Love, Rosie (113 page)

was
all
wrong,
my
palms
were
sweaty,
my
knees
were
knocking,
and
I
just

kept
having
visions
of
Randy
Andy
and
me
working
together
until
we

became
old-age
pensioners.
I
really
had
convinced
myself
that
they
were

going
to
ask
me
to
quietly
and
calmly
return
to
my
desk,
gather
my
belong-

ings,
leave
the
premises,
and
never
return.
I
don’t
know
why,
but
I
just
had

one
of
those
feelings.

Bill
and
Bob
were
so
generous
to
me.
They
pumped
me
full
of
confidence

as
they
went
through
what
the
job
would
entail.
They
said
that
they
were

delighted
with
my
performance
within
the
hotel
over
the
past
few
years
(and
I

really
hope
they
weren’t
referring
to
the
time
when
I
lay
across
the
piano
and

sang
Barbra
Streisand
songs
after
all
the
residents
had
gone
to
bed.
Well
you

can’t
blame
a
girl
for
trying
to
live
out
a
fantasy
when
she
can,
but
the
oppor-

tunity
just
seemed
to
present
itself
.
.
.
).
There
they
were
telling
me
I
had
an

abundance
of
charm
and
confidence
when
deep
down
I
was
just
waiting
for

the
moment
they
would
break
into
a
smile,
look
at
me
as
though
I
was
a
fool

for
believing
them
before
telling
me
the
promotion
was
all
a
joke.
One
big

funny
ha
ha
practical
joke.
I
kept
looking
around
for
the
hidden
camera.

But
there
wasn’t
one,
unless
you
count
the
security
camera
in
the
corner

of
the
room
and
then
the
joke
really
is
on
me.
So
it
seems
that
I
will
be
mov-

ing
to
a
new
hotel
that’s
going
to
be
built
(hence
all
the
secret
meetings
with

men
and
women
in
dark
suits,
leather
briefcases,
gelled
hair,
and
no
smiles

masquerading
through
the
hotel
lobby,
there
was
some
sort
of
bizarre

Matrix-y
thing
going
on).
But
if
they
are
serious,
then
my
job
is
to
be
solely

174

Cecelia
Ahern

responsible
for
the
running
of
all
aspects
of
the
resort
and
I’ll
have
to
liaise

with
the
head
office
and
provide
weekly
reports.
I’ve
never
had
to
“liaise”

before.
It
sounds
sexy
and
dangerous.
Any
job
that
tells
me
that
I
have
to

“liaise”
with
the
big
boys
in
the
head
office
is
a
winner
to
me.
I
can
picture

myself
all
dolled
up
in
a
cocktail
dress
at
a
work
“do”
standing
in
a
circle

with
the
other
“suits”
speaking
in
hushed
tones
about
graphs
and
pie
charts

and
financial
reports.
If
people
ask
us
what
we’re
doing,
I
can
say
dismis-