Baby, You're a Rich Man

Becky considered her unlikely situation as she walked down the hall to meet for the first time ever with Mrs. Olivia Blake, the owner of the Centerfield Resort and Country Club. Becky had recently secured the position of assistant marketing director for Centerfield. It was her hope she would retain that title after her meeting with Mrs. Blake.

Upon graduating from State University summa cum laude, Becky had searched for almost two years to find a position in her chosen field. During that time, she had waited tables, washed dishes and tended bar in order to pay her bills. She had steadfastly refused to give up on her dream of a career in marketing.

The previous spring she had learned of an opening in marketing at Centerfield. It was an entry level position, but Becky felt certain hard work and her marketing knowledge would allow her to climb the corporate ladder. After three interviews, she had been offered a position, which she quickly accepted.

Becky had only been working for Centerfield just over two months when Martha Higgins, Becky's immediate superior, managed to mishandle a bundle of her son's Fourth of July fireworks and lost part of her hand, along with her desire to remain in the labor force. Becky had been promoted to fill her position.

In early August, William Bassett, the assistant marketing director, was arrested for a multiplicity of offenses, not the least of which was child pornography. A few days after Bassett's arrest, Becky was appointed the new assistant marketing director!

The previous afternoon, Becky had been informed that the owner of the resort wanted to meet with her the following day. Becky had managed very little sleep that night as she pondered how to properly impress her boss, who happened to be one of the wealthiest women in the state.

Becky had seen Mrs. Blake's picture in newspapers and on the internet many times, but she wasn't prepared for the power and charm the woman exuded when she was ushered into the office.

"Thank you for coming, Miss Carson. Would you like something to drink?" asked Mrs. Olivia Blake.

When Becky politely declined, Mrs. Blake pointed to a large chair near her desk and asked her to sit. Becky was surprised, as well as a bit flummoxed by the wealthy woman's friendly demeanor, but didn't allow her confusion to show as she smiled and took her seat.

"You must be wondering why I've asked you here today. No one would blame you for being more than a little curious, Miss Carson. I'm not one to beat around the bush, so I'll lay everything out right now. I want you to marry my son," stated the older woman with no preliminary explanations.

Of all the topics Becky considered likely at her meeting with Mrs. Blake, being asked to marry her son had never been on the table, or even in the room. Becky considered her response while Olivia Blake watched her closely.

"Mrs. Blake, I'm flattered that you would consider me as possible daughter-in-law material, but I don't even know what your son looks like. I've never even met him, so marriage to him would not appear likely at this time."

"Are you in a relationship at present? Is there a special someone in your life?" asked Olivia Blake.

"I don't see how that matters," replied Becky carefully. "As I stated, I do not know your son. The last I knew, marriages are not arranged in the United States. I may seem a bit old fashioned, but I like to be wined and dined by a suitor. At the bare minimum, I would expect the opportunity to look him over and speak with him in private."

"We don't really have time for those formalities," replied the older woman with a weak smile. "There are important reasons why my son must be married by Sunday, and I believe you to be an excellent match."

"Mrs. Blake, I know you are not trying to be insulting, but you're making me feel like a brood mare or something. You appear to think I would make a good mate for your son, but you've left out a great deal of detail.

"Why isn't he here to speak for himself? Why me? Why would the son of a very wealthy woman be in a position where his mother is selecting his spouse? These are a few questions which come to mind immediately," explained Becky. "Finally, why would you ever expect me to agree to such an unusual proposal?"

"Ah! Now we're negotiating," retorted Olivia Blake with a smile. "I'm prepared to offer you half ownership in this resort. I will sign it over to you and my son as soon as you complete your nuptials."

"Seriously?" stuttered Becky in amazement. "The resort must be worth at least twenty million dollars. That offer makes no sense."

"It was recently appraised at twenty four million six hundred and thirty thousand dollars," stated Mrs. Blake. "Your half would have a value of over twelve million. That's a rather substantial dowry, don't you think?"

"I admit that it's a nice round number," replied Becky sardonically. "There's a great deal you're not telling me. Who would own the other half of the resort? Exactly what would be expected of me if I were to become your son's wife? How could a man as wealthy as your son not be capable of finding a wife on his own? Is he deformed, a druggie, mentally ill, terminally ill, or perhaps gay? Not that there's anything wrong with that."

"My son is exceptionally good looking, very fit, extremely bright, disease free and as straight as they come," declared Olivia Blake proudly as she unsuccessfully tried to repress a smile. "I understand your doubts, but I promise you will find nothing wrong with him physically. In fact, a young woman like you should be quite pleased with his prowess."

Becky felt her face turn warm as she considered the other woman's statement. She was actually offering Becky the perfect opportunity to extricate herself from the mess her life had become.

"This is Wednesday. There's no way I can get my family and friends here before your Sunday deadline. It's simply impossible and I'd never get married without my parents and sisters," insisted Becky. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

"I can have a private jet pick your family up in Springville tomorrow afternoon. They would be here by late in the evening Thursday, which would be in plenty of time for a Saturday afternoon ceremony," reasoned Olivia Blake.

"I have three college girlfriends who would..." began Becky.

"They'll each receive a first class ticket to fly here from their local airport," interrupted the woman who was becoming increasingly likely to be Becky's mother-in-law.

"If I should marry your son, I might stop him from seeing you, or the rest of your family. You know how daughters-in-law are. Doesn't that worry you?" asked Becky. "You may as well know I'm less than fond of your skanky daughter."

"I didn't know that," replied the older woman with a brief grimace at Becky's description of her daughter. "However, I didn't make this proposition on a whim. You came very highly recommended as a woman of scruples and strong family ties. I'm sure you'd encourage my son to spend time with his wealthy and generous mother."

"If you think you'll be able to bribe me into allowing Junior to visit you, you're probably right," conceded Becky as she reached her decision. "I'll probably accept your offer once I have a lawyer go over the documents and determine everything is on the up and up. I must seem like a pretty despicable person to you now, but I have reasons for accepting your proposal, twelve million of them."

"My dear, I have nothing but admiration for your common sense, as well as more than a little envy of your beauty. We'll get along famously. I'm certain of that. Now that we're almost family, please call me Olivia. May I call you Rebecca?"

"I prefer to be called Becky, if you don't mind, Olivia. I've always been called Becky and that's what I answer to," replied Becky with a smile as she firmly shook the offered hand of Olivia.

Becky was pretty much in a daze as she walked back to her office. Just as she sat down, Beverly Wentworth, her immediately superior and the current marketing director entered her office.

"Do you still have a job, Becky?" demanded Beverly with an evil grin. "You could have at least dressed better for a meeting with the boss. Did she mention your attire? How about your job performance? I didn't want to do it, but she asked me point blank how you were working out, so I had to tell her how you mishandled the Martins last week."

"Olivia seemed fine with the way I dressed. She never mentioned it, or the Martins," replied Becky meekly.

"Olivia?" repeated Beverly. "Are you insane? If she heard you use her first name like that, you'd be looking for a new job before you finished your sentence."

Becky was slowly returning to reality when Beverly made her last statement. It dawned on her that in a few days she would be an owner of the resort. Beverly's career would be in her hands.

"Why don't you fuck off, Beverly? You're really quite annoying. You should know that successful managers and owners never like ass kissers, or squealers. Piss off. I have to make plans."

"That's it!" declared Beverly. "I'm going to report your insubordination to Mrs. Blake. You may as well start packing your things. You won't be working for me any longer!"

"Yeah," agreed Becky. "You're right about that. Give it your best shot, Bitch."

After Beverly stormed out of her office, Becky began to worry that she had acted rashly. What if Olivia was toying with her, or playing some elaborate practical joke? She'd find out soon enough since Beverly was practically sprinting toward Olivia's office.

Becky heard something strike the floor in the hallway and turned to see Nancy, one of the secretaries, quickly picking up a pen she must have dropped. That indicated Nancy had heard the confrontation with Beverly. That, in turn, meant everyone in the company would know about it by nightfall. If Becky didn't own the damn company by Monday, she'd be in the unemployment line again. That was a given.

How did she wind up negotiating with Olivia Blake about marrying her son? If the offer was sincere, as well as legal and above board, Becky would soon become independently wealthy, but at what price? Was she doing the smart thing or making another in a long line of foolish mistakes? Becky thought back to her first day on the job.

Martha Higgins had sent her out to get some new photographs of the golf course and grounds for their internet advertising. Becky hadn't yet been introduced to anyone at the resort, so when she came upon two men planting trees and chatting in Spanish, she assumed they were of Mexican descent.

The younger of the two had peeled his shirt off as he shoveled dirt. Becky had been so impressed with the man's physique; she took a series of candid photos of him working. By the end of the day, she had taken well over a hundred photos of the complex. She turned the camera's memory card over to Martha and left for home.

She was surprised to be called into Martha's office the next afternoon. "Becky, the pictures you took yesterday were perfect for our campaign! You really have an eye for photography. I loved those pictures of that hunky guy planting trees. We'll find ways to place them in our web advertising about how well maintained everything is, including the hired help. Since you can't make out any faces, we don't even need to have a release signed.

The following week, Ben Johnson was polishing his golf clubs when Jen, one of the cashiers in the pro shop, stopped to chat. "That picture of you helping Juan plant that pine tree was amazing. You should give golf lessons with your shirt off. Your tips would increase exponentially."

"What picture, Jen? What are you talking about?" asked a perplexed Ben.

"The new picture on Centerfield's web site," explained Jen. "There's a page about how hard the employees work to keep the grounds so immaculate and well groomed. You're shown lifting a shovel filled with dirt. Your chest is all tensed and your six pack abs are knotted impressively as a sheen of sweat glistens on your chest. If I didn't love my husband, I'd do you in a New York minute."

Later in the same day, Becky made her way from her office to the pro shop with newly printed material regarding club rates and promotions. She saw the man she had photographed planting the tree standing behind a very attractive hotel guest. He had his arms around her and a golf club gripped firmly in his hands. It was obvious the blonde girl was enjoying the moment.

Becky stopped in her tracks at the sight. She had seen the blonde check in to the hotel with her family. She knew for a fact the girl's parents were both very successful attorneys in a prestigious firm in the Hamptons. How would they react if they found out a man working as a landscaper at Centerfield was interacting so closely with their beautiful daughter? Becky saw the situation as a disaster about to happen.

She formulated a plan and strode over to where the two were standing with the golf club. "Congratulations, Miss! Centerfield Resorts has a special promotion going on today and you've been selected to receive a full spa treatment this afternoon! This will be free of charge and you'll love it!"

As Becky spoke to the surprised woman, she took the man's hands in hers and none too gently, peeled them away from the blonde's hands. Then she took the girl's hands and pulled her away from the landscaper while glaring at him over the blonde girl's shoulder. He wouldn't need to speak English to understand the message Becky was delivering.

Becky led the girl to the spa and explained that she was to be given the best care possible and the resort would cover it. She was feeling pretty good about solving a potential problem before it ever gained footing. She couldn't help but wonder what the landscaper was thinking. There were written and unwritten rules about how to conduct oneself at an upscale resort. An employee being overly familiar with guests was one of the biggest taboos. This wasn't "Dirty Dancing" or some romantic comedy. It was real life.

Becky had to stay late to attend a marketing meeting that night. As the meeting wound down, William Bassett received a text on his phone. After reading it, he announced, "Becky had better get her camera and head down to the lounge. I just received word that her favorite model was tearing up the dance floor with one of our guests. It's drawing a crowd."

"Grab your camera, Becky," urged Martha as she headed for the doorway. "You may get something we can use in on our web site. That guy is way too hot for us to not take advantage of the situation."

When Becky reached the lounge with Martha and managed to finally work her way through a standing crowd, she was stunned. There on the dance floor was the same inappropriate acting, but unusually handsome landscaper. He looked like a young, very virile James Bond. He wore a tuxedo which had to have been tailored; the fit was so perfect. It managed to accentuate his masculinity, which really wasn't necessary, in Becky's opinion.

Dancing with him was the same young blonde woman she had rescued earlier in the day. Becky had to grudgingly admit that the spa had done an incredible job on her hair and makeup.

"Get your camera ready," insisted Martha as she watched the next dance begin "They're going to do a tango! Never mind pictures, get a video. What a beautiful couple."

Becky made an effort to keep her temper in check as she followed Martha's directive. Watching the couple through the viewfinder, Becky couldn't help but marvel at the power and grace of the landscaper and the beauty and poise of the blonde woman.

As it turned out, it was the last dance the couple performed. Those gathered around the dance floor clapped and cheered as the couple returned to their table. Becky noticed how smoothly the man assisted his dance partner into her seat. It was apparent he had been taught manners, and quite well. Becky then realized that the blonde's mother and father were sitting at the table and were positively beaming at their daughter.

"I hope you got that last dance," said Martha with a loud sigh. "That guy is making our job easy. I can see why you focused on him that first day I sent you out for pictures."

"Martha, should the landscapers be in the lounge dancing with our paying customers?" asked Becky. "Shouldn't management be told about this?"

"Do you mean Ben Johnson?" replied an obviously puzzled Martha. "He isn't a landscaper. I found out his name this afternoon. He's the assistant golf pro. I heard he's been great for business. We thought he was a landscaper because he helped Juan plant those trees."

"So golfers can interact with customers, but not landscapers?" questioned Becky.

"There are no rules about employees interacting with guests. That said, if a guest complains about unwanted attention or inappropriate behavior by an employee, they'll be suspended and then fired, if the allegations are substantiated," replied Martha.

"I was told that the number of women looking for golf lessons has increased dramatically since Ben was hired. That was a couple of weeks before you joined us," added Martha. "I don't have to explain his appeal to you."

Becky was walking across the parking lot to her car the next afternoon when she noticed a motorcycle parked next to her Honda. She stopped briefly to look it over before she realized the man she now knew to be Ben was approaching. Becky felt the need to apologize for making wrong assumptions and removing the blonde girl from her golf lesson.

"Excuse me. Do you speak English" asked Becky as the man drew near. He simply nodded in response.

"That makes this a little easier," admitted Becky. "I want to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I didn't know you were giving that girl a golf lesson. I didn't even know you're the assistant pro."

"You thought I was hired help trying to get into a rich girl's panties?" questioned the man in a deep voice and in excellent English.

"Well, I guess that's the short version. I work in marketing here. I thought I was preventing a pending disaster. That's my excuse," replied Becky.

"Do you think I'd mistreat a guest?" asked the man. "You were pretty quick to form an opinion of me, weren't you?

"I'm trying to apologize for that gaffe," replied a slightly frustrated Becky

"That's good to know," replied the man with a chuckle. "I'm Ben. Unless I'm badly mistaken, you're Becky."

"You know my name?" responded Becky in surprise.

"Yeah, I know your name, that you work in marketing here and you like to take candid photos. That's about the extent of my knowledge."

"Could I ask you to not be mention my mistake to anyone? I'm pretty new here and don't want management or staff to get any wrong ideas about my attitude," reasoned Becky.

"It's a bit too late to prevent any ideas," replied Ben with a smile. "When I see a beautiful woman, all sorts of ideas fly into my head. They began the day I saw you taking pictures, and haven't stopped since."

"Really? Your mind was concentrating on my photography skills while you were dancing with that bombshell last night," teased Becky.

"Of course! When I held her in my arms, I imagined it was you. When her firm breasts pressed against my chest, I thought of you. When she..."

"That's far enough! I call bullshit," declared Becky. "No man would ever be thinking of another girl with a woman as beautiful as she is in his arms," insisted Becky. "You need to work on your lines. When they get too incredible, your victim will slip off the hook. Try being flattering, but in a more subdued manner. Mentioning firm breasts within the first few seconds of meeting a woman is not usually a good idea."

"Wow! You saw through me so easily," responded Ben with a grin. "How about taking a ride with me? You'll love the feeling of all of that power between your legs!"