Clutches and Curses (18 page)

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Authors: Dorothy Howell

BOOK: Clutches and Curses
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Who the heck were they?
“Miss Randolph?” a woman with a soft British accent asked when I answered. “Rona Davenport here. Executive Travel Agency. I'm contacting you at the behest of Mr. Ty Cameron.”
Behest? Only the British could make a word like that sound both regal and comforting at the same time.
“Mr. Cameron has asked me to advise you of an upcoming adventure, if you will, to Dubai,” Rona said.
I pulled the phone from my ear, looked at it, then listened again.
“Dubai?” I asked.
Where was Dubai? In the Middle East? I didn't know. I hadn't taken geography yet.
“The annual Dubai Shopping Festival. A month-long event. The city's upscale, most exclusive shops, stores, and boutiques offer lower prices on their high-demand fashions,” Rona said.
“A month long?” I asked.
“You'll stay at the elegant Dubai Crowne Plaza, a five star. Full amenities. World-class restaurants. You'll have a driver, of course, and a personal shopping escort. Mr. Cameron has seen to every detail,” Rona said, then added, “Provided this meets with your approval, of course. Mr. Cameron was quite explicit about that.”
I couldn't say anything. I was too stunned to speak.
“Miss Randolph?” Rona said.
“Yes, I'm here,” I managed to say.
“With your permission, I'll e-mail you a complete itinerary,” Rona said. “January isn't so far off, after all.”
“January?”
“Yes. The Shopping Festival begins in January. Your Mr. Cameron seems to be a long-term planner,” Rona said. “Please contact me with questions at any time.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said.
I hung up, stunned. Ty had planned a month-long shopping trip for us to Dubai? Wow. Just the two of us, together, for all that time? I could hardly take it in.
Only—
Rona hadn't said anything about Ty going. Just me.
But surely he'd go.
Wouldn't he?
C
HAPTER
18
I
mproving oneself always involved risk. I'm pretty sure I read that somewhere or maybe I heard it in one of my classes. I don't know. I usually drifted off in class. But I couldn't disagree with the statement.
I lay on my bed in the Culver Inn, lights off, television on with the sound turned so low I could barely hear it. The History Channel played what appeared to be a show on thimbles. Honestly, those folks can fill an hour with just about anything.
Improvement involved risk because you had to give up something to get something, I seemed to recall someone saying. That's just the way it was. Yet you could never know at the outset if it would work, if the risk would be worth it.
If you wanted to lose weight, you had to give up food. If you wanted a better job, you had to give up the one you had.
Jeez, that sounded like Taylor's reverse world.
I flipped to the Food Network. An overweight woman was frying what appeared to be a pan of butter.
Ty had offered to pay my tuition and school expenses. He wanted me to go to school full time. Quit my job. College wasn't my favorite thing, but maybe if I went full time I'd like it. Maybe if I knew I could knock it out, get it over with quickly, I'd enjoy it. It was my goal, after all, to get a great job doing something, someplace, where everybody had to do what I said, while I wore great fabulous clothes and carried fantastic handbags.
But that would mean giving up my life as I knew it. My independence. My freedom to come and go as I pleased.
I'd hardly die a thousand deaths if I never set foot inside another Holt's store, so quitting my job wasn't a huge deal. But the money I earned from it—such as it was—was mine. All mine. I didn't have to answer to anyone. I could spend it—or not—as I saw fit.
What would it be like to depend on Ty for everything? Maybe not so bad, I decided, as I flipped to the Discovery Channel. He'd made all sorts of fabulous offers. The beach house. The Dubai trip—which was a huge surprise. Maybe the kind of surprise I could expect from him often?
Then, of course, there was the money thing.
My bank account would soon be in full-on cardiac arrest. My credit cards needed resuscitating. Not to mention the student loans I would eventually have to repay. Ty could remedy my financial situation.
But did I want to be a resident in that reverse world?
Maybe a psychic could help me decide. I mean, really, another opinion couldn't hurt.
I hauled my laptop into the bed with me and logged on to the Internet.
After my trip to the air force base with Cliff, there seemed no doubt left that I had actually been cursed. I couldn't fight it anymore. I needed to find a way to break the curse—and maybe gain some insight into my future at the same time.
I found the psychic reading sites I'd checked out before and decided I'd give Madam CeeCee a try. No real reason, except that her Web page didn't freak me out quite as much as the others. I punched her phone number into my cell phone and—
Voices in the hallway. A door closing.
I scrambled out of the bed and yanked open my door. Damn. Nobody in the hallway.
How the heck did I keep missing them? Were they some sort of phantom guests?
I went back inside and locked the door, then glanced at my bedside clock. A little after one. They were in early tonight. Three o'clock was their usual hour to call it quits at whatever they were doing that kept them out this late.
Another thought hit me. All along, I'd assumed I'd heard them coming in for the night. But maybe, instead, they were leaving.
Who went out at three o'clock—or one o'clock—in the morning from a second-rate motel in Henderson?
If I'd been anywhere but here in Vegas, I'd have wondered if something illegal was going on with the guests in the room across the hall. But nothing was illegal in Vegas. Gambling, prostitution, topless bars, drinking in public—everything went. The town wasn't called Sin City for nothing.
I walked to the window and pulled back the curtain.
A few lamps burned in the deserted pool area and at the windows on the opposite side of the motel. Two security lights in the maintenance area cast the storage shed and parking area in shadows. I made out the dark outline of a pickup truck.
Okay, that was weird. Why would a pickup be parked there now? The charming and always delightful Whitley at the registration desk had told me no maintenance workers were on duty after nine.
But maybe the truck had been parked there for a while. With the view my room offered, I didn't look outside all that often.
Still, it was odd. I shut down my laptop and crawled into bed.
Maybe Madam CeeCee could explain it.
The pickup was gone.
As soon as I rolled out of bed the next morning, I looked out the window and saw that the area around the maintenance shed was empty. I had no idea what—if anything—that meant.
I showered, did my hair and makeup, got dressed, and went downstairs to the breakfast buffet, expecting this day to be just like all the others I'd spent in Henderson. It wasn't.
Maya was backed up against the kitchen door and some guy was in her face, giving her hell about something. She just stood there and took it.
No way was I going to stand by and do nothing.
I strode through the tables—most of the diners had the good grace not to stare—and stepped between them.
“Excuse me,” I said, ignoring the guy. “These muffins are delicious. Can I get another chocolate one?”
The guy stopped talking. Maya didn't move. She seemed to be held in place by some cosmic force radiating from him.
I put him at late twenties, shorter than me—which, I think, explained a lot—thin, average looking, dressed in an equally average-looking shirt and tie. His jaw was set and his stance screamed I-have-a-little-power-and-I'm-going-to-ruin-lives-just-because-I-can.
I touched Maya's arm. “Are there more muffins in the kitchen?”
She seemed to snap out of it, finally. “Oh, yes. I'll get some.”
Maya turned to leave but the guy put his finger in her face.
“You just remember what I told you,” he said, then whipped around and stalked away.
I wanted to go after him and mess him over—I don't know how, exactly—but I figured Maya needed me more.
I hustled her inside the kitchen. She collapsed onto the stool, planted her elbows on the cold, hard, stainless-steel countertop, and buried her face in her hands.
“Who was that jackass?” I demanded.
Seeing her this upset, I was tempted again to go after him. But then I realized—oh my God—Maya was crying.
Oh, crap.
I don't do
crying
well. I never know what to say. Really, my personal skills in highly emotional situations aren't the best.
Believe me, I'm the last person you want steadying you on your wedding day.
“That was Bradley,” Maya sobbed, wiping her tears with the backs of her hands.
“Bradley Pennington? The guy who runs this place?
That
Bradley?” I asked.
I hadn't liked him when I'd heard Maya and Amber talk about him. After seeing him in action, I
really
didn't like him.
“He wants to fire me,” she said, swiping her palm over her wet cheeks.
“
Fire you?
”
Maya gulped hard. “This is what he does. When he wants to get rid of you, he starts complaining about your work.”
I grabbed a handful of napkins from the storage bin on the counter and gave them to her.
“But your buffet is terrific,” I said.
“It doesn't matter,” Maya said, dabbing at her eyes. “I've seen him do this a dozen times. He'll make things up, give you a hard time, then fire you. The turnover in this place is unbelievable. It's almost like he doesn't
want
anybody to work here very long.”
“That doesn't make any sense,” I said.
Maya drew in a ragged breath. “I knew this would happen. I knew it was just a matter of time.”
“There must be somebody you can complain to,” I said, but I knew there wasn't. The Culver Inn was family owned. Nobody was going to listen to a mere employee—let alone the breakfast buffet caterer.
“How am I going to pay for my classes?” Fresh tears rolled down Maya's face. “How am I going to get my degree? Start my own business? How am I going to
live?
”
Finally, my recessive be-compassionate-in-an-emotional-crisis gene kicked in and I put my arm around her shoulders. She leaned against me and cried harder.
Damn that little Bradley creep, I thought. Somehow, I was going to find a way to screw him over.
 
“No cell phones on the sales floor, okay?” Fay told me.
I was in men's underwear—the department—sticking bags of white athletic socks on metal display pegs.
And I was in no mood.
I looked up from the address book on my cell phone, which I'd been scrolling through.
“The store isn't open yet,
okay?
” I barked back. “In case you hadn't noticed,
okay?
”
“You're supposed to be working,” Fay said.
“And so are you.” I pointed to the three U-boats loaded down with unopened boxes sitting in the aisle. “Why don't you go over there and unpack some of those?”
“I don't like your attitude, okay?” Fay said. “I'm going to have to note that in your personnel file.”
And the next time I sleep with the owner of the entire Holt's company, I'm going to tell him to fire you!
Damn. I wished I could have said that out loud.
I gave her double stink-eye as she walked away.
“You tell her, Haley,” the guy stocking boxers in the next aisle said. “Hey, I've been meaning to tell you. There's an indoor gun range on Tropicana. It would be way cool to go.”
I didn't disagree.
I'd been in a crappy mood since I'd left the Culver Inn this morning, and being at Holt's hadn't helped.
Imagine that.
Maya had pulled herself together enough to tend to the breakfast buffet, but I could see that her spirit was broken, her dream crushed, her future in jeopardy.
No way would she get referral business for the other Culver Inn motels in the chain now that Bradley was winding up to fire her. She'd be lucky to scrape together enough money to pay for her fall classes.
I shoved three more packages of athletic socks onto a peg and grabbed more out of the box.
I hated that for her. Maya worked hard. She had a plan, a goal. She knew what she wanted to do with her life. I admired that about her.
But, it seemed, she wasn't getting any help.
I dropped down onto the floor in front of the sock display. I'd exhausted myself with my anger toward that little twerp Bradley.
Jeez, what kind of family business allowed someone like him to run roughshod over decent, hard-working employees? Ty flashed in my head and a wave of guilt nearly knocked the breath out of me.
Ty wanted to buy me a beach house, take over my bills, pay for everything, send me on an international month-long shopping spree.
And Maya had nobody.

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