The Suite Spot (Beck Sisters #2)(10)
I do a Google search for Mason Brown. There are dozens of results, including a Scottish soccer player, a high school baseball coach, and an Ivy League professor of anthropology. I’m about to include the word brewery in the search when Maisie comes out of the bedroom wearing a Notorious RBG T-shirt and a pink tutu that she wasn’t wearing before her nap.
“Hi, Mama. Whatcha doin’?”
“Hey there, sweet girl.” I close the laptop and set it aside as she climbs up beside me. “I was waiting for you to wake up.”
“Do you have to go to work?”
“No, I get to stay home with you tonight.”
Her face lights up and she claps. “Can we watch Star Wars?”
“How do you know about Star Wars?”
“Daddy let me watch it on the baby ’puter,” she says. It kills me in the best way that she still thinks tablets are baby computers, so I never correct her. And I let the questionable parenting on Brian’s part slide. It doesn’t matter anymore.
“I like the princess and the robots, but the guy with the black thing on his face is scary,” Maisie says, adding quickly, “but I didn’t have any bad dreams.”
“We can watch until Oma gets home from work,” I say, switching on the TV. “But if you get scared, we’ll stop to talk about it, okay?”
As we snuggle on the couch, watching the Star Wars opening crawl, I let myself imagine what working at a brew hotel on an island in Lake Erie might be like. Without pictures on the website, I don’t know what the individual cabins look like, but in my head, they’re minimalist with nature-hued textiles—like Aquamarine, only woodsier. My dream of owning a hotel has always been one that takes place in a hazy future. After Maisie starts school, so I don’t have to work nights. After paying off my student loans. After moving out of my mom’s house. After—
Maisie squawks as I stand up. “Where are you going, Mama?”
“I have to make a quick call,” I say, stepping into the bedroom. “I’ll be right back.” I close the door and dial Mason Brown. It rings several times, and I’m about to hang up when he answers.
“It’s Rachel Beck,” I say. “I have more questions.”
“Okay.”
“I have a three-year-old daughter, so if I were to accept the job, I’d need a place for both of us,” I tell him. “Would that be an issue?”
He inhales and I wait for the frustrated exhale, signaling that I’ve asked for too much. Having kids can be a deal breaker, and not only in business.
“No,” he says, finally. “That would be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“What about finding a babysitter or some sort of day-care situation?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Okay, before I say yes, there’s something you need to know.” I cross my fingers and hope for the best. “I was fired from Aquamarine because one of our VIP guests wanted me to have sex with him. When I turned him down, he told the CEO of the hotel chain that I was the aggressor. I don’t have any way to prove that I’m telling the truth, but…”
“I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Generally speaking, men are assholes,” Mason says. “So, odds are in your favor that you’re telling the truth. The offer stands.”
“When do you want me to start?” The words spill out of my mouth and I’m stunned. I’m not the impulsive Beck sister. I’m the planner. The pros-and-cons-list-maker. But when I place my hand on my chest, the only sensation I feel is excitement building.
Am I really doing this?
“Could you be here next week?” he asks.
I’m really doing this.
Even though he can’t see me, I smile. “Definitely.”
CHAPTER 4
Sisu
Finnish
“a stoic resilience, determination, and hardiness”
“Absolutely not. Rachel, you can’t be serious,” Mom says, taking last night’s leftover broccoli-and-rice casserole from the oven. When I came out of the bedroom after my call with Mason, she was getting home from work. After I realized I’d forgotten to start dinner, I told her why. “Was ist wrong mit the job you have?”
She’s been living in the United States since before I was born but never completely lost her accent. She speaks fluent English, so when German starts creeping into the conversation, I know she’s freaking out.
“Surely you can see that the Sunway is a huge step backward,” I say.
“Na ja, but there must be a nicer place where you can work. There are so many luxury hotels in South Florida.” Mom scoops some casserole onto Maisie’s plate, then hands me the serving spoon.
“At least a third are owned by Charlie Tennesley’s hotel group,” I explain. “And I’m probably banned from the rest. Blackwell knows everyone.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No. You’re right.”
“See,” Mom says. “Now you can stop with this quatsch about moving to Ohio.”
As she tries to listen while Maisie explains the plot of Star Wars, I steal a glance at my mother. She’s only fifty-seven and still rocks the pale-blond look, even though it comes from a salon these days. She also has luminous skin. Hardly any wrinkles. Anna will probably look exactly like her when she’s middle-aged. I take after Dad, which is not a bad thing—he’s handsome for a deadbeat—but Mom and Anna are another level of beautiful.