Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
I miss being pulled every chaotic direction. I’m actually pissed so many decided the Mariner’s Club is “trendier” when VCC is ten times better. Even with the elitist undertones.
At least we’re not harboring a misogynist named Trent Waterford.
It annoys me that the town is still determined to pick sides between the Koning brothers, and it’s translated to them talking with their pocketbooks. Team Jake versus Team Trent has become Victoria Country Club versus the Mariner’s Club.
It’s a petty feud, but bored townspeople aren’t beneath petty. If I weren’t so completely and wholeheartedly Team Jake, maybe—maybe—I’d find entertainment value in the drama. The reality is that I want to stab anyone who tells me they’re leaving VCC for the Mariner’s, which is why I am staying away from knives.
It’s also why I am throwing extra love to those who have stayed. In the form of pleasant smiles.
It’s not hard to maintain real ones when I’ve grown fond of so many people here. Like little old Meara O’Neil, acting like Fizzle royalty while slurping soda and asking for help with the New York Times daily crossword. I do get excited every time I see her rosy-cheeked face.
I bend down behind the bar to restock my tray with Evian from the mini fridge.
“The pool chairs are for guests.” Katherine’s voice grows loud as she walks into the room. “Not staff.”
I freeze in a squat behind the bar. Hidden from view. Ugh. I didn’t intend to accidentally eavesdrop on my boss today.
“Hailey is on a break. It’s one hour.” And that’s Jake talking. Make that two bosses.
“We have a standard to uphold here,” Katherine tells him. “A standard your mother set, whether you appreciate it or not. Membership dues are down by fifty-five percent. We’ve had members…drop out,” she whispers as if the bubonic plague is spreading. “How do you expect anyone to return if they see servers using guest spaces? They’re not paying members, Jake. It’s not fair to those who are.”
“It’s one hour,” Jake says carefully, gently. “Just today. She won’t hurt the reputation of the club, and if she does, we can discuss ways to fix it together.”
He’s so in deep for Hails. Because there’s no way in hell he’d let me use the lounge chairs. He told me to stop stealing peppermints from the front desk last week.
Katherine lets out a resigned sigh. “Just today.”
The room goes quiet, and I wait a solid minute before standing up. Sure enough, they’re gone. My stomach overturns as I process what Katherine said. I knew membership had dropped, but I didn’t realize we were at half capacity already.
Between this, the ragers Trent is throwing that are slowly destroying the Koning estate, and the ongoing legal disputes, Jake must be under a lot of stress.
I don’t think “baby news” will be a lovely addition to his issues. Hailey wants to tell him today…It’ll be fine.
I empathize with her hesitation now. I’m sure she hasn’t wanted to front-load this baggage onto him.
I pull my hair into a high pony. “Could this day get any worse? Signs point to…” I trail off, just smiling as I think of Rocky. He’d totally be giving me shit for even floating the question in the air. His superstitious soul would say I just jinxed myself.
Good thing I don’t carry the same belief.
Heading back to the sunroom, I make my rounds. Not one but three of the ladies give me compliments on my morning brunch recommendation after I tell them to steer clear of the lobster eggs benedict and go for the duck confit hash.
Sipping on her soda, Meara O’Neil watches the news on the only television in the sunroom. An ornate gold frame surrounds the screen like it’ll hide the fact that it’s a TV.
Meara waves me over, which is a departure from her usual intense eye contact to get my attention. When I approach, she asks hurriedly, “Phoebe, turn this up, dear?”
The remote is already secured in my back pocket for this very purpose. I smile—at least I am excelling at something. But when I turn the volume up and focus on the television screen, my lips begin to drop. “Meara, this has been playing for weeks. It’s old news.”
She shoos me with a hand. “They might be saying something new.”
Unlikely.
The news anchor repeats the viral headlines. “As we’ve been reporting, Lily Calloway, daughter of the founder of Fizzle, is a sex addict. She has slept with over fifty men. But today we have breaking news…It’s been confirmed she hired male sex workers.”
Meara gasps.
I almost gasp with her—we have a shared love of tabloid drama. The entire sunroom explodes in a wave of whispers. I stare at images of a thin brunette, her posture a little awkward and her green eyes downcast like she’s camera shy. Well, someone is having a worse day than all of us.