Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Mackenzie glances at Genevieve. “Gen, so Cassie is Lydia Tanner’s granddaughter.”
“Oh, are you?” Gen exclaims. “I was obsessed with your grandmother when I was a teenager.”
“Really?” I laugh.
“Oh yeah. I used to see her around town all the time in those big sunglasses and silk scarves. She always wore a scarf, even in the summer.”
“She still does. It’s her trademark.”
“She was the most elegant woman I’d ever seen in my life,” Gen says wistfully. “I wanted to be her when I grew up, and it was my dream to work for her at the Beacon one day. Joke’s on me. Now I’m stuck working for this one.” She jerks a thumb at Mackenzie, but her sparkling eyes tell me she’s joking.
“You work at the Beacon?” I ask.
“I will be when we open in September. I’m going to be the general manager.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of responsibility,” I tell her. “I remember our old manager, this British guy. James De Vries. Grandma flew him in from London, after poaching him from some five-star hotel near Buckingham Palace. He always wore this navy-blue blazer with a gold—”
“—bowtie,” Genevieve finishes, snickering loudly. “Oh, I remember the man. Remember him, Heidi? Mr. De Vries?”
“Oh my God. Yes.” Heidi’s laugh is a bit evil. “We used to hop the fence into the pool area and try to steal people’s cabanas, and De Vries would appear out of fucking nowhere.”
“And every time,” Gen picks up the story, “every damn time he’d greet us with this bland smile and politely ask if we were guests of his fine establishment, even though he clearly knew we were a bunch of delinquent teenagers breaking the rules.”
“He never chased us out, though,” Steph pipes up. “Dude was classy. He’d escort us out through the front doors, then watch us leave while giving one of those stiff Queen of England waves, all distinguished like.”
I laugh, totally picturing what they’re describing. James was the epitome of a well-mannered Brit.
“Meanwhile,” Genevieve says to me, snorting in amusement, “you were probably there legally, sunbathing poolside and watching us being marched past your lounge chair.”
“Actually, we never stayed at the hotel,” I admit. “Before my parents got divorced, we lived in a house on Sycamore. And after that, we stayed at Grandma’s house whenever we were in town for a visit. I would’ve killed to spend an entire summer at the Beacon.”
“Well, you’re in luck,” Mackenzie says cheerfully, “because you now have a room there for life. Free of charge.”
“No way,” I protest. “I could never accept that offer.”
“Seriously? I can,” Genevieve declares. “I totally want the free room.” She shouts up at the deck again. “Hey, Evan, we have a permanent suite at the hotel.”
“Nice,” he shouts back.
“Oh,” Mackenzie says suddenly, glancing at me. “I forgot, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Yeah?” I shift self-consciously and take another sip of my vodka lemonade, aka vodka and a teaspoon of lemonade. I’m already feeling the alcohol, my blood buzzing from it.
“Beach Games is next month,” she says. “You’ve heard of it, right?”
“Yeah, of course. It’s a tradition.”
Beach Games is an annual event in Avalon Bay, where teams representing local businesses compete in, well, beach games. It’s a two-day affair, and I think there’re gift certificates and trophies in it for the winners, but most of the competitors do it for the glory. The honor of being dubbed Best Business on the Bay.
Last time I attended a Beach Games celebration was a few years ago, right before freshman year of college. I went with my dad, and we had a blast watching the various activities. The tug-of-war event that year got real ugly. I remember the old ladies from the bakery brutally heckling the dudes from the mechanic shop. I believe the phrase You’re going down, motherfuckers was uttered more than once. Afterward, Dad and I got ice cream and walked along the boardwalk. It was nice. Maybe he’ll want to go again this year.
“We missed out last year,” Mackenzie says, “but now that the Beacon is back in business we need to put together a team. Your grandmother and I were talking about it this morning and she mentioned nobody in your family ever competed in the Games. She thought you might like joining us on Team Beacon.”
“Me?” I say, startled.
She nods. “You’d be our fourth. Right now it’s me, Gen, and our activities director, Zale.”
“I’m sorry—Zale?” Genevieve’s brother guffaws. “That’s gotta be a fake name.”
“It’s not,” Gen says with a grin. “I questioned it too, so he showed me his birth certificate.”
“Those can be forged,” Jay insists.
“Zale is hilarious,” Mackenzie tells me. “You’ll love him.”
I’m still trying to wrap my head around the offer. “You really want me to be your fourth? Did my grandmother force you into this?” I ask suspiciously.
“Not at all. Like I said, she just mentioned it’s something you might enjoy.”