I like to people watch. It's sorta like a pastime for me. I can't sing and have no artistic abilities to speak of so passing judgments on others from afar was pretty much in my wheel house. Of the 50 people on board the boat headed to Isla Nublar 10 were scientists. Their pocket protectors and incessant need to wear a lab coat everywhere, even on the boat, just to ensure everyone within a five mile radius knew they were smarter than them, confirmed it.
Fifteen were staff for the local restaurants and shops that will litter the theme park. Most were just out of college looking for an easy paycheck in paradise, no doubt much to their parents chagrin. Their conversations were relegated to the shallow depths of college football and the always "epic Spring Break" conversation complete with "dude" and "wicked" repeated at every possible interval.
Twelve were paleontologists or something equally as confusing that ends in 'gists' that means I studied dinosaurs. They were all wearing the same tan shorts that were too long to be called shorts really, and too short to be capris. I wondered if they have a convention where they got together to sell them. Guaranteed, if my life depended on buying a pair of shorts like that I would surely die. The ensemble was rounded out with the stereotypical jean washed, long sleeved, button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to their elbows. Each one had different variation of head gear from fedoras to ball caps.
The last 12 occupants on the Love Boat were InGen security. Every last one was former military, police or a federal agent as far as I could tell. How did I know they were InGen and not Masrani? Well, because as far as I knew I was the only Masrani security employee. Some looked battle tested, but most looked like they just dressed the part. There's no one giveaway that identifies a player from a pretender, at least not for me. If someone has seen what I've seen or lived what I've lived I can feel it. It's a tingle on my neck or a hyper awareness on my skin when I'm in their general orbit. You can't fake it and you can't buy it. I'd wager less than half the Rambo's lounged on the upper deck were worth crap in a fight. Now a danger to the recently graduated co-ed's virginity who were here on an extended summer vacay, absolutely.
The boat slowed as we docked at Isla Nublar, and I stood hefting my duffle up on my shoulder as I adjusted my sunglasses. Costa Rica was hot and humid, but I grew up in Houston where hot and humid was practically a lifestyle. I stayed at the back of the line patiently waiting to disembark while admiring the admittedly gorgeous view. I may end up getting eaten by a dinosaur, but at least it would be in paradise.
With that comforting thought in mind I exited the boat casually making my way down the dock. I was meeting with Simon and his Operations Manager before settling into my house. I had no idea who said Operations Manager was, but considering there was a very nervous, jittery looking brunette bouncing around obviously looking for someone I figured I'd start there.
"Are you Josephine King?" She looked slightly panicked as she looked at me. I think her fingers were actually crossed in prayer. I was tempted to offer her a Xanax.
"Jo, actually, and yeah that's me. Are you the Operations Manager I'm supposed to meet? Sorry, Simon didn't tell me your name." I reached out to shake her hand.
I would have thought it was impossible before, but she seemed even more jittery now. "Me, oh no, I'm Zara, Ms. Dearing's personal assistant. I'm to take you back to headquarters immediately, they're waiting for you." She was already walking away as she finished, ignoring my outstretched hand.
"Alright, HQ it is Zara." She didn't laugh. She didn't even turn around. She just walked, really fast, to an awaiting golf cart. "Nice ride."
No response, again. I must be off my game from the jet lag. Either that or British people really did have no sense of humor. The ride to headquarters was short, and I swear before the tires even stopped rolling Zara was out urging me up the steps of a massive skyscraper like building. Headquarters looked pretty swanky. Having met Simon this really wasn't a surprise.
"Where's the fire Zara? Are you late for something?" I'm as accommodating as the next guy, but this Olympic sprint to get to a meeting I didn't really want to be at was where I drew the line. What I wanted was a shower, some food and sleep.
"Me, no I'm not late, but your plane was incredible late. Which, in turn, made the ferry late. So, you are extremely late to your meeting with Ms. Dearing and Mr. Masrani." She was practically hyperventilating now.
"Look Zara, why don't you calm down or breathe into a bag or something. It's not your fault I'm late. It will be fine. I'll make sure to tell Simon and Ms. Dearing you practically broke land and speed records getting me here. OK?" She seemed to physically calm down at my reassurance, but our pace never faltered as we made our way to the elevators. She punched the up button on the first elevator she saw, and then proceeded to hit the other two just for backup purposes. A girl's gotta have contingency plans I guess.
The elevator behind us dinged, opening slowly. Zara was nothing but a blur as she moved with the speed of cheetah to get on. I hefted my duffel higher onto my shoulder, pushing my sunglasses on top of my head as I moved towards the open elevator door with my head down. I hadn't taken more than a step when I rammed into someone stepping off the elevator. It felt like hitting a wall.
I stumbled back, my duffle bag flying off my shoulder, sunglasses clattering to the floor behind me. I would have been flat on my ass in the lobby, but a pair of hands shot out steadying me by my upper arms.
"Shit," I said, attempting to right myself. I turned around, retrieving both my bag and sunglasses from the lobby floor.
"My bad. I didn't see you there. Are you OK?" A deep voice rumbled from behind me.
I turned around with all my possessions now in hand coming face-to-face with the voice. He had to be at least 6'3'' because he towered over my six-foot tall frame by a couple of inches. He was dressed like the crocodile hunter with long blue cargo pants that wrapped way too provocatively around a set of muscular legs. Was it normal to be turned on by cargo pants?
His tan Henley shirt stretched across his massive chest with the top two buttons undone showing a touch of tanned skin. Just when I thought this eye candy parade couldn't get any better I drug my eyes up to his face. He had eyes so blue they rivaled the ocean I'd just crossed, and I wanted to kick my own ass for thinking something so cheesy.
He had about a days' worth of stubble on his face, and damn if it didn't make him look even better. His short hair was slightly curly with strands sticking out in all directions around his head. It looked like the type of hair metrosexuals would die for, but this guy wasn't rocking it in a deliberate "I have gel and I'm not afraid to use it" way. No sir. The man standing in front of me sported a look that said, "I just got done wrestling a bear because I'm a man" kind of look. Bottom line, he was absolutely, without a doubt, the hottest man I had ever laid eyes on.
And he was currently looking at me like I had a mental disorder.
"I'm sorry, what?" I was such an idiot.
"Are you OK?" He enunciated each syllable slowly like I had a problem understanding the English language. I'm surprised he didn't attempt to sign it to me.
"Sure, I'm fine. Thanks." I went for cool and unaffected. The smirk I received from him told me I failed, and I felt my cheeks heat up like a moron. I moved past him to get on the elevator before Zara fainted, and I died of embarrassment.
"See ya around," he said as the elevator doors closed. I gave him a sarcastic thumbs up in return. I heard his laugh through the elevator doors. Man, I needed sleep.
"Who was that?" I asked, pulling Zara out of her iPhone dictation.
"Huh? Oh, that's Owen Grady. He works here at the park." No kidding. Doesn't everyone?
"What does he do?" I was trying for casual elevator conversation instead of deranged stalker, but wasn't sure if I succeeded as Zara stopped furiously tapping on her phone to eye me.
"He trains the Velociraptors." Of course he does. Yeah, because this is a dinosaur park with real live dinosaurs, and the man I just met totally looked like he would go nose to nose with the most vicious, intelligent dinosaur on the island. I'll be dammed if it didn't make him even hotter.
Fuck my life.
Thankfully I didn't have any more time to put my stalker tendencies into action as the elevator doors opened, Zara whizzing us out at the speed of sound. We weaved through more hallways and corridors than I could count. We passed the control room, a lab, and some smaller offices before stopping in front of a large corner office at the end of the hall.
Zara knocked lightly three times and I stifled a laugh. It sounded like some kind of code you used when you were a kid to get into a secret fort.
"Come in." Was the muffled reply from behind the door. Zara wasted no time opening the door and ushering me into the room. I saw Simon sitting behind a desk that spanned the width of the room. Really? Was it necessary to have a desk that big? I mean, more than half of it was empty for heaven's sake. I guess if you're one of the richest men in the world penis measuring is bound to take place on a daily basis, and that desk was a pretty good stepping off point.
"Ah, Jo, please come in. How was your trip? Can I get you anything?" Simon asked, rising from his desk to approach me. He enveloped me in an awkward hug considering I was still holding my duffle bag, and am not the best with physical contact.
"Uh, it was fine. Long, but fine. I'm good thanks to Zara here. You should see this girl move." I told him, pointing my thumb to Zara who was sneaking out of the room like a servant avoiding the King. I was trying to give her props, but apparently she had more fires to extinguish.
"Good, good, please come this way, I would like to introduce you to Claire Dearing, the Operations Manager here at Jurassic World." he remarked, gesturing to the red head currently standing in front of his desk.
I stumbled a little seeing Claire for the first time. She looked like she had just stepped out of a fashion magazine or perhaps a runway at Paris Fashion Week. Her black pencil skirt was paired with a crisp white blouse and matching black jacket. I got the impression a wrinkle wouldn't dare adhere itself to this woman's clothing for fear of retribution. I'd seen military uniforms with move give than her outfit; she must have stock in starch. She had on at least three-inch heels, and not a hair was out of place in her short, fiery, red bob.
Jesus, was it a requirement to be hot in order to work here. If so, I think Simon may have violated HR policy when it came to me. I mentally took stock of my loose fit jeans, Reef flip flops, black tank top and short, gray hooded jacket. Classy.
Claire eyed me critically from head to toe and I tried really hard not to squirm, but she smiled warmly reaching to shake my hand. "Claire Dearing, it's a pleasure to meet you Ms. King."
"Just Jo is fine, please, and it's nice to meet you too Ms. Dearing." If I had to guess I would say Claire and I were around the same age, but she oozed sophistication while I oozed something else entirely.
"Please call me Claire. We will be working closely together after all." The last part was directed at Simon. I got the distinct impression Claire was trying to mark her territory. If she peed on this rug I had a feeling Simon might lose his shit. It looked expensive.
I'm sure Claire was just as confused as I was concerning my employment at Jurassic World. Nothing said I have no idea what you do like the title, Director of Security Protocols and Behavior Assessment.
Especially considering I was the "Director" of just me.
Half an hour of tense conversation later I was in Claire's car on the way to my new accommodations. From what I could gather from the meeting Claire didn't understand what I was doing on the island. Yea well, that made two of us. Simon patiently and painstakingly took her through his convoluted process of making up a job for me encompassing everything from security protocols for guest to animal therapist. He conveniently left out the spying on InGen portion of my job description. Something else to analyze on a rainy day.
In the end, the only real point Claire seemed particularly upset about was the fact I answered to Simon, not her. It was obvious to anyone who came within 50 feet of Claire she was poised, professional and serious about her job. She wanted to run a safe and successful theme park. She felt having a rogue security/behavioral consultant roaming the grounds could present issues. I agreed with her 100%, but promised to do my best not make her life any harder than it needed to be, for time being.
"Mr. Masrani said you would prefer to live offsite so we have set you up at the edge of the resort, near the coast." Claire said, glancing at me from the driver's seat.
"I'm pretty low maintenance so a camper on the beach sounds divine." I'm sure my chosen travel attire laid that out pretty clear. I was trying really hard to keep my eyes open behind my sunglasses to maintain a semi-professional appearance, but was fighting a losing battle. Besides, nothing screams professional like Reef flip flops.
"Your camper has running water, shower, facilities, and some outdoor furniture to help make it more...livable." She said the word camper like it left a bad taste in her mouth. I got the impression Claire would sell her Jimmy Choo's to Satan before she lived in a camper.
"That sounds great. Really, thanks for everything. The whole move has been pretty painless." I assured her as Claire pulled off onto a dirt road.
She stopped in front of a shiny, brand new Airstream. There was a porch built up to the front door that wrapped all the way around the camper facing the shore. A small strip of pristine white beach could be seen either direction I looked as crystal clear blue waves lapped up the beach. I could see a grill and patio furniture set up under an umbrella on front portion of the porch.
"Holy shit. This isn't a camper. This is a freaking Airstream, Claire. They cost a fortune." I was already out of her car and half way to the camper.
"I suppose. If there isn't anything else you need I have to head back. There are keys to the Jeep inside on the counter. The fridge is adequately stocked with some basics, but you can put in a requisition with my office for anything else you might want. Can you come by my office tomorrow? I will have Zara call with a time?"
"Sure, but I don't have a phone." I get a Jeep too? It was like Christmas in July.
"It's next to the keys inside. Call me if you need anything. My number is already programmed in." I had a feeling she would be forever grateful if I didn't call her. I was gazing around the property when I saw the outline of another trailer in the distance about 300 yards away.
"Hey Claire, who lives there?" I asked, pointing down the beach as she retreated back to her car.
"Owen Grady."