Welcome to Coco Bay Read online

  Welcome to

  Coco Bay

  (Book 1 in the

  Coco Bay Series)

  KIRSTY MCMANUS

  Copyright © 2020 Kirsty McManus

  All rights reserved.

  THANKS TO…

  I want to thank my usual group of amazing women who are so supportive of my writing career.

  Thanks to Lindsay for another great editing job. Thank you also to Brooke, for being so thorough and helpful.

  Of course, thank you to Diane, the one I can always rely on.

  Thanks to Sharon for your local knowledge. :)

  A big thank you to Vikkie, who is the sweetest reader ever.

  And thank you in general to Cyndy, Anna, Natasha, Sophie, Louise, Belinda, Kate, and Margot, for always letting me talk about writing and being so lovely. I am very lucky to have friends like you!

  P.S. And it goes without saying, Kesh gets a special mention just for being an awesome husband. :)

  ONE

  Emily

  Damn you, Ryan Franco.

  This was supposed to be my year. You made me think I was about to score a promotion that would elevate me from a regular international tourism director to a member of the management team, only to then frame me and make it look like I sold trade secrets.

  You took away my life in Vancouver, including my gorgeous apartment in West End. And I blame you for ruining my relationship with Emmet. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have brought up the subject of my fragile residential status, and Emmet wouldn’t have offered to marry me mere weeks after we met. That’s way too much pressure for anyone.

  I stare at a photo of Ryan’s smug face on Facebook and want to punch the screen of my laptop. I’ve tried contacting him several times since I left, but he keeps ignoring all my calls and messages. For now, the only way I can cope is to erase him from my life. I click Unfriend on my old boss’s profile and open another tab so I can check the status of my new job applications.

  It’s been four weeks since I landed back in Australia, and I’m no closer to becoming re-employed. When your previous place of work is unwilling to provide a professional reference, it makes it hard for anyone to trust you.

  I haven’t spoken to Emmet either, apart from a quick text once I touched down in Brisbane. His impulsive nature (which I found sweet but wildly misguided) meant that he’d found a new girlfriend before I’d even left Vancouver—and I want to give them both some space to build a meaningful connection without me getting in the way.

  The only upside to this whole sorry situation is that I have a bit of money saved. I’d been planning to travel down the west coast of the US right before I was let go, so I’ve been living off my travel fund since I returned. It won’t last forever, though, and I’m running out of businesses in Brisbane looking for tourism directors.

  My Airbnb is paid up until Monday, four days away. After that, I’ll have to find somewhere else to stay. I can’t afford to remain where I am.

  I scroll through the list of job applications and note, with a heavy feeling settling in my chest, that they have all been rejected.

  It’s been over five years since I last worked in any other job, and the only qualifications I obtained before that were making coffee and working in retail.

  I change my job search to include retail. I’m not sure I want to inflict my rusty barista skills on anyone just yet.

  A huge list of very unappealing positions appear on the screen.

  Sales consultant required for Australia’s fastest-growing business in the bicycle industry.

  I know absolutely nothing about bikes, other than I owned one in Vancouver. It was a cool orange beach cruiser I used to ride around English Bay and up to Stanley Park. A tear rolls down my cheek as I move on to the next listing.

  Retail assistant required for a leading gold buyer. Casual position initially, with view to a permanent role based on performance.

  Translation: we have no intention of making you permanent but want to attract candidates who won’t leave us after two weeks of crappy pay.

  Moving on.

  Sales assistant for old-school pawnbrokers. Must be available seven days a week.

  ‘Old-school’ pawnbrokers? What does that even mean? I wasn’t aware there was a new school of pawnbroking that was less superior.

  And then something catches my eye. I think it must have been put in the wrong category by accident.

  Night manager required for a luxury five-star resort in the Whitsundays. Must have tourism experience. Immediate start.

  I skim through all the requirements, but nothing in the listing says that the experience in tourism can’t come from an office-based director’s role in another country.

  I quickly fill out the application and send it off, trying not to get my hopes up in the process.

  Working in the Whitsundays would be perfect. I even have a bit of knowledge of the area thanks to a marketing campaign I did for some Great Barrier Reef tours while I was in Canada.

  But if I don’t get this job, I might look even farther afield. I only returned to Brisbane because it’s where I’ve spent most of my life, and I’m familiar with its geography. I do have people I used to be friends with here—and my father lives nearby too—but I have no desire to see anyone.

  Actually, that’s not entirely true.

  There is one person I wouldn’t mind seeing again.

  Seb.

  Except it’s been over four years since we last spoke, and I’m pretty sure he would have forgotten I existed by now. But I can’t even check, because he doesn’t have any social media accounts, and his old phone number doesn’t work anymore.

  It’s probably for the best.

  I’m not sure how long I sit there daydreaming, but I suddenly see a notification on my screen.

  Oh my God. The employment agency advertising the night manager position has responded already. And they want to meet me!

  I quickly reply, saying I’m available anytime and anyplace. I’m sure there’s a rule about not looking too eager when applying for a job because it makes you seem desperate, but I don’t care. I am desperate. And if they’re responding that quickly to my application, they might be desperate too.

  It could be a match made in heaven.

  ***

  I stand in the lobby of the building where my interview is due to be held and examine the business listings on a board mounted on the wall. Diamond Recruiting is on the twenty-third floor. I enter the elevator and look for the button with twenty-three on it, but there isn’t one. It only goes up to twenty-one. Is this some kind of a joke?

  And then I notice a small piece of paper taped beside the numbers.

  For floors 22 – 25, take the service elevator on Level 21.

  Okay, then. As an ex-tourism director, I learned that visibility is everything, so a business that can’t afford an office somewhere easily accessible isn’t a good sign.

  Still, I’ll reserve judgment until I’ve actually seen the place.

  I arrive at the twenty-first floor and spy another piece of paper nearby with the word ‘elevator’ and an arrow pointing to my left. It looks handwritten, and I wonder if this is some weird ploy to lure unsuspecting people to a secret location and then trick them into investing in a pyramid scheme.

  Or worse.

  I contemplate turning around and leaving again but chastise myself for letting my imagination get the better of me.

  I locate the second elevator and take it up to the twenty-third floor.

  And find myself in an almost completely empty office. My sense of unease ratchets up a notch.

  But then I notice a woman in the back corner who strongly resembles Emma Thompson’s character in Harry Potter, with masses of frizzy h
air exploding out of her head, and a pair of thick black-framed circular glasses enlarging the eyes behind them.

  “Welcome!” she says, hurrying over and sticking out a hand. “I’m Birdie. Apologies for the mess. We’ve only just moved in.”

  “We?” I ask, peering around.

  “Okay, you got me. It’s just me for the moment. I recently left another employment agency and decided to set out on my own. And what a coup it was to land the recruiting contract for Coco Bay Island Resort! Stick that up your arse, Faye Matthews!”

  “Um, right.”

  She covers her mouth and chuckles. “Sorry, that was highly unprofessional of me. But you’d understand if you met Faye. She’s like that woman in The Devil Wears Prada. You know, the one played by Meryl Streep?”

  “Oh. I’m afraid I haven’t seen the movie.”

  “Never mind, never mind. Come and take a seat. Let’s get this ball rolling.”

  “Sure.”

  I follow her over to a desk that is completely bare, except for a salmon-coloured mug with a picture of Nicholas Cage’s face on one side. She points to a collapsible chair in front of us. “Please.”

  I oblige and watch as she sits down on a green fit ball on the other side of the desk and starts bouncing up and down.

  “What was your name again?” she asks.

  “Emily. McIntosh.”

  “Ah, that’s right. And just remind me. What role were you applying for?”

  “The night manager position.”

  “Of course, of course.” She squints her eyes as if studying me carefully. “Well, you look pretty suitable to me. Do you have any questions?”

  I stare at her disbelievingly. Surely she’s not going to give me the job purely based on my appearance? “Uh, do you know the breakdown of the night manager’s schedule? Is it forty hours a week?”

  “Oh, you’ll have to ask them when you get there. That’s not something I would know.”

  Okaaayyy…I try again. “You mentioned the position is at the Coco Bay Island Resort. I don’t think I’ve heard of it before.”

  “Ah. Now that is something I can answer.” She shuffles around in a drawer tucked into the side of her desk and pulls out a brochure, sliding it across to me. “This should contain everything you need to know about the place.”

  I flick through the colour pages, admiring the glossy photos advertising paradise. Coconut palms lean over white sand that fringes a calm aqua-blue sea. Tropical bungalows sit on stilts over the water—and it looks like there are multiple swimming pools and restaurants on the property. It even has a day spa.

  “It’s beautiful,” I breathe.

  “I know,” she says proudly. She looks down at a piece of paper with a few notes scrawled on it in green ink. “It has twenty over-water villas and an additional one hundred and twenty rooms in the main building. There are three restaurants: a twenty-four-hour buffet, a poolside bar, and a silver-service dining room that employs a Michelin-starred chef.”

  “That sounds amazing.”

  “Oh, wait, you don’t get seasick, do you?”

  “Uh, not to my knowledge. Why?”

  “Because you can only reach the island by boat. Well, that or seaplane, but the island doesn’t own one of those.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.” In fact, it sounds ideal. That means I won’t feel obligated to return to Brisbane so often. If at all.

  I try to think of anything else I should ask. The unusual nature of the interview has scrambled my brain. “What about accommodation? And meals?”

  “All included, apparently.”

  “That’s perfect.”

  She beams. “Well, if that’s all you need to know…”

  I feel like I should ask more questions, but she seems to want to end the meeting.

  “What happens next in the recruiting process?” I quickly ask.

  She blinks. “Oh, we’re done. You’ve got the job. Congratulations! You start on Monday, so you’ll need to head up to Mackay and be waiting at the resort’s mainland jetty on Sunday afternoon at 4:30pm. Does that work for you?”

  I almost laugh out loud but manage to maintain a professional façade. “It works very well for me. Thank you for this opportunity.”

  She stands up and ushers me out. “It was lovely meeting you…sorry, I’ve already forgotten your name.”

  “Emily.”

  “Yes! Emily. Well, good luck with everything. I’ll forward through all the paperwork to your email this afternoon.”

  “Great. Thanks again.”

  I hurry out before she can change her mind. Not that I imagine she would. The woman was bonkers! It does make me wonder how the resort came to choose her for their recruitment, but if it means I have a job back in tourism, I’m not complaining.

  I ride the elevator down to the ground floor, humming happily all the way. I’m in such a good mood, I actually feel like contacting someone to share the news.

  I get out my brand-new Australian phone and scroll through the local numbers in my contacts. Thank God for technology, which stored all these peoples’ details in the cloud for five years. I stop when I see my dad’s name on the list. Should I call him? He might be upset if he knew I’d been back in the country for a month and hadn’t tried to phone. And since I’m about to leave again, there’s no harm in a quick conversation.

  I press dial and wait for him to answer. My heart pounds, despite my attempts to pretend this is no big deal.

  The call goes to voicemail, and the relief that immediately floods my veins proves I’m not yet ready to talk to my father.

  “Uh, hi, Dad. It’s me. I just wanted to let you know I’m back in Australia, but I’m about to start working at a resort in the Whitsundays. I’ll call you again once I’ve settled in.”

  I hang up and feel a little guilty I was so easily let off the hook. The extent of communication with my dad over the last five years has been the occasional email, or a stilted call at Christmas or on one of our birthdays. We have a complicated relationship, so I’ve always found it easiest to limit contact.

  I scroll through more phone numbers and pause on Seb’s. I know it’s disconnected, but I try it again anyway. Seb and I were only together for a month—right before I moved to Vancouver—but I’m not sure I ever got over him.

  The familiar standard message plays in my ear. “Your call could not be connected. Please check the number and try again.”

  I open the browser on my phone and type in Sebastian Einhorn.

  The usual results come up, none with any link to the guy I know.

  A quick check on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook shows he hasn’t recently created an account on any social media platforms either.

  I guess I’ll just have to celebrate the new job by myself.

  I used to share all my good news with Ryan, but since he backstabbed me, that’s obviously not going to happen. Anyway, I’ve always enjoyed my own company, so it seems fitting I should prepare for this next chapter solo as well.

  Life is so much easier when you don’t have to worry about other people letting you down.

  TWO

  Noah

  “Hello?”

  I peer through the glass at the front door of my mother’s house but don’t see any movement. I try the handle and find it locked. I wonder where everyone is.

  That’s when I hear laughing coming from the backyard. I make my way down the side path and see Mum and Aunt Dinah reclining on plastic loungers on the lawn, drinking red wine.

  Dinah spots me and waves me over. “Noah, darling. What a lovely surprise!”

  “I wasn’t sure you’d be at home,” I say, going over and giving both women a kiss on the cheek.

  “We decided to skip the club tonight. Gladys was trying to rope us into raising funds for some ridiculous tourist attraction, and we’re refusing to be a part of it.”

  I look inside the back door and find the bottle of red wine and a spare glass, pouring one for myself. “What kind of tourist
attraction?”

  “A big lychee. Can you believe it?”

  “A big lychee?”

  “Yes, she wants to pay a local artist to make a thirty-foot-high bronze sculpture to stick next to the toilet block at Iluka Park.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting concept.”

  “It’s a stupid concept, that’s what it is. Can you imagine anyone wanting to go out of their way to look at the thing?”

  I pull a chair over to where they’re sitting and take a sip of my wine. “Admittedly, it’s not something I’d prioritise.”

  My mother looks at her watch. “I suppose you’ll be staying the night?”

  “If that’s okay?”

  “Of course it’s okay. But you know, you’re a grown man. You should probably invest in real estate one of these days.”

  “It seems pointless when I spend most of my time on the island.”

  “You could rent it out. Or put it on that AirABC thing.”

  “You mean Airbnb?” I say, eyes twinkling.

  She swats a hand at me. “You know what I mean.”

  “I’ll think about it. What were you going to do for dinner? I can make something if you like?”

  “There’s leftover stew in the fridge I can easily heat up.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t want to save it for another night?”

  “No. I’d rather spend some quality time with my baby boy.”

  “He’s not a baby anymore,” Dinah points out.

  “He’ll always be my baby,” she says firmly. “But I suppose it won’t be long before he gets married and has a family of his own…”

  I can’t help but smile. “And it might be sooner, rather than later.”

  The women grab each other’s arms and look at me in horror. “You didn’t!”

  “Um, that’s not exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” I say dryly. “Do we need to have another chat about Lani?”

  Mum frowns. “Answer me this first. Have you proposed?”