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WILLOW
Well. I have to admit, this is impressive.
Pulling up to the club, it's easy to understand how Sawyer got to be the way he is. I guess if you were raised in this world, you tend to adopt the idea that you’re a big deal. The gorgeous, gleaming clubhouse shines like a beacon in the bright midday sun, promising wealth and exclusivity. I'm sure if anyone doubts for a moment just how special and privileged they are, they only need to pay a visit to the Yacht Club to be reminded.
Here, there's no chance of crossing paths with lesser humans—that is, except for the staff, but then I'm sure they don't count.
Alright, so I'm a little bitter. More than a little, in fact. Even though I'm rolling down the winding driveway in a Lexus, wearing a Chanel suit and carrying a Versace tote, I'm not fooling myself. Not like I did when I was a kid. I will never be one of them. I am merely a means to an end, another member of the staff. It doesn’t matter how many zeroes there are in my fee. I’ll never be on Sawyer’s level.
That's fine by me. I’ve spent enough time around rich people to know I don't have much patience for them, anyway. It's sort of like the best of both worlds. I have plenty of money—not billions like the Cargill family, but I'm doing very well for myself. Still, I'm grounded. Realistic. I think that's what helps me with my job, being realistic. Understanding the way so-called common folk think. It's sort of my secret weapon, and it's invaluable.
When I look at it that way, the time I spent feeling undervalued and unwanted was a good thing, but I'll be damned if I thank Sawyer for it, though.
There's a valet waiting by the time I pull up to the big, circular courtyard at the entrance to the clubhouse. As soon as I open the door he extends a hand to help me from the car. “Good afternoon. Welcome to Somerset Harbor Yacht Club.”
Boy, he has these kids trained well. I'm sure this is an excellent job for someone in their teens, though I've known enough wealthy people to doubt the tips are all that great. For the most part, the wealthy like to hold on to their wealth.
With that in mind, I slip the kid a fifty-dollar bill. “And you'll get another one when I come back,” I promise, grinning to myself at the way his eyes light up. Something tells me he is going to baby my car.
Rather than go straight inside, I choose instead to take a short tour of the exterior. I want to get an idea what this place is like. What's at stake. Sure, he'll make it sound like the world is ending—and I'm sure for him, it feels like it is. I've found it's better to form my own opinion.
It's clear the staff takes pride in what they do. The grounds are manicured within an inch of their life. No matter how closely I look, I can't find so much as a blade of grass longer than the others. I can't help but imagine a gardener out here on his hands and knees, trimming with a pair of scissors to make sure nothing is missed. There's not a hint of a weed in the lush flower beds whose fragrance stirs a smile when a soft breeze carries it my way.
The sprawling building features a wide, deep terrace which I stroll across while gazing out at the harbor. It's like something out of a fantasy, some idealized image that could have come straight from a tourism ad. There are sailboats docked, bobbing gently on water that sparkles in the sun. My attention is focused in that direction while I round the building, eventually reaching an outdoor dining area overlooking the harbor.
On such a warm, brilliant day, I would expect every table to be full. Instead, they're at half capacity. I can't help but imagine how it must stick in Sawyer's craw to see this.
And I can't help smiling to myself. I'm sure he considers my arrival his salvation.
Is he in for a big surprise.
“Good afternoon.” A pretty, bubbly girl wearing a sky blue polo approaches while I survey the dining area. “Will you be joining us for lunch today?”
“No, I'm here on business.” Is it just me, or does her face fall slightly? Looking at her, I can't help but feel sorry for being pleased at how quiet things seem. I'm sure having fewer customers cuts into her tips, poor kid.
“I don't think there are any meetings scheduled for today, but I can go inside and check.”
“I have a meeting with Mr. Cargill,” I inform her with a gentle smile. “I was only taking a short walk around to explore before heading up.”
“I see. Well, enjoy. If you need any assistance finding Mr. Cargill's office, just let me know.” She hurries off to one of the tables and I continue my tour, heading back the way I came from. I almost wish I hadn't met that girl, because now I can't help thinking about all the other people whose livelihoods are at stake. If I were to take this job—which I am not going to do, not under any circumstances—I would do it for them, not for Sawyer.
If anything, my bitterness toward him only intensifies. It's not enough for him to screw up his own life. He has to jeopardize everybody around him, too. It doesn't come as a surprise, though. No matter how much time has passed, he is always going to be the person I knew back in the day. A leopard doesn't change its spots.
Our meeting was supposed to start five minutes ago, so I'm sure he's biting his nails down to the quick by now. The sudden lurch in my stomach speaks the truth I didn't want to admit to myself but can't avoid, I'm not only taking my time to make him sweat. When I get right down to it, I'm not looking forward to seeing him. Even though I know I'll have the upper hand, that he needs me way more than I ever needed him or ever will for that matter, the idea of being in the same room with him after all these years makes my palms sweat and my knees shake.
You can do this. One step at a time.I am not that girl anymore. I will not let him make me feel small or unworthy the way it was so easy for him to do when we were kids.
For the first time in his privileged life, Sawyer Cargill will be the one feeling small and unworthy.
I hope he can handle it.
But something tells me he can't.
