THREE
Her father’s hotel was not in a livable condition so his girlfriend Tilly let Cat crash at their place, which seemed to be in a lot better shape. Cat spent the rest of the night quietly contemplating her fate. Since she’d been unaware that she was about to apply for a job she hadn’t gotten a chance to buy some new clothes, and most of the shops and businesses in Marathon were shut down until people could get some of the devastation under control. That being the case, she supposed she’d just have to make do.
Luckily, her tastes already ran to stylish clothing, and also she’d packed her suitcases and brought almost all of her belongings up to the shelter in Miami when they’d been evacuated a couple of weeks before. And she certainly hadn’t brought them back in and unpacked them at the hotel after they returned. It looked like for the most part she was ready to go.
Well, physically, anyway. But preparing herself mentally for an interview was something else altogether. Especially one that might take a whole week just to get through—if she was lucky enough to last that long. Of course, she had done well in school, and she knew she was capable of doing any job they’d ask her to, it was just that her nerves didn’t think so.
Still, she was ready to go by noon just as she’d been instructed, and waited at the hotel for the car to arrive. When it pulled up and she got a look at the thing—a white sedan complete with the Whitney emblem on its side—her nerves kicked into overdrive. She almost decided not to get inside.
However, she knew that her father was right. There was no way of knowing when, or if, his old hotel would start making money like it used to, and she needed to get on with her life. And if she was going to have to leave, what better company to leave for than one like Whitney? Their spas were among the best in the entire United States, and well worth the price of admission from what she’d heard.
“Good afternoon, Miss Addison,” said the driver. “Make yourself comfortable. This trip should take a little less than an hour, as the traffic seems to be moving quite well today. There’s a bottle of champagne chilling for you, ma’am. It may take the edge off of those jangled nerves—although I don’t recommend drinking the whole thing.”
Cat giggled and smiled at him as she slid inside. “Well, not unless I planned to give a bad first impression of myself, anyway,” she commented.
“Exactly,” he said, giving her a little wink through the rearview mirror. “I’m Chris, by the way. One of Mr. Whitney’s drivers from upstate. And now that I’ve seen the view, I’m seriously considering taking his offer to move down this way. Have you lived in the Keys long?”
“Me?” she shrugged as she fastened her seatbelt. “Not nearly as long as I would like. I first came down here when I was fourteen because my father bought this hotel, but my mother didn’t like the place, so she left him to it and dragged me back to New Orleans. That’s where I’ve lived most of my life. At least until I graduated two years ago and came back here to help him out. This old hotel’s a great place, but it sure could use some polish.”
“It doesn’t look as though that hurricane did it any favors,” he commented as he started the car. “Seems to have lost almost the entire east wall on that far end, and half the roof is gone as well. I guess that must be why you’re headed out to the resort.”
“It is,” she agreed.
“Well then, here we go,” he said with a friendly smile, and then they were on the road. They took the Overseas Highway northeast, passing mobile homes, condos, hotels, businesses and stores all along the road. Finally they reached the Rock Harbor area, where the new resort was tucked away on the end of a dead end road which had once been zoned residential. Whitney must have been forced to pull strings and grease palms to get permission to build his dream resort right there.
The place was beautiful. It was set on what looked to be a three acre rectangle of land, complete with some palm trees scattered here and there and a building at the center marked simply ‘the bar’. The main structure, and in fact all of the structures there, had been set on top of concrete stilts as one way to guard against flooding or other types of damage. A set of wide, concrete steps led up to the entrance, and Cat was obliged to use them to go check herself in for the event.
“Thanks for the ride, Chris,” she said to her driver with a smile. “It was good company.”
“Anytime, miss,” he replied. “I’ll deliver your things to your room, if you’d like. You’re not going to want to haul them around with you all day.”
“Sure, thanks,” she agreed. “See you around?”
“Yes, most likely. I’ve been driving candidates up here over the last few days, so I’ve seen the competition, Miss Addison. I don’t think you need to look so worried.”
Cat blushed. “Thanks.”
She turned and bolted up the steps, smoothing her hands over her pencil skirt along the way. She started to wonder if her sensible flats would draw any notice from the interviewers as she stepped inside, but quickly crushed the thought even as it came into her mind. She was dressed just fine. This was an island, after all, and flats on an island was the norm. This building might be large and fancy, but it had better not be too stuffy if this wing of the Whitney business hoped to survive.
Glancing at the front desk, she saw three women seated close together in deep gossip mode. It wasn’t difficult to figure out they were discussing some of the applicants who had already come through the door. However, when they spotted Cat, they all three smiled, she was relieved to note.
“Hi there, missy,” said one of them. “What job are you here for?”
Cat blushed. “Oh, administrative or housekeeping. My degree is in hospitality.”
“Okay, then go ahead and put your name on one of these corny nametags, and put ‘hospitality degree’ right underneath,” she replied. “Kellen is using the tags to sort people out, since we’ve got about seventy-six of you all told.”
“That’s quite a turn-out,” Cat replied, smiling back at her as she began to write.
“Cat? Is that a nickname? You really should use full.”
“Oh no, it isn’t,” she shrugged as she pulled the back off and slapped the tag into position. “It’s my birth name, I assure you. I’ll just follow the noise. See you around.”
As she stepped away again, Cat saw the three women get back into their huddle. She heard one of them commenting on how unique her name was, and she smirked. That reaction, as least, she was used to. People commented about her name all the time, and the reaction was usually favorable.
The sound of many voices down the hall culminated within a room beyond a set of double doors, both of which were thrown wide open, allowing her to easily step inside. A man at the front of the room was already speaking, but he paused and looked up at her.
“I believe you’re the last contestant, Miss Addison,” he commented before she got too far. “The late arrival, if you will. Could you please close the doors on your way in? Much appreciated.”
“Certainly,” she agreed. “I had no idea I was running late, though. Sorry about that.”
“It’s not a problem. You’re not the party responsible, there just weren’t enough cars on hand,” he explained.
Cat nodded and shut each door, then stepped more fully into the room with its seventy-five other ‘contestants’. It felt like every eye was on her now.
“The seats are all reserved,” Kellen continued in his obviously British tones. “Up here, third row on the right.”
“Yes, I see,” said Cat, smirking. “The empty one.”
Kellen gave her a wink. “Not anymore.”
Blushing, Cat took her seat. She wondered if every Whitney employee of the male persuasion tended to flirt, or if she was looking a bit cuter than she’d intended to be.