Page 130 of Beautiful Revenge

Literal-fucking-shame.

So now I’m down to the last one.

Lennon Shaw.

I ran her background, which came up blank. Aside from some odd jobs here and there, it was nothing but a slew of parking tickets.

I can’t legally ask her age, but I know from looking her up, she’s barely twenty-five.

The brunette has eyes so dark, her irises blend in with their pupils. Her hair is slicked back into a perfect knot at the base of her neck. Not one hair is out of place. And she’s wearing a black fitted dress that’s tight but still professional. It’s a stark contradiction to her fair skin and pale pink cheeks. I wonder if she trained in beauty pageants, because she had no problem waltzing into my conference room on four-inch spiked heels.

But that nervous tic just won’t stop.

“Tell me a little bit about your degree and most recent experience.”

She clears her throat and folds her hands on the table in front of her to stop the tapping. “I graduated with honors from the University of Florida with a degree in hotel management. I interned for the big, famous mouse one semester, and my last job was on a cruise ship. I was in charge of housekeeping.”

I motion to her CV. “I see that. What cruise line?”

She gives her head a quick shake. “You wouldn’t be familiar. It was a small fleet closed to the public. A private company maintained it for its clients.”

Well, if that doesn’t scream brothel or human trafficking ring, nothing does. “Interesting.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she agrees.

I clear my throat, come to the realization that I may be running the day-to-day operations of this place until I trip into my grave. I stand and start to move around the table to show her out. “I need to go over the applicants again. I’ll get back with?—”

“Mr. Donnelly,” she interrupts and pushes to her feet. “I would like the chance to prove myself. I know I can run this place better than anyone else. I can manage a budget, be firm but kind with employees, and above all else, the customer is king.”

I slide my hands into my pockets. “Like I said, I’ll think it over.”

“Please,” she insists, and this time with desperation lacedin her tone. “I’ll work on a probationary basis. If you’re not happy, I’ll gladly leave. You won’t even have to fire me.”

I pull in a deep breath. I guess it’s not like the rest of my staff knew what they were doing before they started. Hell, I didn’t have one fucking clue what I was doing when I bought this place.

“Please,” she repeats on a whisper this time. “I need ... please give me a chance. I will not let you down. I promise.”

I cross my arms and think about the ragtag, motley crew that have not let me down so far. That is, aside from Rob, the tennis pro, losing his cool during the shooting.

But it was a shooting, so he gets a pass.

What I do know is I don’t want to live and breathe this place for the rest of time, but especially now that I have Harlow.

I exhale and jut my hand out. “You talked me into it. Let’s start with ninety days, and we’ll reassess. How does that sound?”

Her eyes widen, and I’m afraid she’s going to jump across the table at me instead of shake my hand.

She does neither.

She clasps her hands at her waist. “Thank you. You won’t regret this. I’ll be the best general manager you’ve ever had.”

I hold my hand out to the door for her to exit. “Since I’ve never had a general manager, I’ll have nothing to compare you to.”

She picks up her bag and leather binder. “There is one thing...”

Fuck. Here we go.

She continues talking. “I don’t have a place to live. Do you know anyone in town who’s renting a room or small house? With the trial period, it may be hard to find.”