Page 15 of Song of Lorelei
“Phil’s your cousin? And Will’s?” Lorelei kept her tone light, as she rifled through her makeup bag for her CC cream, but on the inside, she was reeling at the revelation. Could this town be any smaller?
“Different side of the family, and second cousin technically, but who really keeps track? Anyway, I have a tour to catch.” With one last fluff, Carrie pivoted on her heels and strode toward the door. Lorelei thought she was in the clear, but Carrie paused halfway out the door and glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, and Lori? You’re going to need a hell of a lot more than CC cream.”
Lorelei scowled. But once Carrie was gone, she begrudgingly rooted around her makeup bag for concealer.
Chapter Six
LORELEI
Liquid mask of professionalism in place, Lorelei found the research center director in his east-facing office after lunch. She’d shot off an email ahead of time, asking if they could meet to discuss hiring an Assistant Director for the museum, and he quickly accepted.
Phil Simmons had been talking on the phone at his desk when she arrived, which made her hesitate and consider rescheduling with his secretary, but he waved her in, mouthing, “I only need a minute,” before carrying on.
In one breath, it sounded like he was talking to a board member about a budgetary item, but in the next, a relative, when he asked, ‘will I see you at the family reunion?’ Was Phil related to someone on the board? Not unheard of or even unusual, especially in a small town, but she hadn’t thought of the research center as being family-run. They certainly didn’t advertise themselves that way.
Stop eavesdropping, Lorelei. It’s rude.
The whole back wall of Phil’s office was just one large window overlooking the rich blue water of the harbor beyond. One could watch the sunrise here, and every lobster and fishing boat in Haven Cove as they chased the horizon. Lorelei looked away. She didn’t need to see the ocean to feel it’s call, this magnetic pull that burrowed into the marrow of her bones, but seeing it made that feeling worse.
She distracted herself by taking in the layout of the office.
Bookshelves lined the left wall, rows of hardbound scientific journals with gold-embossed lettering occupying every shelf alongside sea creature knickknacks and family pictures. Not a speck of dust could be seen on any one of his books, but none of the spines were cracked.
A large tank rested against the right wall, filled with colorful fish, none of which lived remotely close to Maine. They were likely bought at a local pet supply store. An intern stood on a step stool to sprinkle fish food in through the top. The fish within swarmed, gobbling up every flake in an insatiable frenzy, but soon, they would go back to swimming in a leisurely circle around their tank. Round and around. Day after day for the rest of their short lives.
Did they know they were not free?
Lorelei tore her eyes away from the tank. She didn’t have space in her brain to contemplate that. It hit too close to a sore spot.
When Phil hung up the phone, she greeted him amicably and placed the job role notes she drafted with Lila on his desk.
Sliding it closer, he murmured, “Let’s see what we have here.” He spared the page only a brief glance before leaning back in his cushy black leather office chair, hands steepled. There was more written on the page than his ten-second perusal could have adequately covered, but he wouldn’t have so readily agreed to meet if he wasn’t seriously considering her hiring request, right?
Her boss was in his late-forties, distinguishable by his shock of straight, straw-colored hair, watery blue eyes, and a thick layer of facial scruff that was quickly approaching beard territory. If he shared any genetic makeup with Carrie besides paler features, she couldn’t tell. Their noses and cheekbones were distinctly theirs.
However, he seemed to share Carrie’s flare for tailored fashion—from his crisp, creaseless shirts and rolled up sleeves down to his bespoke leather shoes from the Netherlands. On casual dress days he swapped out his solid ties and socks for ones with loud colors and silly patterns. Last week he wore a red tie with llamas on them and matching socks.
“It’s funny that you wanted to talk about hiring someone today.” Director Simmons had a slow, contemplative way of speaking, and a deceptively down-to-earth manner that made him easy to talk and listen to, but Lorelei couldn’t be sure it was genuine. Sometimes he was too affable with employees, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he ever used what he learned against them, whenever it suited. “It was something I wanted to discuss, as well. Aside from needing people to run the ticket counter and gift shop and take guests on tours, we need to hire someone to help you out. I’ve noticed the long hours you’ve been logging between your museum position and the lab. I talked to Dr. Branson about you dropping the lab work, but she said your help has been invaluable, and that they can’t part with you. I guess that mermaid’s taken a shine to you, and that’s just something I’ve got to accept for now. I was thinking we hire someone who could handle promotions and customer service. Slap the title Assistant Museum Director on it. What do you think?”
That was exactly what she had said when she first entered his office, and while she didn’t like how he casually claimed her and Lila’s ideas, the fact that he seemed to be onboard with fulfilling her hiring ask eased some of the tension from her shoulders. She did not have the energy right now to fight over who got what credit for ideas. “That would be a great help.”
The director studied her expression and leaned forward. “If there’s something else bothering you, or something’s unclear, you need to speak up. I can’t help you if you don’t.”
That he noticed made Lorelei feel slightly better about his leadership. Sighing, she opened up a little about her struggles and doubts but framed it more as an honest plea for professional advice, not a sign that she was the wrong person for the job. “I’ve skipped a lot of rungs on the ladder. Last year, I was designing exhibits. This year, I’m trying to launch and run a new museum. I just want to make sure I’m meeting expectations.”
Phil listened thoughtfully, those steepled fingers pressed to his lips.
When she finished, he said, “Run the museum how you want to run it. Don’t think about what others in your position are doing. This isn’t the Met. Will our museum be popular to tourists because of the mermaid research we’re doing here? Yes. But you don’t have to worry about curation too much. Dr. Branson’s got that covered. She’ll funnel whatever research we want to see reflected in the museum to you, and she’s got people on her team that know how to handle artifacts and specimens and whatever. And I’m here to help you with the business side of things. I have to oversee it anyway. You’re not going this alone, Ms. Roth. You’ve got the entire research center behind you. How about we schedule a planning meeting for next week to hammer out some of the specifics? And work out a bit of delegation?”
Lorelei’s smile became a genuine one. Maybe her suspicion that he was a too-good-to-be-true boss was unfair and unfounded. “That would be great. Would you mind sending a note to Becki in HR that I will be coming by to see her about hiring staff for the museum? That way she knows you approved it.”
Phil nodded, turning his computer screen toward himself. He began to type. “I’ve copied you on this so you can schedule a time to meet.”
“Thank you so much.”
The idea stealing had rubbed her wrong, but he didn’t hesitate to offer advice and help, which she’d desperately needed.
As Lorelei left the director’s office, her phone vibrated in her pocket from an incoming call. Checking the screen, she saw that it was her former boss and mentor, Susan Lennard, Director of the Marquette Maritime Museum in Michigan. Her heart leapt. If anyone could completely soothe her self-doubts, and turn this workday around, it was Susan. Lorelei was a frazzled, overstressed undergrad intern when they first began working together.