Fisher of Men Read online

  Leah smiled. She was used to guests underestimating her rank and mistaking her for a local college student at a weekend job. I'm sure wearing this apron only furthers that assumption, she thought. “I'm Leah Miller, Guest Experience Strategist. I'm more than happy to assist you with whatever you need to make your stay at The Pearl extraordinary.” It was her well-rehearsed, standard introduction, accompanied by her outstretched hand.

  The copper-haired lady didn't seem taken aback, but rather launched into a lengthy complaint involving the front desk staff not allowing early check-ins or late check-outs for her guests, then morphing into something about an eight foot table that was supposed to be set up in the hallway and finally a tangential-sounding rant regarding a problem with the drink special. Leah only understood about half of what the woman spouted, but the pleasant smile affixed to her face did not waver. Instead she simply replied, “I'm sorry, I think I missed your name?” extending her hand toward the lady again after having retracted it shortly after the tirade commenced.

  “I'm so sorry,” the lady sighed, grasping Leah's hand firmly. “I guess I'm a little stressed. This is our first time booking an event here, and you have different protocols than the last place we used. I'm Casey Fontaine.”

  “No apologies,” Leah smiled warmly. “I will talk to the desk staff about the checking in and out issue. Now, about that table...” She turned to one of the waiters who was wheeling a cart of leftover mirror tiles back to the storage closet. “Peter, please get an eight foot table and tablecloth from storage and...how many chairs do you need, Ms. Fontaine?”

  “I think four would do nicely,” she replied. Peter was off and running no sooner than the words passed through Ms. Fontaine's lips.

  “Let me grab Steve and Gina, our regular bartenders, to clear up the matter about the drink special,” Leah offered. “Just a moment, please.” Ms. Fontaine nodded graciously as Leah headed off for the kitchen, swiftly reappearing with her staff in tow.

  Steve went over the drink specials with Ms. Fontaine and within a few minutes, the worry lines had faded from her face. “Thank you so much,” she gushed, grasping Leah's hand firmly in both of hers. Despite her brusque, assertive personality and large stature, Ms. Fontaine's hands were soft and warm. “You've been a huge help, Leah.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Leah asked, eyes glowing with her guest's compliment. This was the part of her job she loved most: seeing contentment and satisfaction on her guests' faces after she offered service above and beyond their expectations.

  “I'm so glad you'll be behind the bar tonight. I will definitely come and find you if there are any other issues!” Ms. Fontaine replied.

  “Yes, please do!” Leah encouraged her. She watched Ms. Fontaine and a few of her entourage who had assembled during the impromptu meeting exit the ballroom to the hallway. The waiters had propped open the doors and Leah witnessed the party occupy the four seats that Peter had carefully placed behind the cloth-draped eight foot table. Leah walked past them on her way to the front desk to have a word with the night staff about the early check-ins and late check-outs. Nothing could be done to correct the early check-in issue, but she advised her staff to leave word for the morning shift about the late check-outs. It would certainly not be a problem on a Sunday in November.

  Within the hour, guests began to arrive to the party. Most entered the ballroom concealed in coats or wraps and Leah was quite surprised to see that most of the ladies were rather scantily clad underneath. Some wore corset tops with short black skirts, fishnets and scarily tall high heels. Others donned curve-hugging low-cut dresses out of which ample cleavage spilled. The men were definitely more conservatively dressed, sporting dress pants and button down shirts or polos.

  Leah had spotted a sign next to Casey's table in the hallway announcing the “Charity of the Month.” They were collecting cans and nonperishable items for a local food bank to distribute the following week. The large gift-wrapped box was overflowing by the time the last of the guests arrived. But Leah had no clue what the provocative attire had to do with the food bank collection.

  She was also perplexed when she surveyed the dance floor. It was difficult to distinguish couples as the guests seemed to frequently trade dance partners. She'd seen one gentleman squeeze the posteriors of several different ladies. And there was a lot of kissing going on, more than just a peck on the cheek. What the heck kind of party is this? she wondered as she hustled back to the bar.

  A trio approached together, a couple along with another man. The middle-aged woman was petite with long, curly dark hair that brushed against her exposed shoulders. She wore a tightly-laced bustier that forced her ample bosom to strain against the smooth black leather and a short denim skirt with thigh-high leather boots which also laced up the front. Her arms were interlocked with both men, one barely taller than her with a black mustache and dark, heavily lashed eyes. The other man broke free from her clutch to pay for the drinks. He was tall, 6'2” or 6'3” with tousled, sun-kissed sandy blonde hair graying at the temples and matching silvery facial scruff that outlined his full lips and chiseled jawline. He handed Leah a twenty dollar bill for the $11 check and grinned enough to show a dimple through his beginnings of a beard.

  “Keep the change,” he winked, his blue eyes revealing both a buzz and a hint of mischievousness.

  “Thanks,” Leah returned his smile, quickly making change and stuffing it into the tip jar. She planned to let Steve and Gina split the contents at the end of the night.

  “You're not really a bartender, are you?” he guessed, his eyes locking onto hers. She noticed that the dark-haired couple for whom he'd bought the drinks had already made their way back to the throng of guests congregating near the D.J.'s table. She watched the woman grind her pelvis against the backside of another woman on the dance floor until the silvery scruff-faced man at the bar's piercing ocean-blue gaze drew her back in to his realm.

  A magnanimous charisma emanated from him, a halo of good-natured warmth and acceptance. He seemed the type of person to whom everyone gravitated, the type people would share their deepest secrets with. Leah had felt the pull of this stock character's magnetic charm before. She knew what kind of power a man like that could have over women, even in her naïve 27-year-old state, one with only a small catalog of romantic endeavors.

  “Actually, no, I'm not,” she replied pleasantly, struggling to remain in work mode. “I had to fill in tonight for a bartender who called out. I'm the Guest Experience Strategist.”

  “You don't say,” he smirked, his dimples even more evident. “I, too, like to think of myself as an Experience Strategist!” His right eye flashed another wink as his lips spread into a grin and parted wide enough to show his pearly whites.

  Leah suppressed a gasp as she scrambled for a response to his not-so-subtle innuendo. Just who does this guy think he is, anyway? she wondered. She could feel the testosterone oozing out of his pores. I'm sure liquid courage has something to do with his boldness, she theorized. She had dealt with plenty of inebriated guests in her short career. She always felt the best strategy was to smile and nod, unless hotel rules were being violated, of course.

  He straightened to his full height and extended his hand to her. “I'm Captain Chris Sheldon,” he offered smoothly, the slightly smarmy tone from moments before swiftly vanishing, replaced with suave and debonair.

  “Military?” Leah asked, her eyes bright, ignoring his outstretched palm. There was an Air Force base in Dover and a Navy base on the Eastern shore of Virginia, so it wasn't unusual for her to have officers as guests at The Pearl.

  He chuckled, flashing the dimples again. “No, no, I'm a charter fishing captain. My friends call me 'Cap.'” He pumped his arm up and down once as if to remind her he was waiting to make contact with her.

  When she finally accepted his handshake, she felt the warmth of his skin wrap around her and sink into her pores. “It's nice to meet you, Captain Sheldon,” she said formally.
r />   “The pleasure is all mine...” He paused with an expectant grin, waiting for her to reciprocate by sharing her name.

  “Oh, sorry, I'm Leah, Leah Miller,” she managed awkwardly, surprised at how quickly his tone morphed back into Slightly Drunk Flirty Guy Mode.

  “Leah,” he repeated, his hand still wrapped around hers.

  She wondered if he was ever going to let her hand go. Then she began to contemplate whether someone had forgotten to turn down the heat in the ballroom or if her cheeks were flushing from embarrassment. Either way, this is almost painful! she lamented, eagerly waiting for him to loosen his grip on her.

  “I bet you haven't ever bartended a party like this before,” he conjectured, letting her hand slowly slip from his. She felt the warmth his touch had generated evaporate from her skin.

  “I've never bartended at all,” she admitted, glad to have her hand freed. “Not a party 'like this' or otherwise.” What in the world did he mean by that? she wondered, trying to conceal her curiosity behind the forced business-like smile plastered to her face. It was an expression she had perfected throughout her time in management.

  He laughed and stepped another foot closer to her, close enough that his elbow could rest on the bar while he leaned in toward her. Why isn't anyone else coming up for a drink? she panicked, glancing around at the seemingly happy crowd and then toward the kitchen door to see if either Steve or Gina were returning from their break.

  “You don't know what kind of party this is, then?” he wagered, his eyes glued back onto hers.

  She was beginning to feel flustered and in need of rescue. She hadn't planned on having any in-depth conversations with the guests, unless they were about how the hotel could make their stay more enjoyable. This was beyond the scope of her job. It's none of my business what kind of party this is, she thought, even if the guests do seem a little different than I expected. She let the plastered smile hold her lips in place as she very slowly shook her head and raised her eyebrows.

  Captain Sheldon laughed again. “It's a swinger party, Leah. We're swingers.”

  That Sunday afternoon the details of the prior night's party still buzzed in her head, and Leah was finding it difficult to relax on her day off. She heard Captain Sheldon's voice echoing through her mind as she zoomed through all the cable channels, unable to land on any program compelling enough to pull her attention away from her thoughts. Her observations about Casey's Group immediately made sense to her after his admission. Everything clicked: the provocative attire, the kissing and groping, the exchanging of partners on the dance floor. But still: swingers? It seemed like a mythical construct to her, like Santa Claus or Bigfoot, instead of a real thing.

  To each their own, she surmised, her stance unwavering even after she'd had some time to think about it. The guests looked happy and Casey Fontaine was beyond pleased with the outcome of the event. The Pearl had done a great deal of business that night. The bartenders poured drinks well past midnight and nearly all the rooms had been booked. Leah's boss would be pleased and that was what mattered most. So that's that, Leah decided, I'm going to chalk it up as a win!

  After that final judgment, she took her puppy for a walk and filled her mind with thoughts of her family, the morning church service and its over-the-top spectacle, and all the files on her desk eagerly awaiting her return to work. Despite her careful attention to all of those important matters, that Cap character from the party kept triggering little flashbacks. Those ocean-blue eyes and dimples were simply unforgettable.

  TWO

  But I wish everyone were single, just as I am. Yet each person has a special gift from God, of one kind or another. So I say to those who aren’t married and to widows—it’s better to stay unmarried, just as I am. But if they can’t control themselves, they should go ahead and marry. It’s better to marry than to burn with lust. -1 Corinthians 7:7-9 (NLT)

  Monday morning greeted her with a surprisingly warm breeze coming in off the bay. Temperatures in the spring and fall on the eastern shore of Maryland were notoriously fickle. It could be rainy and drizzly, cold and bone-chilling or even downright balmy. Today was the latter, and for that Leah was grateful. She felt the sunshine soaking into her bones as she made her way across the lobby toward the elevator that would take her up to her boss' second floor office. Getting called into the boss' office used to fill Leah with a sense of dread, but after the first few times she learned that Barry Sampson had nothing but words of praise for his star manager. Lately when she received his summons, she began to feel more titillated than anxious.

  Leah had worked so much over the weekend that she barely felt like she'd had a weekend at all. After church, she intended to eat lunch and take her puppy for a walk on the nearly-deserted boardwalk down by the inlet. However, she'd fallen asleep in her rattan chair with her feet propped up on its matching ottoman where Glory dozed away peacefully, intermittently punctuating the white noise coming from the TV with a shrill whine during the more intense moments of her doggy dreams. By the time they both awoke, there was only time for a brisk walk around the complex as the sun set in crimson majesty over the still, purple waters of the bay.

  Barry must have heard Leah's heels clicking down the hallway because he dramatically spun around in his burgundy leather chair at the precise moment that Leah pushed his cracked door open. She nearly dropped the coffee mug she held in her right hand. She was relieved it was only half full or some of the coffee would have invariably ended up on the plush navy carpet under her feet. Barry was clearly amused by the effect of his motion on Leah. Once he was done laughing, he wheeled himself closer to his desk and then cracked his fingers as he offered up his best Montgomery Burns impersonation: “Excellent!”

  Leah usually felt lucky to have what most would consider to be a “cool” boss. He was level-headed, personable, understanding and always took the time to tell her she was doing a great job. He was a bit of a jokester, though. He was constantly admonishing her to lighten up. She just shrugged at his antics and took a seat in the chair on the other side of the desk. “You wanted to see me?” she asked, her green eyes wide and bright.

  “I got an email from Casey Fontaine this morning and she raved about the outstanding service she received at her group's private party on Saturday night. She mentioned you personally. And, she was so thrilled that she decided to book the ballroom for their group's Christmas party next month! She asked if she could come in and meet with you tomorrow to go over the details. Apparently, she was pretty impressed with you, Miss Miller!” he grinned broadly, his ruddy cheeks glowing and his gray eyes creased with happiness.

  “Oh, I'm so glad she was pleased,” Leah replied evenly. She was getting used to humbly accepting accolades and tried to maintain an attitude of “I was just doing my job!”

  She contemplated mentioning the nature of Casey's Group to Barry. He'd probably think it's funny, she decided, not to mention inconsequential. So I guess I shouldn't let the cat out of the bag unless there's a problem.

  From what she had seen on Saturday night, Casey's Group was relatively easy to manage, if not a touch on the exuberant side. Then again, most groups under the influence of alcohol tended toward rowdiness. Other than the pervasive kissing and groping, Leah hadn't noticed anything unusual or problematic.

  She headed back to her office, glancing briefly at her watch only to discover that it was already noon. Ordinarily, she walked three blocks back to her apartment to take Glory out for a walk during her lunch break. But the day was postcard perfect, and now that Daylight Savings Time had ended, the sun was setting so early. She didn't want to miss another opportunity to walk along the deserted boardwalk with her eager puppy in tow. Besides, I worked so much this weekend, I deserve a few hours off during daylight. The Vitamin D will be good for me too!

  Leah informed her assistant of her plans and proceeded out the back doors of The Pearl where her Jeep was parked far away in the outer echelons of the lot. Even though parking spaces in November weren't t
he commodity they were in the summer, Leah left plenty of prime spaces for guests. She drove the three blocks to her apartment complex and ran upstairs to retrieve Glory. The brown-eyed beagle's tail began thumping against the tiled floor of the foyer as soon as she heard her owner's key turn in the lock. She tried to jump up onto Leah's legs, but Leah commanded her to sit while she pulled the pink leash off the hook near the front door. She could tell it was taking the pup every ounce of restraint she could muster to keep her paws on the floor. She gave the furry creature a treat to reward her patience, scooped her up and carried her back down to the Jeep.

  She drove down Coastal Highway from 60th street all the way to the inlet. Glory's ears flapped in the wind as she hung her little head out the cracked window on the passenger's side. “I know, girl, it'd be much more fun with the top down. Just wait until the summer! You're gonna love it!” She patted her pet's hindquarters as she shifted into park and unfastened her seatbelt. She had gotten Glory at the end of the summer and the eight week old pup had been so little at the time that Leah had been afraid to drive around with the top down for fear she'd blow out.

  Glory had blossomed into a healthy and inquisitive four-and-a-half-month-old with enough energy for a whole litter of puppies. Leah often lamented that she didn't get to take Glory outdoors as much as she'd like. The beagle was relegated to her crate for several hours a day, and never was a dog happier to see her owner than Glory when Leah returned home from work. Leah always took her out at lunchtime though, and if she was going to work late, she'd come home to walk Glory before burning the midnight oil. She was half-tempted to sneak Glory in the back door of the hotel and keep her in the office, but she was too afraid she'd make a mess or bark and disturb guests, though she was sure that Barry would get a kick out of her. He had two basset hounds of his own.

  “I'm so glad you have that dog with you now,” Leah's mother told her every time they spoke on the phone since Glory's adoption. “I think it's so much safer than you being in your apartment alone or walking all around town all by yourself.”