Secrets on the Sand - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,1
the first order of “office” business would be to fire Amanda. Or give her the worst shifts imaginable. “I mean, what are you trained to do? Not too many beauty contest options around these days. Maybe you could go coach the cheering staff down at Mimosa High. Still have your old uniform, Mandy the Magnificent?”
Oh, Tori loved to pull out that old high school nickname, didn’t she? “I have to work,” Amanda said.
“You sure do. And that’s a stunner for you, isn’t it? Thought you’d be some rich guy’s wife and give parties and have tea. But that didn’t work out for you so well, did it?”
No, it hadn’t worked out at all. She stabbed the toilet brush harder, biting back a response.
In Tori’s pocket, her cell buzzed, offering a reprieve. She pulled it out and read a text. “Oh, boy. That guy who checked into Bay Laurel yesterday is going out for lunch and wants the villa cleaned ASAP.”
Amanda looked up. “I’m not scheduled to do any of the villas until after three o’clock today.”
Tori lifted a tough-shit shoulder. “Sucks to suck.”
“I can’t—”
“Hey, hey, hey.” She waved a warning finger back and forth. “You know the company motto. Can’t is a four-letter word at Casa Blanca Resort & Spa.”
Amanda had heard Lacey and Clay Walker, the resort owners, make the statement enough times at all-staff meetings that she swallowed her argument.
“Anyway.” Tori pushed off the counter and slapped her work sneakers on the floor. “Management’s watching. Dude’s some kind of big-ass deal, and they are giving him the royal treatment. You better get over there and clean your sweet cheeks off, babycakes.”
“Me?” She sputtered the syllable. “I’ve got three more rooms to do here in the hotel before I can start the villas. These have to be done before noon.”
Tori smoothed her uniform, the same peach and brown as Amanda’s, but much tighter. “Sorry, darling, I have a date with Jared for lunch.” She gave an evil grin. “Business planning and then...my reward for getting my work done early.” She turned to smooth stick-straight blonde hair in the mirror.
There was no way Amanda could clean that villa and finish this floor by noon. “Come on, Tori. It’s one guy in a huge villa. Can’t you run over there and do a quick job before you go to lunch? Or maybe pick up one of my rooms?”
Tori never looked away from the mirror, dabbing at her mascara. “You know what your problem is, Mandy?”
She had a feeling she was about to find out.
“You’re not driven enough. You think you can get by on your good looks, but, honey girl, have you looked at yourself lately?” She turned from the mirror to stare down at Amanda, tsking softly. “It’s like you forgot who you once were.” Very slowly, Tori crouched down, getting face to face with her. “But the rest of the nothings and nobodies in your royal court haven’t forgotten a thing.”
Despite the assault of sour breath and mean spirit, Amanda refused to cower. “You better go, Tori. Jared’s waiting. It’s time for you and your husband...oh, I mean fiancé. Oh, wait.” She couldn’t resist. “He hasn’t given you a ring yet, has he?”
Tori stood quickly. “At least I didn’t get dumped and end up living with my parents. And, oh, I’m not four rooms behind on my morning work.” She lifted her foot and tapped the side of the toilet with her sneaker’s toe. “You missed a spot, angel.”
* * *
The fastest way to the beachfront villas was via a golf cart up the stone walkway that led from the main resort through the entire Casa Blanca property, but, of course, no carts were available when Amanda needed one. She didn’t relish walking the path, but not because of the hot sun or tropical heat. In January, the Florida barrier island’s humidity was tempered with lovely Gulf breezes, and the view of Barefoot Bay usually lifted her mood. But walking the path generally meant rubbing elbows with the well-heeled resort guests, as they meandered from the exclusive villas to the private beach.
Not so long ago, Amanda had at least felt at home with the beautiful people strolling through resorts like this one, wondering which four-hundred-dollar cover-up to wear to the beach or whether she should have champagne or chilled vodka after her oxygen facial. Now? She couldn’t remember the last time she tasted champagne or did more than wash her face before falling