’m interested. I’ve got too much to focus on. Like ensuring I pay back all Pa gave me, even if he won’t know it. But I’ll know, deep down in that place no one has ever touched, and for now that will have to be enough.
Besides, I don’t date. I seek pleasure on occasion but most women shy away from me. They take one look at my permanent glower and either run or think they can redeem me. I’m not amenable to the latter.
‘Hey.’ Kevin snaps his fingers in my face. ‘If it takes you this long to figure out how long since you’ve done the deed, it’s been too long.’
‘Done the deed? What are you, thirteen?’
‘Fifty this year and proud of it.’ He wiggles the third finger on his left hand. ‘And this gold band says I can get laid whenever and however many times I want.’
‘It also says your wife carries your balls in her handbag.’
Kevin guffaws and I find myself laughing along with him. I rarely laugh. The occasional chuckle, maybe. But the cities I live in, surrounded by the poor and vulnerable, don’t make me feel like smiling much, let alone laughing.
Pa understood my need to help kids like me. He recognised my restlessness after I’d completed my economics degree and worked alongside him in the hotel business for two years. He’d been grooming me and I’d done my damnedest to make him proud. But it hadn’t been enough and he was man enough to let me go. Sure, I’d accepted a token position. Hotel Quality Control. Basically, an invented position akin to a mystery shopper where I’d travelled the world, checking into the company’s hotels, and reporting back on everything from cleanliness of the linen to room service.
Pa swore my feedback mattered, that he instigated measures to improve hotel failings. I think I could’ve written my monthly reports in Mandarin and he wouldn’t have noticed, that’s how much faith he had in me.
I owe him. Big time.
‘On that note, I better go find my balls.’ Kevin stands and stretches his arms overhead. ‘Let me know how the meeting in the morning goes.’
‘Shall do.’ I salute, glad that I have a guy like Kevin to lead me through the maze.
Being Pa’s assistant for thirty years ensures he knows everything there is to know. He’s invaluable to me. More like a mate, even though he’s old enough to be my dad.
Considering the mammoth task of getting this resort back on track, I’m glad he’s giving me a hand.
I need all the help I can get.
Daisy
‘I’LL HAVE THE most colourful cocktail on the menu, please.’
I point at the chalkboard behind the bar like a pro, when in fact I get tipsy after one glass of wine.
The cute barman who bears a passing resemblance to a young Mel Gibson flashes me a grin, like he knows exactly how much of a phoney I am, before turning away to grab a multitude of bottles.
If all that alcohol is going into my cocktail, I’m in trouble. I don’t care. This is my first night on Gem Island, one of the jewels in the Whitsundays, and I’m about to do a kickass PR job for the most enigmatic man on the planet.
I’ve done my research. He’s an introvert who prefers travelling the world doing a menial job in Ralfe Rochester’s hotel empire to following in his illustrious grandfather’s footsteps. He has a limited social media presence. There’s nothing to suggest he’ll be a capable replacement for one of Australia’s famous hoteliers who died recently, leaving Hart his sole heir.
According to my research, the Rochester business empire is floundering, which is where I come in. If I can make the Rochester hotels attractive to clientele, it’ll be a massive coup professionally and one step closer to my goal: starting my own PR firm.
‘Here you go.’ The barman places a giant martini glass in front of me, filled with a pale purple liquid that has a sprig of lavender floating in it. ‘Go easy. It’s strong.’
‘Thanks, what is it?’ I feign nonchalance as I pick up the glass, swirling it like an expert.
‘It’s a Gorgeous Gem, one of my award winners.’
I look suitably impressed and he continues. ‘Vodka, white rum, coconut, house-made lavender syrup, lychee juice, lemon juice and a secret ingredient I can’t reveal.’ He leans across the bar, close enough that I realise he smells as delicious as his cocktail. ‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you.’
He winks and I hide how flustered I am by taking a big sip. Bad move. Catastrophic. Because I choke and cough and splutter, demonstrating I’m lousy with alcohol and a hopeless flirt.
He chuckles. ‘Let me know when you want another.’
Try never, I refrain from saying, taking a more cautious sip this time. It’s amazing: fruity and sweet, with a powerful kick. I take a bigger sip, enjoying the buzz. Who knows, I might even order another? Alf, my boss, isn’t arriving until tomorrow, so tonight I can relax.
I never do this back home in Brisbane. Not for the last twelve months, since my engagement to Casper imploded. Our engagement lasted three months, doubling the time I’d dated him. Turns out the perfect guy on paper isn’t so perfect to live with.
Thoughts of Casper make me skol the rest of my cocktail. It burns my throat but man, I feel good. Better than good. Freaking invincible. Filled with false bravado, I order another.
‘Thanks.’ I flash him my best dazzling smile when he places it in
