My fingers shake as I log on to the video chat. I can’t believe I’ve made it this far into the interview process with Rocha Enterprises. This is my dream job, and a shot at being the project manager for the renovation of historic Turtle Tear Hotel working for a world-renowned company. It’s a bigger opportunity than I ever imagined I’d have.
I’ve researched Turtle Tear Island and the background of the hotel extensively. There’s no way anyone else is a better candidate for the position, and the fact that I made it this far—through the basic human resources interviews to an interview with the CEO himself—is proof of that.
I click my mouse to connect. I’m five minutes early, but my interviewer is already logged on to the video chat. My palms become slick with sweat, and I wipe them on my pants.
“Hello, Ms. DeSalvo. I see you’re prepared to start early.”
Even with my cheap webcam displaying a grainy image, the warm smile greeting me from the screen should put me at ease, but I’m intimidated as all hell. Maybe it’s the deep voice that sends prickles of heat down my neck and flushes my cheeks, or the handsome, clean-shaven face. It could be the tidy, slicked-back hair that makes this feel so intimidating and all too real.
This can’t possibly be real. I have to be dreaming.
The dark, piercing eyes on my monitor are most definitely dreamy.
What am I thinking? This is an interview with the CEO of Rocha Enterprises, not some dating website meet and greet. I have to pull myself together.
“Hello.” My voice cracks. I clear my throat, straighten my shoulders, and smile. “I’m willing to bet I’m the most prepared applicant you’ve spoken to.”
There. I exude confidence.
My boasting is rewarded with the flicker of an eyebrow and a repressed smirk. “Is that so?”
Oh, that voice sends goose bumps crawling up my arms.
“Maybe you can tell me something I don’t know then. Go ahead and impress me, Ms. DeSalvo.”
My mind flashes through the dozens of facts I know about the property. Despite my staunch desire to remain professional, my overeager libido rears its head when my interviewer rubs a long finger over a full bottom lip. Somehow, I find myself reciting the romantic love story of Turtle Tear’s founder and his wife instead of something more professionally relevant, like the ecological importance of preserving the integrity of the island.
“Did you know, Mr. Rocha, that Archibald Weston built the hotel to impress a woman?” I wait for a curious lift of the chin in response before I continue. “Mr. Weston was desperate to win the affections of Ingrid Burkhart. He convinced himself that building her a magnificent place to live would win her hand in marriage.
“Turtle Tear Island with its lush green trees and beautiful wild flowers seemed like the perfect place to build it. Archibald grew up in the area and paddled his canoe to the tranquil island every chance he had.” I stop to take a breath and to make sure I’m not droning on too long and losing my audience.
That long finger glides across those amazing lips again. Instantly, I imagine how soft and firm they would feel pressed against my own. Why does my webcam image have to be so awful? If I get this job, I’m buying one that displays in high def.
“You’re an excellent storyteller, Ms. DeSalvo.” A trace of humor mingles with the deep timbre. Could this be a trifecta? Wealthy, good looking, and a sense of humor? “I’m entranced. Please, continue.”
“During the course of Archibald’s business ventures, he’d visited the Yucatan and been taken with the Hacienda-style cattle ranches in the region. Turtle Tear Hotel was modeled after a ranch where he’d stayed during one of his visits.”
“Is that so?” Those eyes and a strong jawline come closer to the screen.
My story is impressive. I’m nailing this interview.
“Yes, that is so. Anyway, he built Ingrid a grand hotel since the island is remote and he knew she would want friends and family to visit and stay. Once it was completed, he showed up on Ingrid’s doorstep, dropped to one knee, and instead of proposing, presented her with the deed for Turtle Tear Hotel.”
I hear a low, exhaled “Hmm…” and some shuffling of papers. My screen blurs with movement. “I’m just making notes. Please, go on.”
I take a deep breath and squeeze my hands together. The next part is my favorite.
“Archibald told her he’d put his blood, sweat, tears, and entire heart into building the home where he wanted to spend the rest of his life, and since she owned his life, it was all hers to have. He only hoped she’d let him keep his soul, which was bound to hers for all eternity.”
“Wow. That’s an incredible declaration. He was a brave man.”
My heart pounds. I’m afraid it can be seen beating against my blouse on the other side of the small camera. “Yes. He was very brave and entirely selfless in his pursuit of Ingrid.”
“I assume she accepted since they were married?” The question comes through in a louder, more insistent tone that makes my speakers crackle. Something else to add to my wish list.
“Actually, no. She told him he needed her parents’ blessing if she was to return to Turtle Tear with him.” I clear my throat and can’t suppress a grin. “This is where the story gets really interesting.”
“It gets even better?” My grin is reflected back on a pair of delicious-looking lips framed by deep dimples on both sides. The image pixelates and freezes.
“Much.” I fiddle with my webcam cord, trying in vain to get a better connection. “Archibald and Ingrid were the Romeo and Juliet of the Civil War. His family supplied sugarcane from their plantation to the Confederate troops. Ingrid’s family housed Confederate deserters. Even though it was August 1865 and the war had ended, there was no way Ingrid’s parents were going to give Archibald their blessing to marry their daughter and take her away.”
“What did he do?”
Damn. I wish I could see the expression that accompanies the urgency conveyed in the tone of the question, but my screen is still frozen on that set of white teeth and pair of dimples. Not that I mind. I’m considering making it my new screensaver.
“He tried his best for months to convince her parents he was worthy of Ingrid, even offering to let them live at the hotel, too, but they wouldn’t budge. Finally, heartbroken with nothing left to lose, he climbed a ladder up to her window one night, broke in, and whisked her away.
“Ingrid was furious at first, but when she got to Turtle Tear, it was love at first sight and she refused to ever leave the island again. It’s said that she’s buried there, but no grave marker has ever been found to confirm that fact.”
I sit back in my chair—mirroring your interviewer was a tip I acquired in an interview workshop—and wait for a response.
“That’s quite a big risk for the love of a woman. I suppose it paid off for him in the end. Would you agree, Ms. DeSalvo?”
“Yes. The lengths he went to just to win her over… I’m sorry. Ingrid and Archibald’s story always overwhelms me.” I put a hand to my chest and inhale deeply to catch my breath. “His grand, romantic gesture won him his wife and the home where he lived the rest of his life. I hope to work with your company to restore the property and hotel to its original style and design, to make it a place nobody would ever want to leave.”
“Something Archibald and Ingrid would be proud of?”
My chest fills with emotion that can’t be repressed. An enormous smile threatens to split my face in half. “I’d love nothing more, Mr. Rocha. Given the opportunity—”
“The opportunity is yours. I’ve never seen someone so passionate and knowledgeable about a run-down hotel on swampland in the Everglades. I’d be a fool to entrust anyone less enthusiastic with this project. In fact, you’re the only one I’d trust it to. Nobody has proven themselves more deserving.”
The rest of the interview becomes a blur. A haze of details and names of HR personnel who will be in touch to discuss salary and relocation. My head is in the clouds. My dream realized.
I’m the newest project manager at Rocha Enterprises. The Turtle Tear renovation is mine!