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She takes the phone away from her ear and looks at the screen blankly before her blue eyes light up and she presses something. “Finally found the mute.” She goes back to the couch where she very casually threw her laptop and picks it up.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
She sets the laptop on her desk and barely gives me a passing glance as she scrolls through something on her touchscreen, sighing a little as she seems to struggle with finding what she needs.
“I’ll explain later.” Now she’s chewing on her bottom lip and muttering something to herself about what all the colors stand for.
Which probably means she’s in the scheduling app, which Britta had organized so well with coordinating colors.
After she returns to the call and finishes it, I speak up. “What was that about?”
“Don’t worry your pretty head,” she says, going back to her laptop. “You’ll get an alert about it. Now, where were we?”
She smiles as if she knows she’s good. Man, it’s attractive. And I kind of like her dark-red lipstick against her straight, white teeth.
“Um, okay. But maybe the way you answered the phone was a little . . . much?”
Her face is quizzical and then she shrugs. “Alrighty. Which part do you want me to change?”
The whole thing? But I can’t be rude. “Just maybe the perkiness?”
Her mouth drops open. “I’m too perky now?” She nods and then crushes her lips together and lets out a long breath. “I’ll try to tone down the perkiness.” Her eyes grow wide and she focuses on her screen again. “What do you need to debrief me on next?”
A dash of regret hits me. She’s trying her best. This is only her second day on the job. I know I need to not bring up every single complaint I have about her performance.
“Let’s discuss the way I’d like you to prepare and review the documents we have.”
Her mouth twitches and it feels like some nerves have hit her. But she nods and I start in, pulling up on the large screen on the far wall to show her the various ways we store documents in the company and how they’re shared with the teams at each resort.
After several minutes of this, I’m tired of talking.
I’ve decided I don’t like change, because a burnt feeling hits my gut as I think back to when Britta was here and we were on our way to our big goal. Britta was the only other person—besides Ethan—to even know about it, mostly because I needed her to keep me accountable for meeting the deadlines I’d given myself to achieve it. But now that she’s gone, I should probably tell Elianna about it.
“Hey, guys,” Oliver says as he walks into my office. It would be nice if he could knock every once in a while, but no, Oliver thinks he can just come in anytime.
Elianna stands and offers him her hand and a wide grin. “Is this your brother?” she asks me. “Ethan told me you had a basket full of them, but I wasn’t sure if he was exaggerating or not.”
“I’m Oliver, and you must be the new assistant?” He shakes her hand and smiles, his brows going up in the air. His gaze takes her in, but I know he’s totally gone for his fiancé, Sophie. He’s probably noticing how her bright green dress looks exactly like what our mom used to wear to church when we were little. And hey, people can dress how they want, but Elianna’s style, with her complicated makeup and her hair that’s neither curly nor straight, confuses me.
Oliver is talking a mile a minute. “Where are you from? I’ve only met your brother once, and I can’t remember.” As soon as she answers that she grew up in Orange County, he’s right into asking her other questions like “Was it hard to up and move on such short notice?” and, “What do you think of Longdale?”
All excellent questions I should have asked her. I’ve been so standoffish and so rigid in my anxiety to get this new situation up and running that I haven’t taken the time to get to know her at all.
The thing is, I want to. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met and there’s a lot I’d like to learn about her. But I have blinders on where Tate International is concerned, and I’m not the best at social norms. I have Oliver to help with that, so it usually works out. But I need to step it up with Elianna.
They talk for a solid five minutes before I clear my throat. “Well, Oliver, did you need something?”
“The purchasing department has a lot of questions about the Florida project,” he says.
The purchasing department. One of the last groups of corporate employees still in our Denver offices. The past year, I’ve slowly been bringing those who are willing to relocate to Longdale. And I haven’t told a single soul this yet, not even Oliver or any of the family, but I plan to make Longdale my permanent home.
I haven’t owned a home. Ever. At thirty-five, I figured it was time. So, a few months ago, I started taking steps in that direction.
All of this is on the down-low because I’m not ready to tell people yet. I know it’s strange, but I sort of want to know I’ve made the Deca Arete list before I announce it. Because there’s something so indulgent about it, building a house near my childhood vacation spot and settling here. I’ve never settled anywhere. As soon as I started the company, I was living where the resorts were being built. I had to be there at the sites the whole time.
And now? I just want to breathe. I can’t slow down the company’s momentum. But truth be told, I do feel a little tired of living in the resorts I’m building. I want to put down roots, which I find odd because I’m not ready to get married or have kids.
I can’t. I don’t know how. My family life growing up taught me two things: marriage is painful, and being a parent means you’ll disappoint your kids, maybe beyond repair.
