Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 34938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
“What happened is,” Kent says with no fear, “your daughter made it better.” He takes a step to the side, offering me up to my father. “Tell him what you told me about the flow of the room, and the centerpiece it should focus on.”
My father ticks his head over his shoulder, the rest of his body following slowly. His eyes burn with his signature angry glare. One brow is arching high, his pupils are overtaking his eyes, his bottom lip is slightly folded over, and his jaw is crooking to one side.
I'm tempted to look down and away, to shyly lower and remove myself from the conversation altogether.
“Is that right, Perrin?” I cringe at his tone. He only calls me by my full name when he wants to make me uncomfortable. “Did you make things better like Kent says?”
I look at Kent briefly, and he gives me secure nod. Tipping my chin higher, I say, “Yeah, I did. I tried to, at least.” I hold steady, taking a step forward, and letting my eyes drift around the room. “When I got here and came inside, the room didn't focus on what it should. The view here is incredible, and it was lost to poor decoration. The room felt stuffy. Just a few small changes here and there opened it all up, gave the room a breezy flow.”
My father turns back to the view and folds his arms over his chest as he spreads his feet shoulder width apart. It looks like he's trying to shoot down the view, like if he stands taller, the view I've created will suddenly vanish as if it never existed.
“I have to say, Dean, she really knows how to work a room.” Kent comes to my side and sneakily teases my shoulders with the tips of his fingers. He rubs them, gently massaging with erotic strokes.
Slapping his hand away, he looks down at me with a grin. I step to the side, putting some space between us.
“I just thought,” I say, trying to offer up an explanation, “that since most of our renters will be here on vacation, that we should give them an experience they won't forget. A lot goes into staging each room to maximize—”
“Staging, Perri? Really?” My father looks back at me sharply, shaking his head and then facing forward. “No one cares about staging or lighting or any of that nonsense.” His voice stalls, and he lets out a heavy breath, like he's tired of having this conversation with me. “They're not here for any of that. They're for the theme parks and the board walk, the restaurants. Experience outside these walls. This is merely a place for them to sleep.”
“And the ocean,” I quickly add, trying to hold my stance. “The beach draws millions of tourists to Florida each year, so let's maximize what we have to sell. I mean, look at that view, Dad, it's an attraction in itself.”
“She's right, Dean,” Kent says, backing me up. “That view is what's going to make you money.”
My father spins around quickly, stalking to the counter, and running his finger across the top. “The pool looks green, I thought you were on that?”
“I was—”
“Was?” he asks.
Stop doing that!
“Yes, I'm on it. I added the chemicals this morning, it'll take a day or so to be fully clear, but no more than that.”
“A day,” scoffing, he rolls his eyes. “A day is still too long, Perrin. The pool company I normally use gets it done in hours.”
“Yeah, and you're paying all that money for something I can do for half the cost, so what if it takes a little longer? Is that really a big deal?”
“Longer equals losing money.” His favorite tactic to get me to concede. “We're in the business of making money, not giving it away as charity. Have you retained anything I taught you? Have you ever listened to a word I've said?”
“Dean,” Kent cuts in, stepping to his side, and setting a hand on his shoulder. “Let's go talk outside.” He looks back at me, and the small smile he gives is comforting.
My father reluctantly agrees with a deep grunt, and walks with Kent to the doors. They step through and Kent slides the doors closed behind them, but my father doesn't even give me a second look. His head is forward, steadfast in whatever he's thinking.
I can see their lips moving as they go back and forth. Each of them taking a turn, hands moving, faces stern, but lacking any significant level of emotion. I'm not sure who, if anyone, is winning the argument. I can’t hear anything they’re saying.
My father is speaking, and he turns his head to look out at the water. Kent takes the opportunity to look at me through the glass and wink. He smirks, even blowing me a little kiss, while my father remains unaware.