Page 6 of Addicted

Owen doubted that.

“What happened to your last manager?”

John snorted in disgust. “The ungrateful bastard left me high and dry!”

Owen doubted that too.

“Tell me exactly what you want me to do here.” Owen stared John down. “And how much it pays.”

“I’ll give you whatever the last place was giving you.”

Owen froze. It didn’t look like John was kidding.

“That salary wasconsiderable. And I also had commissions,“ Owen told him. “Are you serious?”

“I’m as serious as a heart attack, Parker, and I’m about to have one if I don’t get someone in here pronto. I don’t wanna do this shit, I’ve been here for two goddamn hours already!” He looked at his watch and sighed like he’d never known a full day of work in his life. He probably hadn’t.

Owen still had to figure out what he’d be signing up for but this opportunity had gone from laughable to something he was now seriously considering. Aside from the salt-in-the-wound aspect of weddings happening around him while he was in the middle of a rough divorce, The Pointe was close to his condo, Marci seemed lovely, and the salary was something he didn’t think he’d get. After all the feelers he’d put out over the last few months, he didn’t think he’d find anything better. This had basically fallen into his lap. Maybe it was a good thing. He needed more good things in his life.

“You know what, John?” Owen smiled. “I think we might be able to work something out.”

“Excuse me, can you tell me where Marci might be?” Owen asked a young man in the hallway, who stopped, easily balancing a stack of linen tablecloths in each arm.

“Sure dude, lemme ask around,” he replied in a smooth voice. He had deep brown eyes and wavy hair to match, although it seemed like he hadn’t used a brush in a while. Like everyone else at The Pointe, he was in a uniform tux and headset and, after speaking into the latter, he directed Owen down the side stairwell to the bottom floor.

Apparently, there were three floors in the building. It looked like the top one belonged to the bridal suites and offices, and John assured Owen that he’d have an office of his own with a window that looked down onto the huge ballroom so he could oversee everything. Owen wasn’t sure how he felt about that; he wasn’t one to micromanage.

The main level was where he’d walked in and, aside from the foyer and the ballroom he’d be spying on, he figured that was where the kitchens were, especially if the delicious smells and crashing sounds of plates and cutlery filling the stairwell were anything to go by.

Reaching the bottom floor, Owen followed the carpeted walkway past another kitchen, heading for the bustle of sound that led him into a smaller reception room. It was clearly being decorated for a Sweet Sixteen with enormous one and six balloons swaying behind a pink-clad dais and silver streamers pouring from the ceiling.

“Owen?” Marci appeared at his elbow out of nowhere. It was all he could do not to jump. “What are you doing down here?”

“Well,” he rubbed the back of his neck, full of secondhand embarrassment for John. “According to the man upstairs, I need to get my job description from you. He says you know more than he does about Dean’s responsibilities.”

She stared at him hard for a few seconds and then burst out laughing.

“Well, that’s on-brand for John and, as much as I hate saying this, he’s right.” She squinted at him. “Are yousureyou want to work here?”

Owen found himself laughing too.

“I’m a glutton for punishment. And why didn’t John offeryouthe job?“ She was more than capable of running the place if she’d been doing some of the tasks in Dean’s absence.

“He did but I told him hell no.” She shook her head. “Having to sell? Being cooped up in an office upstairs? I like the action down here just fine. The taste I’ve had over the last three weeks is enough to last me a lifetime.”

Owen was glad he wasn’t stealing the job from her. Also, he was learning, right at that moment, that he’d have to do sales.

“I guess I should give you my e-mail?” He pulled out his phone.

“That’ll do. I’m on until midnight so I probably won’t be able to get you anything until tomorrow. Is that okay?” She took out her phone as well and they exchanged information.

“John wants me to start tomorrow,” Owen told her and her snort was beautifully derisive. “But of course, I need a day or so to think about it.”

“Run while you can,” she joked. “But really, John is never here. He makes up for it in the five hours he shows up a year but otherwise you have free reign to run this place. He only wants it to make money, he doesn’t care how. And it would be nice to have you aboard!”

“Thank you, Marci. I appreciate all your help.” Owen gave her a genuine smile and then quickly headed out as two other employees approached, needing her attention.

It wasn’t too hard for Owen to find his way back upstairs to the foyer even though his mind was still reeling from the interview. Aside from his therapy appointment he had the rest of the day free and was considering picking up a few things for his newhomewhen he saw just the right shade of auburn hair. It had highlights of amber and sienna as if it had recently seen the sun.

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