Susan, Mr. Orso’s assistant, wasn’t a happy person. Her fingers tapped on her keyboard, and she didn’t look up at Charla. Instead she raised one finger and continued to type. Once finished, he looked up from her computer screen. Her gaze traveled over Charla. One eyebrow cocked upward as if to say, This is what you wear to meet with your boss?
“I’m sorry.” Charla crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d just gotten out of the shower when you called. I didn’t have much time—”
“Right this way.” Susan stood from her desk and escorted Charla into Mr. Orso’s office. “He’s in a meeting with a guest. A very angry guest. Mr. Hughes? I believe you two met?”
Charla’s stomach tightened. She nodded.
“Have a seat, and Mr. Orso will be with you soon.”
Charla sank into a chair in front of Mr. Orso’s desk and closed her eyes. Alabama. Alaska. Arizona. Arkansas. She took a deep breath. California. Colorado. Another deep breath and this time a long exhale. Calm. Calm. Calm. Reciting the states calmed her. She opened her eyes and gazed out the window behind Mr. Orso’s desk. Connecticut. She’d hadn’t been to Connecticut, but it was definitely on her list. Delaware. Florida. Georgia—
“Ah, Miss Duvall.”
Charla looked at the large man who walked from the office door to his desk. He was round; perhaps once upon a time he’d been athletic, but now he was just round and soft. A nervous energy bounced off him and around him as though he might catapult onto a piece of furniture or scale the walls of his office.
Charla didn’t stand. She didn’t want to give Mr. Orso easy access with his hands or his eyes. Lecherous behavior seemed to be a theme at Mesquale today.
“I’ve just come from a unpleasant meeting about you.”
“Me?” Charla’s throat tightened. She’d done nothing wrong. Nothing. If anyone were to blame, it was Mr. Hughes.
“Mr. Hughes, who as you may know is a frequent guest of Mesquale, is upset. Very, very upset.” Mr. Orso sat behind his desk. “He’s considering pressing charges.”
Charla leaned forward. Any fear she might feel, any kind of discomfort or embarrassment, was quickly turning to justified rage. “What kind of charges?”
“He reports that you attacked him. An unprovoked attack. He questions your mental stability.”
“My mental stability?” Heat flashed up her neck and into her cheeks. “The man grabbed my breast. He reached down the front of my shirt and grabbed my breast. How could my mental stability be in question?”
Mr. Orso held up his hand. “Yes, indeed, each side always has their story. Mr. Hughes indicated that yours might be quite different than his.” Mr. Orso’s gaze dropped to her breasts. “He said that your story might indicate certain behaviors on his part that simply did not occur. Mr. Hughes is a very wealthy and powerful man. You’re aware of this?”
“I’m aware he’s an alcoholic who likes to grab women once he’s drunk. That’s what I’m aware of.”
“And you’re aware that there are no witnesses to what happened.”
Charla’s stomach pitted and an oily feeling churned in her gut. “What? No witnesses? The entire beach was full. Every chaise lounge had a guest—”
“All of whom I’ve spoken to, and none of whom saw anything.”
Charla’s heart sank to her toes. No one. Not one of those wealthy snobs was willing to come to the rescue of a staff member. Of course not. So similar to Bertram and his horrible father. She closed her eyes. What came after Connecticut … oh my goodness was it Colorado? No that was before …
Why would she expect anything different from the guests of Mesquale? Hadn’t Bertram’s family proved to be exactly the same when she’d told Bertram about his father? They’d been rich, she’d been poor and, according to Bertram’s mother, trash, so Charla must be making up what Bertram’s father had tried to do.
“What about security cameras?”
Mr. Orso leaned back in his chair, and a hint of surprise captured his face. Did he think she’d cave? She wouldn’t. She’d been toyed with and played. She’d lost at this game once before, and she didn’t intend to fold easily as though she were a piece of parchment paper, thin and unstable within a windstorm.
“Unfortunately, the security cameras do not reach to that part of the beach.”
“So Mesquale admittedly puts their employees at risk by failing to take appropriate security measures?”
Mr. Orso’s big, bloated face reddened. A film of perspiration gleamed on his upper lip. “You should be aware that Mr. Hughes believes that you might be attempting to extort money from him. With no witnesses and no cameras, what choice do I have but to believe him?”
“What choice? You have the choice to stand by your staff, by me, who’s worked at Mesquale for nine months without one complaint, and to not believe some lecherous lothario with an alcohol problem who is surfing away daddy’s money.”
“Mr. Hughes happens to be the president of one of the largest media distributors in North America.”
“He’s also a douchebag with grabby hands.”
“Miss Duvall!” Orso’s eyes widened, and he passed his hand over his jaw.
“And what about the staff? Have you talked to Liam or the new bartender, Ryan?”
“I have not.”
“They were there. You need to speak to them.”
“I don’t need to do anything.” His eyes narrowed. “Mesquale’s policy is quite clear and stated in the employee handbook which you signed. If a guest files a formal complaint, which Mr. Hughes has done, then you may be terminated at my discretion.” Mr. Orso leaned forward and placed his hands on his desk. He tilted his head and licked his meaty lips. “Of course, there are often, concessions … that can be made.” His gaze dropped again to her breasts, and then he slowly and methodically he worked his view up and over her body.
Charla’s stomach tilted, and her throat tightened. Heat flamed her cheeks. “Mr. Orso!” She jumped from her chair. Did she telegraph an I’m here for your pleasure vibe? Why did all these powerful men think she’d fall into the sack with them? “What are you insinuating?”
“Nothing, Miss Duvall. Absolutely nothing.” He sat back in his office chair, a narrow look of defeat on his face. “Your termination is effective immediately. Susan will schedule you passage on the first flight from Mesquale in the morning.” He reached for a pen and signed the termination paper on his desk. “This is yours.” He held it to her. “Do not expect a positive recommendation.”
Charla’s hand trembled as she grasped the paper.
“And please know that this unpleasantness might have been avoided had you been a wiser girl.” He cocked an eyebrow upward.
Again she fought back the bile in her throat. Wiser? More willing? Ready to spread her legs for first her boyfriend’s father, then the horrible Mr. Hughes, and now, now this depraved Mr. Orso?
Delaware was after Connecticut and then Florida.
“Mr. Orso, you are a horrible human being,” Charla said. “I know what you’re after, don’t think for one moment I don’t. And I feel sorry for every girl that’s ever come into this office thinking she’d get fairness from you, and I pray to God that they did’nt spread their legs for you like you’re asking me to do.”
“I am shocked. I’ve asked no such thing.”
“You’ve hinted and intimated and made suggestive looks. You are a sick, sick man. Don’t think you’ve heard the last from me, Mr. Orso. Because you haven’t. You’ve messed with the wrong woman. You can expect a call from my lawyers.” Charla yanked open the office door and marched out of his office.
Susan looked up from her computer screen, and the corners of her lips curled into a smile. She shot Charla a wink and mouthed Good job. Charla raised her head and marched down the hall away from Mr. Orso and his proposition, away from Josh Hughes and his lies, and away from Mesquale and her job. She avoided the panic clawing her insides and fled the administration building, into the growing darkness, and onto the walkway that lead to the staff quarters. Once she rounded a corner and was out of sight, she stopped beneath a bougainvillea bush that wrapped along an overhead arch. She pressed her hand to the cool tile of wall.
Her heart pounded. Where would she go? What would she do? Oh, God, what had she done? Lawyers? Ha! Lawyers were expensive. They cost money she didn’t have. There wasn’t enough in her checking account to prevent her from being homeless once she returned to California. She certainly didn’t have enough to fight a man like Josh Hughes or a huge resort like Mesquale. Rich people and huge companies had armies of lawyers. She pressed her lips together. No, this was just one more loss in a string of losses.
Deep breath. She straightened her spine and stood tall. Where was she? Georgia? Georgia was after Delaware. She put one foot in front of the other. No, no, Florida was after Delaware and then came Georgia. She walked toward the staff building. She’d pack tonight. Lucky for her, when she’d left San Diego, she didn’t have much. Maybe someone on staff would have a friend in Los Angeles who would allow her to couch surf, at least for a while, until she found a job of some kind. A job that didn’t include handsy men who thought she was their toy. But, somehow, finding men who didn’t believe that her body was their plaything appeared to be impossible for her.
*
The flames leapt into the night sky and the reflection of the bonfire danced across the black waters of the Pacific. A full moon hovered above the water, and stars dotted the sky. South beach, or the staff beach, as it was known by employees, was around an outcropping of palm trees and brush. Every bit as beautiful as any beach of Mesquale, this spot offered privacy for the staff because it was undeveloped and farthest from the resort and Mesquale’s bungalows.
“Yo, dude!” Trevor called from his spot beside the bonfire. He raised his now-half-full bottle of dark rum. Ryan waved at his roommate. Trevor was all drunken smiles, his gaze loose with a semi-stoned and glazed expression. After Ryan’s greeting, Trevor returned to staring into the flames of the fire.
“Mate, you made it.” Liam stopped beside Ryan. In jeans and a T-shirt, he looked beach casual. Liam handed him a Foster’s and tapped his own can to Ryan’s. “How was your first day at The Banana?” Liam asked, and took a slug of his beer.
“Eventful.” Ryan couldn’t erase the vision of Charla’s red handprint on Josh Hughes’s cheek. He’d mentioned the events of the day to Antoine at their evening meeting. Antoine said he’d yet to receive an incident report from Orso or hear from Mr. Hughes, but he’d ask security if they’d received any reports or complaints.
Ryan wanted Mr. Hughes removed from Mesquale. He also wanted Antoine to ask Charla if she wished to press charges. Every employee needed to know when something like today happened, the resort would support them.
“That A-hole? We get them all the time. Hate to blame it on their wealth because I’ve had my share of wealthy friends, but the lot we get at Mesquale seem to think they can do whatever the hell they want with their hands. At least when it comes to women.”
No. Not right. He wouldn’t stand for the employees of Mesquale feeling as though they could be treated in such a way.
“Lucky for you that you didn’t swing at the guy. Seems Mr. Hughes was in the mood to get people fired.”
“Who got fired?”
“Charla.” Liam nodded toward a piece of driftwood pulled up beside the fire. Charla’s face was hidden by her golden hair. She leaned forward with her hands pressed to her face. A woman had her arm over her shoulder. The girl’s name was … Poppy. The same girl that Trevor, Ryan’s roommate, had been spending time with.
“Who the hell fired her?” Anger flashed in Ryan’s voice.
“Orso. The pig. First he propositioned her, and then he fired her.” Liam took a long drink from his beer. “She’s out on the first plane in the morning.”
“What? That can’t be right. Orso can’t fire her … He propositioned her?”
Liam nodded. “Happens every time there’s a guest complaint. He’s a letch. No way management doesn’t know. Is there? I mean, how could they not?” Liam shook his head. “Another reason I’m happy not to be a woman.”
Charla raised her head and wiped beneath her eyes. Poppy leaned closer. They were on the other side of the bonfire, and Ryan could not hear their words, but there was pain in Charla’s face. Her lips were swollen, and her skin was red and splotchy.
Pain slid through Ryan, seeing Charla cry. She was too kind, too beautiful, too good to have this happen to her. First an abusive guest and then an abusive manager? He’d take care of this. He’d take care of the whole damn thing.
“Hey, you’re just here from L.A.,” Liam said. “Charla’s looking for friends who have friends that might let her have a piece of their couch until she gets on her feet. You know anyone?”
“What?” Ryan pulled his gaze from Charla.
“A place. Friends with a place where Charla can stay when she gets to L.A.” Liam turned toward Poppy and Charla. “Hey, Pop, Charla, Ryan just moved here from Los Angeles. He’s got to have some friends there.” He turned back to Ryan. “Don’t you?”
Ryan nodded. He couldn’t tell Liam that this conversation was unnecessary. He couldn’t tell Liam or Poppy or Charla, who was now standing beside him with her tear-stained face and reddened eyes, who even with the tears and the uncertainty managed to smile at him.
“Hi, Ryan.” She pressed her lips together. “I guess you heard?”
Ryan nodded. No he couldn’t tell her what he planned to do once he got away from this party and these people, and how not only was Josh Hughes leaving Mesquale, but so was Orso. She had a job at Mesquale if she wanted it. He’d personally see that she could press charges against Josh and even Orso if she desired.
“Don’t worry, Charla.” He pushed a strand of that lovely golden hair behind her ear. She looked so sad, so vulnerable.
In this moment, for the first time in a very long and painful time, Ryan wanted. He wanted to scoop Charla into his arms and pull her close, and tell her everything in her world would be fine. He wanted to kiss those impossibly full lips and make her know that she didn’t have anything of which to be fearful. He would take care of everything. Get rid of those obscene men, and make certain that no other female employee of Mesquale would suffer as she had suffered.
But he could say none of those things now.
He tried to tell her with his eyes.
“Do you have a friend in Los Angeles who would maybe let me stay with them?”
She smelled of surf and citrus and sunshine. The light of the flames flickered in her eyes. He nodded.
“I …” he started and then he stopped. “I do. If it comes to you leaving, then yes, of course, I have a couple friends you could stay with.”
Her eyes brightened with his words. “Oh thank you. I seriously thought I might be homeless in Los Angeles.”
They walked toward another piece of driftwood, this one a bit farther from the fire and the group. Quieter. More secluded. More private.
“And this is happening.” Charla sat. “Orso fired me tonight.”
Ryan looked past her toward the blackness of the ocean that reflected the fire and the moon. “Did he do an investigation? Did he speak with security?”
“No,” She closed her eyes and breathed deep. “I don’t think so. I mean, did he come to you or to Liam?”
Ryan shook his head. Not only had Orso not inquired anything of Ryan, as an employee on the scene, but Orso had failed to report the incident to Antigua.
“Orso did insinuate that if I slept with him, I could keep my job.”
Ryan leaned back. His brow rose. “That’s illegal and unethical and—”
“And that’s the way it is at Mesquale.”
“Are you saying that Antigua knows about Orso, that—”
“I don’t know who knows.” Charla crossed her arms over her chest. “And I don’t care. It’s kind of hard for me to believe that Antigua and management don’t know something. How could they not? Orso’s done this before. Gotten a guest complaint because a female bartender or server refused a drunk guest’s overtures, and then he tells them You can sleep with me or you’re fired.”
“I …” Ryan searched for the words. “I can’t believe it.”
“I couldn’t either. Until it happened to me. I should go pack. I’m scheduled for the first flight off the island in the morning. Will you write down the number of your friend? My cell should work once I get to the airport.”
Charla wouldn’t get that far. He’d see to it that at the very least, if she chose to leave Mesquale after what had happened, that she’d have an apartment in Los Angeles. Paid for. Until she could find a job and her own place.
Ryan stood. “I’ll walk you back. It’s dark, and after today …” His words drifted away. He’d walk her back and call Antoine and sort this mess out, before the morning, before she got on the plane, before any more damage was done to her or to anyone else.
“Thank you. I know there are good men around. I haven’t lost my faith in them. They’re the hard workers. The ones who understand what it’s like to work for the things you want, like I do.” She smiled at Ryan. “Let me go tell Poppy.”
Ryan’s eyes trailed after Charla. Poppy now sat on Trevor’s lap and listened to Liam tell a story. Good. He’d get back and could use the phone in his and Trevor’s room to contact Antoine, tell him that he needed to sack Orso immediately.
Charla walked back to him. “Ready?” She pressed a smile to her face in a valiant attempt, but happiness didn’t reach into her eyes. How could it? She thought she’d be homeless in the morning. Homeless and unemployed, but Ryan would make certain that neither one of those fears came true.