Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Susan and Patrick Clark raised me in the suburbs of Ohio—two accountants whose idea of a wild night consists of popping in a DiGiorno and working ahead on company audits. They live in a squat one-story in a suburb filled with squat one-stories. Their living room furniture all falls into a restricted spectrum of light gray with beige accents.
I’m smart. Like them, I’m good at math, so I went off to college and double majored in business and finance. I didn’t even think much of it. Of course I would major in those subjects. It didn’t strike me as anything all that important until the night of my college graduation, seven years ago. My parents took me to a world-renowned steak house where they both ordered salads with sides of soup, no bread.
My dad spoke up in a monotone voice and told me that he’d put in a good word at his company. If I wanted, I had a position there. Working with him.
I could get a house in their neighborhood, gray furniture of my own.
That night, I applied to graduate school for hospitality management. When looking for jobs, I only considered locations my parents would never go.
It’s why I’m here in Turks and Caicos.
I understand it’s not exactly the idyllic version of things. You’re supposed to know your life’s passion from infancy, right out of the womb. Bam—you want to be a doctor? Here, have this toy stethoscope. Apparently, I should have been playing bellman and concierge as a young child. Even still, I’ve found that I really enjoy this field. Coming from two robots, it’s no surprise that I like searching out inefficiencies, numbers that don’t add up, systems that can be tweaked and made perfect. I rose fast in the ranks because of my attention to detail, and now I have my sights set on a director position within the resort.
It’s why I’m taking this early-morning meeting with Todd Weaver.
Todd Weaver has a paunch belly and a bad toupee. He’s perpetually cleaning something out of his front teeth with the tip of his tongue, and never, not once, has he applied enough deodorant to mask the stench of his body odor. I want his job. I want him off this island. I never want to smell his particular brand of musk ever again.
“You’re doing a damn fine job here, Cole. A damn fine job.”
Yes, obviously. I already know that.
Todd sits behind his desk, leaned back so the buttons on his shirt are giving everything they’ve got. Hold, brothers!
Behind him, there’s a panoramic view of the ocean. I love swimming out there in the morning before work. I enjoy running along the beach, too, hiking through the island trails, anything that gets me outside. Turks and Caicos has so much to offer, and I take full advantage. Back in my suburb of Ohio, we had a man-made lake that shone sickly blue from the chemicals they pumped into it. Surrounding it was a pale concrete running path. No trees. Not a single one. It’s like there was an ordinance against them.
I’m never leaving this island.
“I can trust you, can’t I, Cole?”
Todd’s been talking, and I accidentally tuned him out. This question has me shift my gaze off the beach, back to his sweaty face.
“Of course.”
“You’re my second-in-command, my wingman, if you will.”
He winks, and I hope my expression skews more toward a smile than a grimace, but it’s hard to tell without standing in front of a mirror. My people skills are admittedly lacking.
“I’ve been considering making some major changes around here. There’s a few departments that I think have ballooned up out of control for no good reason.”
“Oh? Which departments?” I ask, playing along.
He goes on to tell me that entertainment and hospitality was identified on a recent audit as having a “highly slashable” budget. He wants to restructure and trim the fat, banking on the fact that the resort’s overwhelmingly positive guest reviews will remain on travel sites even after the team responsible for earning them has been gutted. Todd is a lot of things, but genius isn’t one of them.
First up on his chopping block is the aging clown traumatizing hotel guests during what’s meant to be a kid-friendly brunch (he’s got a COPD cough and a penchant for making references to children’s shows from the Reagan administration while bewildered kids frown at their uninspired balloon animals). He was a personal favorite of the previous CEO, but he’s been working past his expiration date for some time.
Next is the rotating cadre of B-list musicians, one-hit wonders, and cover bands that serenade the crowds in the cocktail lounge on nights and weekends. Nothing a little Spotify playlist can’t replace, he thinks.
I’m taking notes on my iPad, jotting down the gist of his speech right up until he says, “Paige Young.”