Page 38 of Behind These Four Walls
As if on cue, two young women in staff uniforms passed by the open door. When they noticed there was an occupant, they stopped to introduce themselves. A bubbly brunette named Lisa leaned against the doorframe, wearing a grin.
“Fresh meat,” she said. “Mae, you haven’t scared her off yet, have you? Crack a smile, will you?”
Mae rolled her eyes, pushing past Lisa at the door. She turned to Isla. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything or anyone gives you trouble. I have your cell should I need to reach you, so could you at least keep that on you?”
Isla grinned. “Since you asked so nicely. Of course I will.”
When Mae was gone, Lisa and the other one sauntered in, taking in the room. “Corner room with the best view. Nice.” Lisa plopped herself in one of the chairs, studying Isla. “I’ve been off and only heard about the newbie who got Mr. Corrigan to hire her as a writer or something.”
The other one, a redhead with pale-green eyes and a tag that readDoris, said, “I hear there’s already some kind of battle over you. The mister loves you. The missus wants to throw you in the lake and kick you out on your ass. What did you do?”
“You know she didn’t do anything. Mrs. Corrigan hates anyone Mr. Corrigan likes. She probably thinks you’re vying to be the third Mrs. Corrigan.”
Isla made a face. “The man is old enough to be my father or more. He’s pushing seventy.”
“Right, twenty years older than his wife, so maybe he’s looking for a newer, fresher model.”
Isla shuddered. That was not the vibe she got from Mr. Corrigan. “You’re way off base.”
Lisa said, “Agreed. If Mr. Corrigan plays around, it’s not where he eats, you know what I mean? Anyway, you met the Playboy and the Ice Prince yet?”
Isla tilted her head. “Who?”
“The sons,” Doris said dreamily, like she was about to swoon.
“I bet you can guess who is who.”
Isla said, “Bennett is the Playboy and Myles the Ice Prince?” She found the titles very fitting.
“Ding, ding,” Lisa chimed, using her fingers to mime a tiny bell. She moved to the edge of her seat conspiratorially, and Isla drew in closer, captured by the allure of a good secret. “Bennett will flirt with and bed anything that breathes. Though not really the staff. His entourage too. He doesn’t shit where he eats either, if you know what I mean. I think that comes from Mr. Corrigan. Their father is a big stickler about messing around with staff. Not that he took his own advice.” She gave a look that suggested otherwise, and Isla took note.
“Okay, Lisa, come on.” Doris looked uncomfortable, as if one of the Corrigans might suddenly pop out from behind the bushes and catch their staff talking dirt about them.
Isla waved away Doris’s sensitivities, not wanting Lisa to lose her momentum. “Go on.”
“But you’ll meet the rest of Bennett’s friends soon enough, I guess. They are unavoidable and more inclined to flirt with staff,” Lisa continued, undeterred. “And Myles ... well, he is the cold, brooding type. Just like you’d see in a movie? The gorgeous dark character you just can’t quite figure out. He’s neither nice or mean. He justis? He mainly just watches from the background, but when he gets involved in something, you’ll definitely know it. He’s a tough nut to crack, and believe me, I’ve tried.”
Doris said, “No, Lisa’s not saying it right. Myles is low key, is what it is. He’d rather stay in the background. Bennett is the complete opposite.”
Isla said, “Yeah, I’ve already had a dose or two of the brothers. I’ll keep everything you said in mind.”
Lisa stood up to leave, with Doris following suit. “Then you just might make it around here.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Isla was too wired to be in her room. Unpacking could wait. She was walking along the row of remaining carts, trying to match the number on the cart with what was written on the key tag in her palm, when she literally bumped into someone, and a clump of fresh mulch was dumped on her feet.
“Well, damn,” she mused, looking at her feet.
“I’m sorry,” a voice said, “I didn’t expect anyone to be standing there.”
Isla looked up to see a pair of jeans-clad legs, heavy tan work boots, and the tail of a flannel shirt. The rest of the person was obscured by a very large bag of mulch. He set the mulch down with a grunt and a thump, revealing the rest of him to be a man in his forties with a weathered face and a dismayed expression as he studied the mess he’d caused. He made a move, preparing to dust Isla’s shoes clean.
“Oh no, I got it.” She waved away his hand and kicked her feet as clean as they were going to get.
He got a better look at her. “Are you lost, Miss ...”
“Isla. I’m new, and staff, so forgo the formalities.” They straightened. He was striking, with salt-and-pepper stubble and what she thought were kind dark-brown eyes. “I’m here to document Mr. Corrigan for the award he’s getting next month.”