Sex On Flamingo Beach. Marcia King-Gamble
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Sex on Flamingo Beach
Marcia King-Gamble
To the residents of Flamingo Beach, real and imagined.
Thank you for making this book possible.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 1
“Emilie, your job is to make sure a warm body is in each bed.”
“Let’s be realistic, Tom,” Emilie Woodward pleaded with her unsmiling boss. “This is Flamingo Beach, not Las Vegas. Give me time to get us there.”
“Eighty-five percent occupancy. I’ll take nothing less.”
“Sixty-five percent,” Emilie shot back, “And that’s a stretch goal. It’s a brand-new resort, and the first of its kind to be built in a town known for motels. We have to build our reputation. That’s not going to happen on my minuscule advertising budget.”
“Seventy-five percent and that’s that, or else.”
“Or else what?”
Emilie placed her hands on her slender hips and blew a lock of flaming red hair out of her eyes. Not one to back down, those green eyes flashed a challenge.
Tom Burke, senior vice president of sales and marketing, stared back. His eyes looked like huge road maps either from lack of sleep or one too many martinis. A little of both Emilie suspected.
“We’ll both get canned, that’s what. Corporate is expecting us to put the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort on the map. They’ve invested a bundle in top-of-the-line appointments and world-class amenities. And in case you forgot there is that huge bonus at stake.”
She hadn’t forgotten. That bonus was money she really could use. She had plans to buy the condo she was currently renting from Quen Abrahams before prices went right through the roof. Even so she was not about to be intimidated or bullied.
“Let the muckety-mucks at headquarters know that unless my advertising budget is increased, they’ll be hard-pressed have a hotel at fifty percent capacity. I can’t be expected to work miracles.”
“You’re the director of corporate and leisure sales. You can make it happen. Look at what you did with that property in Painted Post.”
“I’m leisure sales, strictly leisure sales. When did I acquire the corporate title?”
“Since I appointed you. Did I forget to mention the title change?”
“Apparently you did.”
Pressing two manicured fingers to her forehead, she massaged the frown lines. “Did you also forget to mention the raise that came with this title change? Keeping that Painted Post property at maximum capacity added ten years to my life. I still haven’t recovered. Only a brain surgeon would build a five-star hotel in a little Upstate New York town.”
“That surgeon was our owner, Caryn Knight. Caryn has always prided herself on finding possibilities where none exist.” Tom glanced at his watch and shot to his feet. “Better get going. I have a flight to catch.”
After shaking the wrinkles out of his slacks, he grabbed his jacket and briefcase and took off.
“Guarantee that I won’t be transferred for five years and throw in a nice raise, and I can make it happen,” Emilie called after him.
“Three years, but I can’t promise a raise. A fat bonus should be incentive enough,” he said.
After Tom left Emilie sank into her chair and kicked off her high heel pumps. She stabbed the intercom button and called to her assistant.
“Hey, Zoe, can you get Rowan James on the phone?”
“Sure thing.”
Rowan was the hotshot developer buying up properties like they were going out of style. He was new to Flamingo Beach. The Knight Corporation, the company that owned the resort Emilie worked for, had used him to develop their waterfront land. They’d gone out a couple of times, but he wasn’t exactly what Emilie considered relationship material. Her goal was to find a smart, savvy, African-American man who didn’t come with baggage. That’s what she’d promised her father.
“Mr. James isn’t answering,” Zoe called from the outer room. “I left him a message to get in touch with you.”
“Try reaching Joya and see if she’s available for lunch.”
“Will do.”
Emilie had gotten her friend Joya Hamill-Morse a job as an event planner at the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort. The two women were close, but the hotel business being what it was they seldom crossed paths at work.
Minutes later, Zoe stuck her head through the door.
“Joya says she can meet you at Shellfish at twelve o’clock sharp. It’s that new place on the boardwalk. Is noon good for you?”
“Perfect. I’ll return calls and catch up on e-mails. Please don’t put anyone through.”
Almost half an hour later, Emilie sashayed into Shellfish and looked round. She finally spotted Joya seated on a high stool on the outdoor deck. Her friend had already ordered and a spread lay before her. Joya waved her over.
“Nice of you to wait for me,” Emilie chastised, easing onto the stool opposite and helping herself to a fattening French fry.
“Hmm, this is good. I haven’t had carbs in months.”
“You’re half an hour late. I’m not management. I have to be back on time. If I’m even five minutes late Keanu gets crazy. Who needs that stress?”
Emilie began pushing buttons on her phone. “I’ll fix things with Keanu. You know I always take care of my girl,” Emilie said.
Conversation over, Emilie shoved the phone back into her purse. “I bought you another hour. I told your temperamental boss we’re having a lunch meeting.”
Joya rolled her eyes and bit into her fish sandwich. “You’re going to get me fired.”
“I’ll probably be fired first.”
“Not you. You’ve got a position, and your employees think you walk on water.”
“Tell that to Tom Burke, my senior vice president. He doesn’t think I’m doing such a hot job. I just got told to get occupancy rates up or else. He doesn’t care whether it’s the season or not, and that people aren’t exactly flocking to North Florida in the summer.”
“You’ll just have to make it so they flock to the spa. You’re creative and innovative. Why don’t you offer promotional specials to people in the travel and hospitality industry? Give them rooms at a discounted rate and they’re there.”