by L. S. Scott
“Yes sir, absolutely this is what I want to do.” I paused contemplating how much to share without oversharing. “I’ve been working two jobs and going to school full time for the last five years. I’m not used to this much down time. And it’s a little lonely,” I confessed, picking up my food and sitting on the couch.
“Is that why you were crying?” The sympathy in his voice had me kicking myself. Way to show your rich and powerful boss what wimp you are.
I popped the top on my Dr. Pepper and washed down a fry. “I wasn’t crying,” I lied unconvincingly.
He ambled over to the mini bar and helped himself to a bottle of Evian. “May I?” He asked for permission to join me on the sofa.
“Sure.”
I leaned up and set my plate on the coffee table then reclined back into the couch and hugged up a pillow. The situation was becoming really personal really fast. But Flynn was the first guy I had been this alone with in a long time, and all things considered, I felt pretty comfortable. It was the subject matter that was causing my anxiety.
“Are you not hungry,” he quizzed, stealing another fry. And I began to laugh, really laugh at him. “What’s so funny?”
“I just find it odd that you are sitting here eating my french fries,” the giggles kept coming.
He appeared to be sincerely surprised by my reaction to him. “Why is that odd? They’re really good french fries.” He smiled the most brilliant smile I had ever seen.
“Because.” I shrugged. “You’re a powerful, handsome, billionaire. I know you got to have better things to do and eat.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. A chuckle escaped through his smile.
“I’m not a billionaire Natalie, my father is. He gave me this hotel last year for my 30th birthday. It’s doing well, but there are no billions. And it’s not Flynn Resorts, plural, anymore. It’s just The Flynn now. He sold off the other properties to pay this one off completely, so I could inherit a profitable business instead of a lot of debt.”
I was touched by his openness. “So that’s why you’re so involved?”
“Why do you say it like that, involved?”
He pulled my plate across the table in front of him and used the provided steak knife to neatly cut the hamburger. He wrapped half in the cloth napkin and held it out to me. I looked at him through narrowed eyes.
“I assume you ordered this because you were hungry,” he pointed out.
I accepted his offering of my burger and took a bite and chewed slowly, mostly as a stall tactic. He mirrored my action and sipped his designer water.
“I mean, did your father sit in on intern interviews when he ran the hotel?”
I was fishing for answers as to why he is so aware of, me, and my question was transparent. But I didn’t care. If anything I needed to show him that I was bold, not weak.
“My father never cared about this hotel. The only reason he kept it is because it was important to me and my grandfather. He couldn’t wait to pass it off to me.”
“It really is an amazing place and I’m excited to get started. Sorry, if I’ve given you a different impression.”
“Well, I’m glad. So, why were you crying?”
“I wasn’t,” I lied again and bit off more hamburger.
“You’re lying, but okay. If you don’t want to tell me, it’s none of my business. I get that you’re lonely, but it will get better. You’re easy to like. You’ll make friends fast here.”
I looked at him unable to respond, thankful for the mouthful of beef. He continued.
“I mean, Mr. Cain is already quiet taken with you. I’m sure he would like to show you around.”
His tone became dry. Of all the subjects I wanted to avoid, Nicolas Cain was top of the list.
“I drove to Hoover Dam and listened to a bunch of angsty 80’s rock and it reminded me of my ex and I had a good cry. End of story,” I blurted out.
He looked stunned for a minute. “And you’re here all alone with no one to talk to,” he pressed.
“Yes Dr. Phil.”
He chuckled at my sarcasm. “You have my number.”
“So?”
“I thought surely I had made it clear that if you need anything,” he trailed off.
“Can I ask you a question,” I probed.
“You can ask. I might not answer,” he said plainly.
“Why are you just hanging out with me? Don’t you have some model girlfriend at your mansion waiting for you?”
He laughed heartily. “First of all, I don’t have a mansion. I live here. Second, models are not my type. Third, I like you.”
He tossed the last couple bites of his burger back on the plate and dusted the crumbs from his hands.
“You don’t know me Mr. Flynn. You met me all of, what, thirty hours ago,” I shot back.
His face was unexpressive as he looked me in the eye.
“I know your name is Natalie R. Mills, born June 21st, 1989. You graduated top of your class with a Master’s in Business Administration, while working two jobs. Your favorite time of day is sunrise, you like 80’s hairbands, chocolate and whiskey. You’re ambitious and resilient. You make a great, yet unsuccessful effort to mask your southern accent. And, you’re uncomfortable around men who are attracted to you. I’m guessing that is because of the ex you were crying about.” He held my eyes with his. My jaw clenched when he mentioned Jaron. “Did I get most of it right,” he asked deadpan.
I returned his blank stare, not sure why I was becoming angry. Instantly, my guard went up and he knew it. He rose and moved to the door.
“You have a phone, if you are in need, of anything, please use it,” he stated firmly, without looking at me, as he opened the door. He paused for a beat waiting for a response, but I stood silent. He pulled the door closed lightly as he left.
Standing in the silence of my room I was unsure of what exactly had just happened. The irrational defensiveness of Jaron was something that, I thought, would have waned by now. But the way I bristled at Flynn’s mention of him made it apparent that it had not. I wondered if it ever would.
I stripped off the dress and showered quickly and returned to the couch in my Hog shirt to cuddle with my quilt. I flipped through the television channels in search of some comic relief and came across my favorite movie Sweet Home Alabama. I could never pass it up. I debated on a crown and coke but after the nightmare the night before, I decided to skip it, hoping that the liquor had somehow triggered the memories and without it they would magically disappear.
The movie was almost over. Melanie had punched the mayor in the mouth at the wedding. My eyes were heavy. As I started to drift off my phone sounded, tweet-tweet.
i forgot to thank you for dinner. TY
YW thank you for the company
YW goodnight
Night
I closed my eyes and drifted peacefully into a deep sleep.
The sound of someone gingerly knocking on my door woke me. My eyes opened slowly and registered the light flooding the room from the large windows. It is well past my normal waking hour. The rapping from the door sounded again. Oh crap, coffee. I checked the time and as I feared it was after eight o’clock, 8:06. I scurried to the door and peeked through the hole, I had learned my lesson on opening the door without first verifying who was there. It was Nicolas.
“Just a sec,” I called through the door.
I hurried to slip on some shorts and run a brush through my hair before opening the door just a crack. He grinned at me and raised his eyebrows as he assessed my state of unpreparedness.
“Are we still on for coffee,” he asked, dubiously.
“Yes, definitely. Can you wait here for, like five minutes? Ten tops,” I asked with an apologetic expression.
“Sure,” he replied understandingly.
I nodded and smiled and closed the door, rudely leaving my coffee date waiting in the hall. Flying around the room, I brushed my teeth, slapped on powder and mascara, some lavender oil
and slipped into the simple lavender colored shift dress I had bought the day before. I grabbed a pair of flats from the closet and opened the door.
“I’m so sorry,” I began, “I’m usually an early riser and never set my alarm. I stayed up late watching tv and just overslept,” I fibbed. I was asleep before eleven.
“That’s alright, you look lovely.”
His smile was easy as he offered me his arm. I placed my hand on his bicep and let him lead the way to the elevator. It occurred to me that Mr. Flynn was correct in his observation. I was uncomfortable around men that were attracted to me, because in spite of Nick’s affable nature, I squirmed nervously in his presence. I considered that it might be because of his extraordinary good looks, but upon further examination of my feelings, I noted the lack of excitement. That stirring one gets when skin touches skin, no matter how chaste, was not present. That sort of arousal was something I had not felt since the last time Jaron had touched me. I wondered if I would ever feel it again. It was really sad, how broken I was.
Pushing the thoughts of my damaged psyche aside, I was able to enjoy Nick’s company. We drank several cups of coffee and shared the largest, most scrumptious cinnamon roll I’d ever seen or tasted.
Conversation came easy. As is customary for me, I tried to keep the attention on him. I learned that he was a thirty-two year old entrepreneur that grew up on a large ranch in Texas and whose family was in the oil business. He was in Las Vegas exploring a business opportunity related to mixed martial arts, the one, of his many hobbies, that he was most passionate about. He had been training since he was thirteen, but did not compete and was not interested in competing. He had an older brother and a younger sister and would be leaving town on Monday. I skirted the topic of Natalie Mills as long as I could, but eventually it was his turn to press for details.
As practiced, I highlighted all my best selling points, as if I were applying for a job. They all focused on my college career and accomplishments. I avoided anything in the personal arena, except that I had a brother who was married to my best friend and they also lived in Texas. Trailer number eight, my dead mother, and my murderous first love, never made it into the conversation. I confessed that I was not a guest of the hotel, that I was an intern and I started work on Monday, and that the suite and the car had been provided.
“Wow, that’s some perk package for an internship,” he opined.
I nodded, “Yeah, it was very unexpected.”
He smiled playfully and looked at me from the corner of his eye, “The way Connor Flynn looks at you, it’s not unexpected at all.”
“I don’t even know Mr. Flynn, we just met three days ago during my interview,” I explained.
“Well, I can sympathize with him, you are quite a charmer.” He winked and chuckled at my embarrassment, advertised by the heat in my cheeks.
I scrambled to divert the attention away from me, and more importantly me and Mr. Flynn. Nicolas had business meetings throughout the afternoon, but we made plans to meet for dinner in the hotel restaurant the following evening. The familiarity of The Flynn would help to calm my nerves and feel secure. We parted ways in the hotel lobby. I was relieved when Nick opted to bid me farewell with only a discrete squeeze of my hand and a wink.
I spotted Mr. Johnson strolling around the corner headed toward his office and it reminded me that I still needed to pick up my uniforms, didn’t want anyone doubting my dedication. I hurried to catch up to him.
“Good morning Mr. Johnson,” I called cheerily. His upbeat and friendly demeanor seemed to bring out my lighthearted side.
He turned and smiled warmly at me, “Good morning to you Miss Mills. Are you looking for your uniforms?”
“Yes sir. I can’t wait to get to work.”
“That’s good. The staff will appreciate the extra help. Marcia has your schedule ready. It’s all in my office,” he said motioning down the hall.
I had yet to meet Marcia, but he explained that she had been at The Flynn almost as long as him and was an integral part of the small management staff.
“You will get to meet her, along with the other management staff members, at the Monday morning staff meeting. Mr. Flynn requested that you be present, to meet everyone. It is penciled in on your schedule. The meetings are always in Mr. Flynn’s office.”
I conveyed my understanding and enthusiasm and excused myself, uniforms in hand. Back in my room, I tried them on to be sure they fit. The pants were a basic kaki, and the shirt a white long sleeve button up. It was neutral and comfortable and would be fitting for the varied duties I would be doing in the different departments I would be working in.
Mr. Johnson informed me that I could wear plain white sneakers in the beginning, but once I entered the management training program, professional dress would be required. That was something I looked forward to. Not just the training, but I enjoyed dressing up in my business clothes, I felt powerful. I mused, that probably was why they were referred to as ‘power suits’.
Chapter Twenty-six
I huddled in the corner of the dark bathroom with my face buried in my hands.
“Open the God Damn door Natalie!”
“Please just go away. I didn’t do anything wrong. Please let me explain” I begged into the darkness of the room at the menacing man beating on the door. Seconds later the sound of wood cracking and the door swinging open violently and slamming into the wall brought me to my fight. Light from the bedroom filtered around the huge frame standing in the doorway, chest heaving, his leather belt in his hand dragging the floor beside his boot.
“NO, NO, NO, NO,” I held my hands up in front of me as the belt was drawn back. It came toward me…
The sound of my phone ringing from the night stand pulled me from my nightmare. I struggled to catch my breath, wiping the tears from my face. It was 9:00 a.m. I had fallen asleep early the previous night due to a few too many Crown and cokes and slept for over twelve hours. I checked my phone, it was Tiffany.
“Hello,” I said sounding desperate, afraid of missing the call.
“Hey, sister. You ok? You sound a little off.”
“Ye, yeah,” I stuttered, trying to push the nightmare from my mind.
“Something’s wrong, what is it?” she insisted.
“Just a bad dream. How are you feeling? Jake said you were sick.”
“I’m fine. Are you sure you’re okay, I’m assuming I don’t have to ask what the bad dream was about?”
“I’m fine Tiffany. It was just a dream.” I told myself the same thing over and over, even though most of the time; I was reliving some real life nightmare from my past.
“Okay, but if you ever want to talk…”
“Yeah I know. What’s up with you? Did you have the stomach flu or what?”
“Well, not exactly,” she said in a restrained voice.
“Tiffany? Are you hinting at what I think you’re hinting at?”
“Congratulations Natalie, you’re going to be an aunt.”
I jumped up on the bed, squealing at the top of my lungs.
“Eeeeek, yay, oh my God! How far along are you?” I was so over joyed; the bad dream was completely banished from my mind.
“Eleven weeks.”
“Oh my, are you starting to show,” I doubted very seriously that she was. She would probably not show hardly any and look like a swimsuit model a week later.
“Maybe just a little. My belly is a little puffy I guess.”
“What does Jake think?” I asked, knowing that he was threw the moon and that he was going to be an amazing father.
“He’s so antsy and excited; he can’t sit still, waiting on me hand and foot. He didn’t even want to go to work. I finally talked him into it. Hell it’s not like he can take off work for the next six months.”
“Gosh, Tiff I wish I was there.”
“No you don’t. Jake tells me you got more exciting things going on. Spill it, how’s Sin City.”
“It’s amazing, I did some si
ght-seeing but it’s really just took much to try to take in by myself in a week’s time. I’ve decided I’m going to pace myself.”
“What about this rich boss that has the hots for you that Jake’s griping about?”
“What did Jake say/”
“Oh nothing much. He’s just been mumbling about some rich guy flirting with you and you being too naïve to get it.”
“Whatever, he’s full of crap. And I’m not naïve. Trust me Connor Flynn has much bigger fish to fry.”
“Natalie, you are a little clueless about these things. That’s one thing Jaron was always right about. You never picked up on the vibe guys put out around you.”
I plopped down on the mattress and sat speechless at the mention of his name and felt just a chink in my armor.
“Natalie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” Tiffany struggled to pull me back.
“It’s okay Tiff. So, what do think it’s going to be, boy or girl,” as usual I diverted to conversation away from me.
“I don’t know and I don’t care. It’s going to be the most spoiled little booger around.”
“I..” I stopped mid-sentence when I heard a knock on the door. “Hey, Tiff, there’s someone at my door. I’m going let you go, but I will call back as soon as I can and keep me updated, even if it’s just a text to tell me about your morning sickness and swelled ankles.”
“Okay, I will, love you.”
“Ditto.”
Knock, knock, knock, the soft rap continued on the door.
I pulled the door open, decked out in booty shorts and a Hogs shirt, sans bra and a serious case of bed head.
His head popped up from, tearing his eyes form his phone and directing his attention on me. A slow amused grin oozed across his face as he tilted his head and took in the spectacle of morning me from head to toe. I instantly crossed my arms over my chest, pinching the bridge of my nose and running my hand up my forehead and through my wild mane.