Just Another Day in Paradise. Justine Davis
pointed things out to her. He’d even thanked her when she’d negotiated with Tess to allow him a brief period in the cockpit. She knew he would enjoy it, and besides, it couldn’t hurt for him to see the pilot was female.
As the jet headed for the landing strip, Paige glanced at her watch. The point man, it seemed, was right on time; the staff meeting was set to begin in an hour. Everything she’d ever seen connected to Redstone seemed to run like clockwork, although she was sure there had to be glitches in at least some of their huge undertakings. But that’s what this guy was here for, she thought. To smooth out the bumps in these last days before the Redstone Bay Resort opened for business.
She closed her journal and stood up. The mild breeze played with the hem of her new, tropical-print dress, an indulgence she had allowed herself the day after she’d accepted the job offer that had brought her here. She rarely wore it—she had to be too careful as a redhead in a land of tropical sun—but she’d put it on today because she needed the confidence the flattering dress gave her.
And speaking of that job, she told herself, she’d better take the short time she had to go over her papers once more. She doubted the man would want to delve into her lesson plans, but it had been a few years since she’d taught, and Joshua Redstone had taken a chance on her, so she wanted to be completely prepared just in case. She was happy with how her students had adapted so far.
Except for the one student she’d known was going to be a problem from the beginning, a certain angry, recalcitrant fifteen-year-old. Kyle alone sapped at her energy, and she wasn’t sure she was up to adding twenty-six other kids into the mix. But she had no choice.
After one final glance over her schedules and plans, she gathered everything up and put it into her tote bag. It would take about five minutes for her to walk to the main building from their bungalow. She’d let him pick it out from the ones available for staff, hoping it would make him less resistant to being here. It hadn’t helped much—she suspected he’d picked this one because it was farthest from the schoolhouse and would be the most inconvenient for her.
But she’d taken his choice gracefully, exclaiming on the lovely view of the water and closeness to the perfect beach, as if it were the one she would have chosen herself. That her reaction only made him angrier seemed proof of her suspicions, and she knew then that when you came to paradise, you could still carry your own hell with you.
Rider studied himself in the mirror for a moment, decided his tie was even enough, and reached for his suit coat. Later he would change into more casual clothes. He’d found it helped loosen people up, that they talked more easily to a guy in jeans or khakis. Maybe he’d even pull out that Hawaiian-style shirt Josh had given him. He’d thought at the time the shirt was a joke, but then wondered if maybe it was his boss’s way of telling him once more to lighten up and relax. Of course, it had been Josh who’d had him on the run for three months straight, bouncing all over the globe to keep up with various projects.
He rubbed at his eyes, knowing he’d need about ten hours’ sleep to help the redness. But other than that he looked fairly presentable now that he’d had a shower and tried out the hotel barber, who had arrived a couple of days ago to set up shop and get the staff in shape. Not that Josh cared how you wore your hair, as long as it was clean and neat. Rider had seen the single photograph that had survived from the founder of Redstone’s mysterious youth, and the teenager with the intense eyes and the long mane of dark hair didn’t seem all that far removed from the business powerhouse Rider knew now.
He stepped outside his room just as Barry Rutherford, the cherub-faced, slightly fussy project manager, was arriving.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, Mr. Rider. I’ll show you to the dining room,” he said formally, referring to the large room utilized by the staff. Redstone Bay was specifically designed not to handle conferences or large meetings, it was for people to get away and unwind.
“Just ‘Rider,’ please, Barry,” he said. “And I probably can find it. I think I had the plans memorized before construction even started.” He gave Barry a crooked grin. “Let me try, anyway, since you’re here to save me if I get lost.”
Barry smiled tentatively this time when he spoke. “I really am sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived.”
“What fire were you putting out?” Rider asked with another grin, this time one of commiseration and understanding.
“A small one, really. Our facilities director was called home for an emergency, and I had to assign someone to handle the job.”
Rider headed down the hall toward the elevator. “Will he be back in time?”
“I don’t know, I’m afraid. It’s something to do with the problems on Arethusa. So I’m going to work out a schedule to cover in case he’s unable to return right away.”
“Good,” Rider said with a nod, although he was frowning inwardly. Suddenly Arethusa didn’t seem quite so distant.
But the resort itself was looking good. True, there were materials scattered about and workers scurrying, but he was used to that. He’d learned long ago to look past the surface chaos and see truly how close they were to being ready. And Redstone Bay was close.
“What’s hanging besides polish work?” he asked.
“Nothing, really,” Barry said proudly. “All the major projects are done.”
“What about off-site? The staff housing, the school?”
“The only bungalows not completed are the ones where the occupants can’t make up their minds what color they want,” Barry said with a chuckle. “The school was finished last month, and is already in operation.”
“Any changes?”
He shook his head. “None needed. Somebody spec’ed it out perfectly.”
Rider wondered if the man was trying to butter him up; he must know Rider had been the one who had made the final changes on the plans and equipment list for the small schoolhouse.
“The man’s a bit manic about education,” Rider said, referring to the passion all of Josh’s people knew about.
“It keeps people happy, being able to work here and keep their kids with them.”
“And Redstone likes happy people,” Rider intoned, quoting the mantra that they all laughed at but lived by, knowing that as far as employers went they were with one of the best. The formula Josh had stuck to for years still worked; he hired top-notch people, paid them well and let them run.
Rider found his way to the dining room as easily as he’d hoped. It was nearly full; the staff would eat at different times, so it would rarely be this packed again. Rider declined Barry’s offer to introduce him to the gathered crowd, many of whom had noticed their entrance and suspended conversation.
“I don’t want this to be that formal,” he explained. “I’m not the boss checking up on the employees.”
Barry nodded. “Here’s the roster,” he said, handing Rider a small sheaf of papers. “And your master cardkey.” Rider took the papers and slipped the key into a pocket; he knew the key, which would override any lock in the resort, was the symbol that the project manager considered all parts of the hotel ready for official inspection. It had become a tradition of sorts, and Rider knew that as long as he got that key within eight hours of his arrival, chances were things would be okay.
He stepped up to the small podium. It didn’t take long for the silence to spread. When they were all watching him he said, “I’m Noah Rider, the project coordinator, and I’m here to tell you if you don’t like the uniforms, it’s too late.”
Laughter rippled through the room, as he’d hoped it would; they’d all had a chance to give their input and vote on what the uniforms should be.
“I haven’t had much time to look around yet,” he went on, “but what I can see looks good. That’s not to say there aren’t some problems, there always are.