Angel's Touch (27 page)

“Never too early to plan ahead,” he said. “I told you there wasn’t a market for this sort of thing. Spas are luxury destinations. People who want the spa experience want to stay at a classy resort, not a dime-a-dozen roadside hotel.”

“An affordable, yet fun and classy, hotel,” Kira corrected him.

He patted her on the back with a well-meaning fatherly gesture that made her feel ten years old. “That’s my girl. Always had a knack with the PR. I’ll see if any of my contacts know anyone interested in taking it off your hands. We’ll get your deal made.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’d like to handle this myself.”

“You get the place finished, honey. I’ll find you a buyer.” His posture radiated confidence as he surveyed the exposed walls.

Kira bristled. “No need.”

“Tell you what. I’ll hold off a couple months, you see what you can do, then we’ll talk.”

“Really, Dad. It’s sweet of you to want to help. But I’m perfectly capable of finding a buyer on my own.”

Or deciding not to sell. Her whole life, she’d been doing what he expected of her. She’d gone to work for him at sixteen, starting businesses and selling them. She was good at it. She’d never stopped to think about whether it was what she really wanted to do.

Buying this hotel had started as an investment—just another business to set up and then get rid of. But now she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave Piper Beach once this baby was up and running. It might be fun to stick around and try her hand at keeping a business for once. Her priorities were starting to shift, and she wasn’t even sure when that had happened. But Megan probably had something to do with it. Megan was making her rethink a lot of things.

“Maybe if you put in some tennis courts…” Her dad still had that calculating look in his eye, damn him.

Kira’s jaw tightened. How could he possibly think this looked like a boring place to stay? It was well on its way to being the most beautiful building she’d ever worked on. “I think women will like it just the way it is,” she ground out.

“I almost forgot about your women-only plan.”

“Why am I not surprised?” She’d known all along that her father thought a lesbian hotel was an unprofitable idea, but she didn’t work for him anymore and he couldn’t stop her from investing in projects she cared about.

“Be reasonable. You’re going to be managing the hotel for six months, tops. What do you care who the customers are? Whoever takes this property off your hands is going to do whatever the hell they want with it anyway. You want to offer a turnkey operation, make it a normal hotel. Besides, you know as well as I do there are laws against discrimination in public accommodations.”

He was as stubborn as she was. It wasn’t even worth arguing about, not if he was just going to lecture her. Kira changed the subject and showed him the gorgeous new ductwork instead. He might not like her spa idea, but Megan did. And Megan’s opinion mattered more.

***

“Ever had a mud bath?” Kira asked the awkward-looking job applicant who stood stiffly in her dress-to-impress interview suit while Kira hunted through her office for her list of spa treatments. She’d cleaned off her desk for this interview, and now she couldn’t find anything, including this poor thing’s résumé. What was her name again? Trish something?

“I love mud baths,” Trish-something said.

She looked sincere. And why not? According to Kira’s research, mud baths were popular. Even though she personally had not been impressed. She spotted her list—and Trish’s résumé—on top of a file cabinet. Trish Martin—that was it.

“Here are the services we plan to offer.” She handed her the printout. “As you can see, it’s heavy on the massage options.”

“Does the staff get free spa treatments?”

“Half-price. Or negotiate on your own with the other staff.” Kira gave her a few minutes to look over the list while she reviewed her résumé. “Are you familiar with what all these things are?”

“Of course.”

That was a good sign. And she seemed enthusiastic, too. The staff and the guests would like her.

“If a guest showed up at the desk and had never had a massage before, what type of massage would you recommend she sign up for?”

“Gentle Swedish,” Trish answered without hesitation.

Megan would have wanted to know more specifics about the guest before she fired off a recommendation, wouldn’t she? She’d want to know what the guest was looking for, and tailor it to her tastes.

So, newsflash, she wasn’t Megan.

Who had assured her that the professional grapevine said Trish Martin was a decent massage therapist, and anyone who could put up with a boss like chiropractor Dan Bristow would be able to handle difficult hotel guests. She needed to give her a chance.

“If a guest had a sunburn, what would you steer her toward?”

Trish studied the list. “When I get a sunburn I don’t want anyone to touch me, so I’d suggest Reiki.”

Okay, so she didn’t pick the hydrating aloe wrap, which Megan insisted was a must for any reputable seaside spa. Kira watched herself twist her pen between her thumb and fingers. Was this her way of giving Trish a chance? There was nothing wrong with her answer. A year ago Kira wouldn’t even have known there were different types of massage, and here she was, trying to trip up someone who knew way more about all this than she did. It made her feel like her father, ferreting out posers and bullshitters for sport.

She looked up and saw Trish’s doe eyes filled with panic, aware that her potential boss wasn’t happy with her answer. Kira swore under her breath. Trish couldn’t be that bad if she had that kind of ability to read body language.

She hadn’t interviewed a promising candidate in weeks, and holding out for the perfect candidate was getting her nowhere. Trish was certainly better than the waitress who had insisted that although she didn’t have the requested national certification and had no formal training, all her friends said she gave great massages. So why was she feeling so reluctant about her?

Maybe because part of her was holding out for Megan. Because deep down, she hoped that if she couldn’t find a spa manager, her favorite massage therapist would step in and take the job. And that wasn’t fair to Megan, who’d already given her a ton of advice and hours of her time. Besides, Megan had made it clear she had no intention of officially working for her, ever.

“You do understand the job involves hiring and supervising the massage therapists. I’m concerned about your lack of managerial experience.”

“I’m good with people. I know I’d be a great manager.”

Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn’t. You had to admire her confidence, though. It took guts to ask to be shot down.

“Why haven’t you started your own business?”

“I really like being part of a team, which I got to do working for a chiropractor.”

“Meaning you don’t like being in charge.”

“Meaning I don’t have the capital to hire my own staff,” Trish shot back.

Kira gave her an appraising glance. Trish was starting to win her over. “You sure you want to be responsible for taking care of everything? Finding someone to cover for anyone who gets sick, ordering supplies, keeping the massage therapists happy, appeasing angry clients…”

“I can do that,” Trish insisted. “And you’d be my boss?”

“Yes,” Kira said uncomfortably. “At first. But I plan to sell once this place gets off the ground.” She didn’t want to be reminded of that right now, or of what it might mean to her relationship with Megan. She needed to go for a long run and get that sorted out in her head—soon. But not now.

Trish leaned forward earnestly. “I can handle it. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Thoughtfully, Kira twisted her pen. “How would you decide if you needed to fire a massage therapist?”

“Uh…”

As Trish struggled to come up with an answer, Kira squeezed her pen, telepathically trying to help. Her father would hassle her if he knew what she was thinking. He’d accuse her of being a lightweight. And he wouldn’t have averted his eyes, either, when he heard Trish Martin dig herself into a hole. He would have enjoyed feeling superior.

Turned out, he didn’t teach her everything she knew.

She gave Trish a reassuring grin, because personnel decisions were something she could teach her how to make. “I’d like to offer you a job.”

***

Megan handed Barbara Fenhurst a glass of water after her massage.

“How do you feel?”

“Great,” Barbara said in between gulps of water. “You’re a great masseuse. Always know right where to find the knots.” Far from being upset about the fire on her porch Officer Baldini had mentioned, Barbara had spent most of their session telling her how exciting it had been to see her name in the paper. Whatever stress she had complained about to the police seemed to have worn off before her appointment.

“The water at your house always tastes better than at my house. Can you get me a refill?” Barbara handed her the empty glass, picked up her purse, and followed her into the kitchen. Megan refilled her glass from the filtered tap. When she turned back to offer her the water, Barbara was across the kitchen helping herself to a handful of cherries from a bowl on the breakfast table. “I’m starving,” she said, nibbling away. “Can I have some of these?”

“Um…” Megan gave Barbara the glass of water and hoped it would distract her from the cherries. She was happy to share, but she didn’t like having her personal space turned into a hotel’s all-you-can-eat continental breakfast buffet behind her back. Clients weren’t even supposed to be in her kitchen.

Barbara’s hand hovered near her mouth. “I can pay you back.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Megan edged toward the doorway, hoping Barbara would get the hint that it was time to leave.

Barbara held out a fistful of cherry pits and stems. Megan showed her where the compost bucket was, and her wayward client scooped another bunch of cherries from the bowl. “Mmm.” Instead of following Megan to the front door, she wandered into the living room with her prize and slowly turned around to take it all in. “I love your house.”

“Thanks.” Megan followed, wondering what was coming next.

“It’s so big for one person. Are you looking for a roommate? I’d love to live here. I could have your extra bedroom, and I have this great futon we could set up in the living room for guests.”

Huh? “It’s only two bedrooms. One’s the massage room and one’s my bedroom. There’s no extra bedroom.”

“Oh. So we could put up a wall in the living room. That should give me enough space.”

Was Barbara insane? “I’m not looking for a housemate,” Megan stammered.

“With this big empty townhouse? And you live here all by yourself?”

How did she know that? Was she assuming she lived alone because she’d never seen anyone here, or had she actually researched this? Megan knew she’d never told Barbara anything remotely bordering on her housemate and/or relationship status. Looked like she’d trained herself too well. She could turn a conversation around as well as any self-respecting psychotherapist, keeping the focus on the client the way a good therapist should, never burdening the client with details about her own personal life. Now look what had come of it. Left free to imagine whatever she wanted about Megan’s private life, Barbara had gone wild.

“Don’t you like your own place?” Megan said. Or… “Is it the fire? Are you afraid the arsonist might come back?” If she didn’t feel safe at home, that would explain her sudden interest in moving in with her. That had to be it.

“Fire’s no big deal for me,” Barbara said. “Didn’t I ever tell you my dad was a fireman?”

“You didn’t. But that doesn’t mean you—”

Barbara snorted. “I’m not scared.”

Okay, well, good. Discard that understandable explanation and that left a great big blank for why she wanted to convert Megan’s living room into a guest suite. Megan hated being judgmental, but unfortunately she had no trouble filling in the blank with words like
self-centered
and
needy
and
desperately lonely
. Just what she needed in a housemate.

“He took my brother for visits to the firehouse all the time, but he never took me. He said it was no place for a girl. My brother got to do all the fun stuff—ride the fire truck, learn how to hook up the water hose, watch them burn down old houses for practice…” She popped more cherries into her mouth and spit the pits into her palm with so much force that slobber went flying.

“That sounds unfair,” Megan said.

“That’s exactly what it was. Unfair.” Barbara went back to the kitchen and dropped more cherry pits into the compost bucket. “How much do you want for rent?”

“I don’t have room,” Megan said firmly.

“I’m good about helping with housework and all that. You’d hardly notice I was here.”

Right. She’d hardly notice an extra person in the house, not to mention a
wall
in her living room? “Sorry.”

Barbara turned on the kitchen sink to wash her hands. “Think about it.”

Megan shook her head in disbelief. Talk about persistent. She showed her to the door.

With Barbara safely outside, Megan rushed to the bathroom and ran her hands under cold water to wash off the experience. Her body was shaking, even though Barbara really wasn’t a threat. She was lonely, that was all, and she didn’t understand that professional nurturers were there to care, but not to be your best friend. She had probably offered to split the rent with her acupuncturist, too. And her physical therapist. And God knew who else. There could be quite a list.

***

“She wants to move in with you?” As if the jolt to Kira’s lungs from chasing Megan into the cold ocean wasn’t enough of a shock to her system, now there was this delightful news.

“I’m not taking her up on that, obviously.”

Megan sounded like the voice of reason, as usual. Kira didn’t understand why she herself was the only one ready to burst an artery over this. She would have been happy if Megan never saw Barbara Fenhurst again, but apparently Megan didn’t think there was a problem. Just another harmless looney tune who helped pay the bills. “She has a crush on you.”