Page 31 of Sighs By the Sea

I need to limit my intake of news. Already, I’m planning which music to listen to on my way back. It’s a long drive to Henrietta’s seaside mansion in La Jolla, but it’s also free childcare with someone I trust. Far be it for me to complain about that.

Inside the store at the Embarcadero, I’m met with sleek modern furniture and recessed lighting. The place is as different from the surf shack as could be. Where the surf shack sees disorganization and rust, the tour company is a splendid display of success. Probably because Miranda has been in charge of it. She doesn't settle for anything less than the best. I shouldn't be surprised that she's designed this place to mirror that.

Miranda strides out from her glass-walled office. “Morning, Grayson.”

“Morning. Is coffee on?” She nods and heads straight to the front desk. “Have you seen Roger?”

I shake my head. Our tour guide is proving disastrous. The man can’t be on time if his life depends on it. But he’s admittedly great at everything else and has a knowledge of San Diego that is faultless. Just doesn’t seem to own a pocket watch.

“I’m firing that asshole. We have a Japanese tour group here in five minutes,” she says.

“Fire him, and you’ll be the one carting these tourists around,” I remind her. I fill my mug and head to my office. If I can help it, I won’t go to the surf shack. I much prefer the quiet solitude of Sanderson Tours and Rentals. The glass-encased space Miranda gave me here is perfect. Everything has its place, even the framed photo of me and George at the beach from last week. A soothing peace washes over me as I sit in my leather chair. It's comfortable, sure, but more importantly, it doesn't squeak. Nothing gets me in a fouler mood than a squeaky chair. Sipping my coffee, I unlock my computer and begin checking the morning's account balances. Sanderson Surf is currently at $1.8 million while Sanderson Tours is at a pretty $2.6 million. Seeing those numbers makes my lips twitch into a grin. The name on the building might be Sanderson, but Tilly has been the one to capitalize on their free publicity and expand. She's done a damn fine job. It might be time to grow again. Adding a second yacht for tours would be a very worthy investment.

I close the accounts tab and pull up a ship refurbishing company. I'm happily scrolling options to present to everyone when I hear the front door open and see Roger stroll inside. The man is dressed in pressed khakis and our navy-blue polo shirt. His dark hair is slicked back, and his gold wristwatch glints as he lifts a Starbucks to his mouth.

“Morning all,” he says.

I watch as Miranda stomps by. “Roger! You’re half an hour late, and for what? Fucking coffee?”

“Line was long,” he says with a shoulder shrug.

“Then leave earlier! We still need to meet with the captain and—”

“Relax. I texted Cap'n Rex on the way. Everything’s fine, babe.”

I cringe. Roger has made two very fatal mistakes. Telling Miranda to relax and calling her babe? The man will surely be fired and probably punched if I don’t intervene. I snap out of my chair and rush out to where they're standing in the lobby.

“Roger, you should let us know if you’ll be late. But it sounds like everything is running smoothly. Miranda, can I see you in my office?”

Her chest is rising and falling in quick bursts, her face beet red, but she doesn’t say a word as she strides into my office. I close the door behind her.

“I swear I’m going to kill that man.”

“Later. We need to talk PR.”

“What?” she snaps as she takes a seat.

“I think we can spend more here and less at the shack. Can you come up with some marketing campaigns? I’m thinking radio ads in LA might really flood us with business.”

She takes a calming breath. “Yes. I’ll do it today, but this guy—”

I hold up a hand. “Is good at his job. Maybe a douche, but the tourists love him.”

She starts fidgeting like she wants to argue further but only gets to her feet. “One more time, and I swear I’ll do it.” I almost laugh. It’s fairly clear to me that she’s fighting something akin to attraction and hate with Roger.

The man is flashy and a know-it-all. Almost in the same way that Miranda is. In my mind, they’re probably perfect for each other, even if Roger is a few years older. But far be it for me to give Miranda any sort of advice. Her terror would probably be turned on me.

She leaves, and I go back to scrolling through ships. After a few hours, my phone rings. The number is blocked, but I answer it anyway.

“Hello.”

“G-man, it’s Kip.” Kip is an old warehouse worker for a Cardenas shipping company. One I didn't particularly like when I knew him back in the day. Probably because he was doing small deals outside our delivery door. But hey, can't really complain when the criminal you hire to help orchestrate your crimes does his own crimes.

“Hey Kip, how’s it going?”

“Not great, man. Still running. You know how it is,” he says. I know a few of the former employees chose to run rather than be arrested. Kip always had ties to the local gangs, so I’m not surprised. His name was on a list that I turned over to the police. If he's calling and sounding happy about it, he does not know. That's good news for me, even if it does make me feel a little guilty.

“Two years is a lot better than running,” I say.

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