Chapter 2

Philippa Kensington took a seat in the chair that was still warm from the handsome – and agitated – stranger sitting in it moments ago. His lingering musky scent and the memory of his sky blue eyes, glaring daggers at the clerk, made her insides go crazy.

She clutched her handbag tight to keep her hands from trembling. At the age of twenty-two, the proverbial golden spoon had dropped from her mouth and for the first time in her life she was forced to earn money.

Money. Growing up it had always been there. More than she could fathom – or spend. But things had changed. Even with the low costs of living in Aruba several weeks ago, she was running out of money. Fast.

“Good morning, miss. What can I do for you today?” The clerk who’d riled up the handsome man up to a point where the stranger had stomped out of the office like a miffed teenager smiled at her.

 “I need a job.” Great! Don’t make small talk, get straight to the point. Desperate much?

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. We’re the most reputable employment agency on the island. Let me collect your personal data and then I’ll check our database to see if we have anything available.” The clerk straightened some papers on his desk and then folded them atop it, before he took out some forms. “What’s your name?”

“Pippa, I mean Philippa Kensington.” Blood rushed to her head.

The clerk dutifully noted her details on the form and then transcribed it into his computer.

What a waste of time. Why doesn’t he put it into his database right away? Pippa thought.

“What kind of schooling or training do you have? Any diplomas?” He looked at her, spinning his pencil in his hand.

 Schooling? Diplomas? He’s probably not talking about the prep school I graduated from. Pippa came from old money, learning a profession had never been an issue.

“I speak six languages fluently,” she said, giving him a hesitant smile.

The clerk nodded and jotted down something on the form front of him. “Where did you study?”

“The world? I learned to speak those languages by practicing.” Pippa shrugged.

“We need certificates, diplomas, or at least the results of a language test to put this in our database.” He handed her a stack of papers. “Fill these out, include originals or authenticated copies of your diplomas and other certificates. Furthermore we need at least three references from previous employers, preferably in Aruba, and two testimonials from people you are not related to.”

Pippa’s heart sunk and she made an effort not to show her dismay as she stored the packet of papers in her handbag. But then she cleared her throat and said, “I’m not from Aruba and it will take some time to gather all of the paperwork you just mentioned. Can’t you put me into your database anyway?”

“I’m sorry, but without the proper documentation on file we can’t connect you with a potential employer. We are a reputable company. Come back when you have everything.” The clerk dismissed her with a gesture.

“Thank you,” Pippa murmured without looking at him. She had none of the things he required. Not now. And not in a few weeks either. With tears pooling in her eyes, she stood and turned to leave the employment agency.

She doubted she would have more luck in another agency, but maybe she could find work by directly approaching a potential employer? But what kind of work could she do without any experience to speak off?

Pippa wandered down the main street, automatically taking her sandals off as she reached the white beach. She didn’t stop to enjoy the warm sunshine or salty ocean breeze on her skin, but kept wandering, her mind deep in thought. As it stood now, she was broke, alone and out of options.

Her father would never welcome her back in his mansion, and her cheating scumbag of an ex-husband – she’d rather starve than beg him for money. Millions of young girls her age had jobs and maintained themselves. Why not her? Just because she didn’t have a formal education?

“No way! Now more than ever!” Pippa pumped her fist into the air, at the surprised glances of some beachgoers. She quickly turned away and walked several minutes, passing beach vendors who pitched their bracelets, fake brand sunglasses, and other rubbish to the tourists.

In her head she calculated how much money she still had and whether she could get one last juice at one of the beach bars. As she approached one of the cute wooden huts with a thatched roof made of dried palm leaves, a brilliant thought occurred to her. I could work as a waitress or barmaid. Mixing cocktails. Pressing juice. Handing out snacks. How hard can that be?

Pippa gathered all her courage and stepped onto the tiny porch. At this time of the morning, she was the only guest and the bartender was clearly excited to see her.

“Good morning, beautiful. What can I get you?”

Pippa gave him her best smile and cocked her head to the side. “A job?”

The bartender looked at her for a moment and then shook his head. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m not familiar with that one. What’s in it?”

“No, I mean, I need work.”

“Oh.” The bartender grabbed the rag from his shoulder and wiped the counter down. “You ever waitress before?”

“No, but I’m a fast learner.” Pippa didn’t even consider lying, as he’d find out sooner or later anyway.

“I’m sure you are, but I don’t have the patience or the time to train anyone right now. You might check with some of the other bars further down the beach. Someone is always looking for part-time help.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.” Pippa smiled and turned to step off the porch. At least the man hadn’t brushed her away like the clerk at the employment agency. And he didn’t ask you for diplomas. That’s a plus.

With newfound hope she walked down the white sand and inquired in a similar fashion at the next three beach bars. To no avail. Everyone preferred a skilled worker they wouldn’t have to train.

Pippa sat down on the wet sand after she left bar number four. That hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped. Damn! In her former life as a spoilt, rich society girl her parents had employed a legion of servants for literally everything. Cooking. Cleaning. Laundry. Errands. Gardening. Tutoring. Even opening the front door and announcing the arrival of guests.

Mingling, making smart conversation while playing a gracious hostess, dressing fashionably, and organizing charity events, now, those were her areas of expertise.

Skills that would get her nowhere in Aruba.