“Good. Also, I think we both know we’re not messy people. But if I leave shit lying around”—he nodded to the boxes—“feel free to put me in my place. My mother never failed to do so.”
She laughed. “I’m not as concerned about the décor as your mother is.” She motioned to the brightly colored secondhand furniture.
“I like your style.” He pulled her close.
“Eclectic.” She looked around at the hodgepodge of items she’d collected over the few years she’d lived alone.
“Exciting, fresh, bright, and cheery,” Damion said, turning to her. “And sexy. Everything that you are.”
She smiled. “You have either blinders on or rose-colored glasses.”
He shook his head. “Nope, just a simple boy who likes a girl and her style.”
He leaned in and kissed her until her back was pinned on the bed again. This time, their movements were slower. Still fervid, but a ballet instead of the speedy mambo that had come before.
The passion was so intense that tears spilled from her eyes as his fingers danced over her skin. When his mouth slid over hers, she lost the last strings she’d been holding herself back with.
Everything she was now belonged to him. Every dream she had, he was now a side character in. There was no future without Damion in it.
In conclusion, she was totally screwed.
The days seemed to whisk by them. They would carpool to work each day, then spend their nights pleasing one another.
The first time she’d worked one of his sunset sails, she’d earned eighty dollars in tips. The second time, that amount doubled. Each time, she’d deposit the money into her account and immediately send a check off to her car loan. Whatever she could do to knock the payments down seemed to help her state of mind.
It wasn’t the only bill she had, but it was the biggest and the one with the worst interest rate.
Damion suggested she keep it in a savings account, which she had every intention of doing after she knocked a thousand dollars or two off the car loan.
Her father’s tests came back negative for the fatal Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. As far as they could tell, it was an early onset of Alzheimer’s, which would progress rapidly over the coming years.
At work, the Wildflowers had arranged for a huge media meeting where most of the local news stations, and some national ones, would gather at the camp on Monday. Several state press members had been booked in the cabins of those guests who had cancelled.
Next week’s media meeting was going to be the telltale moment. The event would either return the camp to its former success or guarantee its demise.
Of course, with this news, all of the staff had been put on extra duties. The maintenance crew was working overtime touching up paint, cleaning in all the dark corners, oiling anything that squeaked, and repairing or replacing anything that was damaged or broken.
Employees were asked, if they had time during their normal hours, to walk the grounds and help spot anything that might need updating or cleaning. Most of them took it upon themselves to carry trash bags or even small containers of paint and brushes.
The signs along the pathways were all painted with the same teal colors in the camp’s logo. The signs themselves had been carved and placed by Liam shortly before the camp had opened five years ago, as were all of the unique wood benches around the campgrounds. It was a game to some employees to guess how many benches there were. To her count, there were more than a hundred and twenty unique carved seats.
All of the bikes and golf carts had been taken in for a tune-up and or had been replaced.
Isaac’s staff worked extra hours cleaning every inch of the kitchens and dining rooms, including the staff areas.
Jules had helped Andrea and Kara clean the massage rooms and pool house areas after Andrea had asked her for help. Damion had gotten a bunch of help scrubbing all the glass tiles in all three pools.
Most of the volunteers didn’t mind the job since it entailed bathing suits and pool time.
By Sunday morning, the entire camp looked and somehow even smelled brand new. Every single employee currently on the camp’s payroll would be present for the next few days.
Eight reporters would be checking in that day and staying for at least two nights. It was her idea to offer them a discount to fill the cabins abandoned after the Tribbertons’ interview.
Jules stood behind the counter in a freshly ironed shirt with an embroidered camp logo and a name tag on the left side of her chest. Her hair was tied up in a neat bun, and silver earrings that her mother had bought her for her last birthday dangled on her ears. A matching necklace, which had come the year earlier, was showcased just between the opened buttons on the pressed blouse.
The black slacks and low-heeled boots she wore showed that she was all business.
She might not look big city chic, but she could easily pass for classy.