NEW ADULT NOVELS
Millionaire B&B
I pulled into Singing Oak Arts Camp feeling a jumbled mix of nervous and excited. This was my first real job—a.k.a one where my employer wasn’t related to me. My friend Abby told me about the camp. She said her sister worked here and loved it. Then she convinced me to apply. I tried not to be hopeful because the job sounded too good to be true and there was no way I was the most qualified applicant. So, when the director called with the offer, I was shocked but ecstatic. I’d never considered myself a lucky person. Maybe that would change this summer.
The moment I stepped out of my car, a woman wearing a sparkly visor and clutching a bedazzled clipboard greeted me enthusiastically. “Mr. Jenkins! Welcome to Singing Oak!” She spread her arms wide, showcasing the scenery like a product model.
This woman was a trip. Big hair, bigger sunglasses, and a feather boa wrapped around her neck. She was every quirky, artsy cliché one could imagine. “Hello, Ms. Rupert. It’s nice to meet you in person.” My final interview had been done by video conference. It clearly hadn’t provided an accurate picture of my new boss’s theatrical personality. But, given where I was, I suppose I should have expected it.
“Please, call me Vivian. I’m only thirty-five. Not nearly old enough to be a Ms.” Vivian was extremely tall, so when she placed her hands on my shoulders to air kiss both cheeks, it wasn’t much of a stretch.
I chuckled. “Thirty-five? You don’t look a day over twenty-eight.”
“Ooh, I like you already.” She grinned at me with an exaggerated wink, then called over her shoulder, “Chloe dear, can you come help Garland with his luggage?”
A girl, who was clearly related to my friend Abby, wandered around the side of a nearby cabin. She was thin, like her sister, though her long, toned legs made her much taller—five-nine or ten, if I had to guess. She had Abby’s button nose, complete with a dusting of freckles and the same pouty lips. The one thing, besides height, that set the two apart was Chloe’s waist-long mane of stick-straight, shiny strawberry-blonde hair.
Chloe approached and flipped her sunglasses to the top of her head, revealing bright blue eyes framed by long, dark lashes. She put her hands on her hips, looking me over while she blew a giant bubble with her gum. When it popped, she sucked the sticky pink glob back into her mouth. It made a loud cracking noise as she bit down on it again.
“So, you’re the guy Abby gushed about,” she said frankly. I couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or a simple observation. “A ginger and a day walker. Nice.”
My brow crinkled. “A day walker?”
“Yeah. Like a vampire.” She folded her arms across her chest and waited for me to get the reference. I was too busy watching her mouth move. Every few chomps, she pulled the gum tight over her tongue. It was mesmerizing. When I didn’t respond, she grew impatient, cocking her head to the side. “As in, you can go outside during the daytime without being fried crispy?”
I gave my head a quick shake, breaking the bubblegum trance. “That I can.”
Chloe looked me up and down, then wrinkled her nose. “My sister assured me we’d be instant buddies, but you’re barely a redhead.” Huh? What the heck did my hair color have to do with anything? She jerked her chin toward my head and shook hers in disapproval. “Auburn. That’s code for almost brown. I’m not sure we can be friends now.”
“Okay…” I felt like I’d been knocked upside the head with a stick. This girl might have looked like Abby, but that’s where the similarities stopped.
She waited a beat, then laughed. “Oh my gosh, I’m messing with you, newbie.”
“Right.” I choked out a lame chuckle.
She waved her hand dismissively and reached down to pick up my bag. “Your hair’s great. Your tan, too. Totally jealous. We still can’t be friends, though, because I’m your boss.”
“Chloe,” Vivian warned, sounding stern but looking as if she were holding back laughter. “Be nice. And don’t abuse the power. I can take it away as quickly as I gave it.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Chloe saluted Vivian, then spun on her heel and marched off toward a trail labeled staff cabins.
Vivian rolled her eyes, but her smile was warm. It was easy to see she had a great affection for Chloe. “As you know, I’m the camp director. Clint, who’s probably floating around the kitchen somewhere, is the assistant director. You’ll meet him at orientation. We also have five junior leaders, traditionally referred to as group moms or dads. All counselors are assigned to a “family” when they get here, and Chloe happens to be your mom. She might be in charge, but her word isn’t law. Don’t let her convince you otherwise.”
“I’ll do my best.” I laughed.
Vivian nodded toward Chloe, who was shouldering my backpack with one arm and hefting my giant suitcase against her hip with the other. She looked as if she were about to tip over. “You better go help her before she drops that on her toe. She’s a dancer; kind of needs her toes.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I mimicked Chloe’s salute, grabbed my sleeping bag and pillow, then jogged to the trail. When I caught up, I tried to take the case from her hand.
“Watch it, buddy,” she growled. “You do that, and I’ll fall backward. I’m perfectly balanced right now.”
“You’re perfectly moving like a snail.” I chuckled. “Let me help.”
“If you must.” She sighed and dropped both bags at her feet. “You know, I’m just trying to be a good mother here.”
I shoved my sleeping bag at her and flexed my biceps like a bodybuilder. “Thanks, but how about you let your strapping son do the heavy lifting?”
She clasped her hands over her heart and fluttered her eyelashes. In a dramatic Southern accent, she replied, “Oh, goodness me. What a sweet boy, lookin’ out for his mama. I must have raised you right.” Then she stuck her finger out and bopped the end of my nose.
I blinked hard as I cleared my throat to conceal a snicker. Chloe’s theatrical flair seemed genuine, but I was struggling to reconcile myself with her personality. She couldn’t be more different from her sister. Abby told me they were close, but the thought of them intentionally hanging out blew my mind.
I wedged my pillow under my arm, grabbed my bags, and trudged onward. “Vivian said you’re a dancer, but to me, you scream actor.”
Chloe bounced around my side and walked backward so she could face me. “I sing, too.”
“Ah, the triple threat.”
She beamed at the compliment and asked, “How about you? Are you a one-trick pony?”
I chuckled. “I can carry a tune okay, but you don’t want to see me dance.”
Her brow furrowed. “You can’t be that bad.”
“Lucky for me, you’ll never know,” I replied. She grinned impishly, as if she had a wicked secret. It made me nervous. “What? I don’t like the face you’re making.”
“Nothing.” She hummed.
I snorted. “Well…that doesn’t sound suspicious.”
We’d reached a small cabin with a porch that spanned the length of the front. The roof was steep and covered in green shingles. It reminded me of these blocks I used to play with at my grandparents’ house called Lincoln Logs. There were two identical bright-red doors with screens, spaced about ten feet apart. Each door had a small window beside it and a flat mailbox mounted to the front. The box on the right was labeled boys. The box on the left read girls.