Marcia King-Gamble - Sex On Flamingo Beach

“Guests have started asking for their money back. What should we do?” Joya asked. “Chris, the party organizer, thinks we might both get sued,” she added.

Emilie hadn’t thought of that. The resort didn’t need that kind of press, especially now that a casino that provided guests with another option was being built in town.

“Let me see what Owen wants to do,” she said, heading over to the area where several colleagues were standing around openly gaping at the scene.

Owen Schwartz, spotting Emilie, met her halfway.

“It’s about time you showed up,” he chastised, as if she’d been in some way remiss or lacking in her duties.

Emilie was so surprised by the rebuke that she said nothing for a while, but then, conscious of her colleagues listening, she felt the need to defend herself.

“I got here as soon as I was notified, Owen,” she said, hoping that her irritation didn’t show. “The police seem to have everything well in hand. Is there something specific you’d like me to do or take care of?”

“Yes. I’d like you to work with the guest relations manager and get our guests calmed down. We need to be in control. Put your heads together and come up with some way to appease these people. I’d like to minimize the number of people wanting to check out.”

His gaze drifted to where a line was beginning to form at the front desk. The resort’s harried personnel were doing their best to pacify people and answer the questions being screamed at them.

“Who’s handling the media?” Emilie had the presence of mind to ask.

“Public relations. I want this lobby cleared immediately so we can get back to business as usual. Whose idea was it to have this singles bash, anyway?” Owen looked at her expectantly as if expecting her to fess up. Emilie refused to take the bait. Instead, she decided to take charge of the situation.

“I’ll go and help the folks at the front desk,” Emilie answered, retreating as soon as she decently could. She’d never been a fan of Owen Schwartz. She didn’t care for the way he did business.

For the next couple of hours Emilie worked with the front desk agents and other managers to allay the guests’ fears. And despite offers of free dinners and even a complimentary extra night, several people decided to check out. The lobby, meanwhile, was slowly being cleared. The cops were now leading away the drug dealers and buyers.

As more and more people exited, it became clear that the lobby was trashed. Cleaners were called in on overtime. The few that answered their phones were doing their best to pick up trash and mop the marble floors that were streaked interesting and colorful shades. But it was hard to mask the noxious odor of stale beer, cleansers and fragrances that lingered in the air.

“You look like you need to sit down,” a familiar male voice said when Emilie thought she would just about die from exhaustion.

She looked up to see Rowan regarding her with a look of both curiosity and sympathy. She wondered where he had come from. He couldn’t possibly have been at the singles event?

“I look that bad, huh?”

“You don’t look good. Why is the director of leisure sales working the front desk, anyway?”

“In crises management pitches in wherever they can. Were you here the entire time? Did you witness the nightmare?”

“I had a meeting in the Travelers Palm Room. It got interrupted when your singles party turned into a zoo,” he said.

“My singles party?” She raised an eyebrow.

“All right, the singles party your company hosted.”

Emilie was suddenly conscious of the surrounding employees regarding them with keen interest. Since the line at the desk was almost nonexistent now, there wasn’t much more she could do. She stepped out from behind the barrier and took Rowan by the arm, leading him to a more remote area.

“What happened to the other people attending your meeting?” she asked.

He laughed. “Are you kidding? They hightailed it out of here. No one with a smidgeon of common sense sticks around when drugs are involved, except for my man Derek, who was worried about his wife.”

“You stayed, too. Why?”

Those blue eyes regarded her carefully. “Because I was worried about you. I thought you might be working and could use my help so I pitched in and helped with crowd control.”

“That was nice of you.”

Rowan bowed from the waist, sweeping out his hand. “At your service, ma’am. Always at your service.”

Emilie wasn’t buying it. She doubted Rowan had stayed on because of her. There had to be an ulterior motive here. No one was that nice.

Derek Morse came hurrying toward them, an arm around his wife.

“What a mess this turned out to be,” he said, as a tearful Joya nodded her head in agreement.

When Joya was able to pull herself together she added, “So much for making a profit on this bash. You probably paid out a bundle in compensation.”

“We offered credits on future stays, complimentary drinks, meals, that kind of thing,” Emilie assured her.

“I was so proud of myself for snagging a contract for six singles parties. Owen’s probably not going to want any more of these parties on the premises now. Who would have guessed they would attract riffraff?” Joya blew her nose in the tissue her husband handed her.

“You’re beating yourself up unnecessarily,” Emilie said, giving her a hug. “The Knight Corporation would be hard-pressed to turn up its nose at a half-a-million-dollar contract. I doubt they would want to refund the sizeable deposit. Next time your party planner is going to be asked to pay for extra security and there’ll be a sizeable damage deposit requested.”

“There’s another positive,” Rowan chimed in. “The Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort will be the talk of the town tomorrow. You will have made every newspaper. You couldn’t buy yourself that publicity.”

Emilie shot him a disgusted look. “Who wants publicity of that kind? People were dealing drugs on the premises. Look at the condition of this lobby.” Her eyebrows shot to her hairline as she spotted Keith Lightfoot. “What’s he doing here?”

“He was part of my meeting,” Rowan explained. “When all hell broke loose he ended our conversation abruptly. Let me find out what’s going on.” Rowan loped off.

It would figure Keith Lightfoot had been a witness to this whole debacle. She wondered if he was spying on her or had even set up the whole thing. It seemed ironic that of all places to have a meeting he would choose her hotel. But maybe that was Rowan’s doing.

On the other hand, she couldn’t exactly ban Keith from coming on the premises. In some ways she was grateful to him. He had just committed to housing his workmen here for the next six months. If you counted meals and accommodations he was shelling out a small fortune. Money the resort desperately needed.

Still, it made Emilie wonder about the coincidence. Since the hotel had been built there hadn’t been one drug problem. It made her think that maybe the townsfolk were right. Talk of a casino was already attracting the worst human elements.

Were Keith Lightfoot and the Seminoles behind this? He wasn’t exactly the enemy but neither was he a friend. And what about Rowan? Whose side was he on…?

A million thoughts flittered through her head as Emilie paced the lobby of 411 Flamingo Place. On one hand she was looking forward to seeing Rowan again, and on the other she had feelings of trepidation. He’d called last evening to remind her about the jam session. It was a popular event and parking was usually a nightmare, so they’d agreed to leave the cars behind and walk from her place to the beach.

The town was still talking about the drug bust, and it had made all of the local papers, preempting every story on the television channels. D’dawg, the popular radio personality, and his audience, practically all of Flamingo Beach, were having a field day. Nothing this big had ever happened in town. It was being blamed on the influx of new people moving in. But amazingly, bookings at the spa and resort for the summer months were now at a record high.