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I move quickly down the hall. I’m getting the lay of the land. We came in on a lower deck, level with the dock. This floor is where my cabin is and leads out to the party deck with the pool, buffet, hot tub, and bar.
But there is an upper level, probably with more upscale cabins. I wonder if that’s where Rhett is staying.
Doesn’t matter. I rush to the safety of my room with my bonus food.
Tonight, I’ll enjoy my cabin, take a late stroll in the dark of night, and tomorrow will be the big day that I shock the hell out of Dougherty Inc.
8
RHETT
The next morning dawns bright.
I head to the gym below deck, unsurprised to find it empty at six a.m. The live band played well beyond the midnight buffet.
I worked straight through dinner, reviewing the marketing requisitions. The new company that caused all the fuss didn’t deliver much of anything. Half a million going nowhere.
All managed by Bailey, who had ardently championed the new campaign for Dougherty. I remember getting these requisitions.
A new mission statement? A logo redesign that no one asked for? A list of contacts that were primarily defunct? Who was checking the cost against the results?
I trace back the invoices and the deliverables, but I don’t have the correspondence, only the numbers and lists. It’s not enough information to follow the trail to its source. Hopefully, I got Bailey out of the office fast enough that she wasn’t able to delete her email history.
The treadmill hums as it cranks into a higher gear, the mechanism lifting the base at a steep angle. I focus on theworkout, keeping the stride strong and sure. I clear my mind, staying present, but the moment the program slides into a recovery pace, my mind is back on it.
Marketing. Money. Bailey.
I can picture her face when I fired her. She seemed to shut down, like she’d expected it to happen. I wanted her to fight me, prove me wrong. But she sank onto the sofa, stunned, like she hadn’t planned on anyone catching her.
What was that company she was using? Something owned by a family member? A friend? This mysterious Maxwell?
My hand slams on the bar. Of course. Dougherty Inc. has been funding that lavish lifestyle. It totally makes sense.
I crank the machine into a higher level, running at a punishing pace to burn off my anger. I have zero remorse for firing her.
She’ll be doing fine, if Maxwell hasn’t spent it all.
Damn it.
Right under my nose.
The treadmill beeps, signaling the end of the program. I consider doing another, but my watch chimes a warning that I have an hour until a small boat will tender us to the private island.
That activity is one I can’t ignore, as it’s an all-day thing. The island is small, only a mile across. It’s owned by Blue Sapphire and is completely undeveloped to make visitors feel like they have escaped the world.
I wrap a towel around my neck and endeavor to set aside my anger at what happened to the company on my watch. In the hallway, I pass several sleepy employees headed to the breakfast buffet on the pool deck. We simply nod in greeting.
I’ve decided on coffee in my room. I’ll do plenty of peopling on the island.
I’m calmer by the time I’m showered and dressed in swim trunks and a Pickle Deli T-shirt that says, “This is a Big Dill.” Hopefully, it will seem slightly less rigid while still maintaining my inherent boss-ness.
Made of stone. They have no idea who the real Rhett Armstrong is.
But I’m not exactly able to show them.
When I make it downstairs, the first boat has already filled with eager employees and guests. I stand at the back of the group to wait, but Sarah, the VP of operations, waves at me. “Rhett, come on. We have room for one more.”
With a nod from the uniformed man who is ushering people onto the boat, I move through the others with a tight smile, and plenty of “excuse me” and “thank you.”
