Something flickers across her face—the first genuine emotion I’ve seen crack her professional veneer. “The staff will explain everything upon arrival.”
Interesting. Very interesting.
We disembark into chaos. The rain is horizontal, driven by winds strong enough to snatch words from our mouths. Resort staff meet us with large umbrellas that immediately try to invert themselves. We’re hustled into a luxury SUV, all four of us crammed into the back seat, a tangle of limbs and muttered apologies. Elle ends up wedged between Adrian and me, her slender form pressed against my side. She smells like nothing—the blockers doing their job—but there’s heat radiating from her, unmistakable and enticing.
The drive is short but dramatic, palm trees bending nearly double in the wind, waves crashing against the shoreline. The resort itself emerges through the rain like a mirage—sprawling buildings of glass and polished wood, somehow both imposing and perfectly integrated with the lush landscape.
In the lobby, a manager in an impeccable suit greets us with the harried expression of someone dealing with multiple crises at once.
“Mr. Cole, Mr. Rios, Mr. Harrington, Ms. Park,” he says, impressively having done his homework on the flight manifest. “I’m Marcus, the resort manager. We’re honored to have you with us, though I apologize for the circumstances.”
“How long until we can depart?” Adrian asks, cutting to the chase.
Marcus’s smile doesn’t waver. “The meteorologists are tracking the storm. At minimum, 24 hours. Potentially longer.”
“Unacceptable,” Adrian says flatly. “We have commitments in Singapore.”
“I understand completely,” Marcus soothes. “We have the finest communications technology available for your use. However, no aircraft will be taking off in this weather. It would be unsafe.”
Adrian looks like he’s considering arguing with the weather itself. Elle places a hand lightly on his arm—a brief touch, withdrawn almost immediately, but I catch it. Interesting dynamic there.
“We’ll need separate accommodations,” she says, taking control of the situation. “Four rooms, preferably in the same vicinity for convenience.”
Marcus’s smile turns apologetic. “That’s where we encounter a challenge. Due to the storm’s sudden development, we’ve had several unexpected landings today. The resort is operating at full capacity. We have only one villa available—the Presidential Suite. It has four bedrooms, but...”
“But?” Elle prompts when he hesitates.
“Three bedrooms,” he corrects. “The fourth is currently under renovation. However, there is a very comfortable sofa bed in the main living area.”
I bite back a laugh at the expression on Adrian’s face. This is better than any corporate espionage I could have planned.
Elle’s professional mask slips for just a second, revealing dismay before she recovers. “That won’t work for us. Surely there are other options. Perhaps another resort nearby?”
“Ms. Park,” Marcus says gently, “there is no ‘nearby’ on Pulau Emerald. We’re quite isolated. And I’m afraid in this weather, traveling elsewhere on the island would be dangerous.”
Elle straightens her spine, negotiator mode activated. “Perhaps some of your existing guests would be willing to relocate or share, for appropriate compensation?”
“I’ve already explored that option. Many of our guests are families with children, or couples on honeymoon.” He lowers his voice. “And several are high-profile individuals who value their privacy contractually.”
I can see Elle calculating, searching for leverage that doesn’t exist. It’s impressive, her refusal to accept defeat. But even the best negotiator can’t create options where none exist.
“We’ll take the villa,” Miles says suddenly. We all turn to look at him, surprised by the decisive intervention. “Time is wasting. The storm isn’t negotiable.”
Adrian looks like he wants to argue on principle, but practicality wins. “Fine. The Presidential Suite. How are the bedrooms configured?”
“One primary suite and two standard bedrooms,” Marcus explains, visibly relieved. “All with private bathrooms. The living area is quite spacious, with ocean views. Under normal circumstances, it’s one of our most requested accommodations.”
“I’ll take the sofa,” Elle says quickly.
“Absolutely not,” Adrian cuts in. “You’ll take a bedroom. One of us will use the sofa.”
I step forward. “I volunteer Adrian for sofa duty. He’s the one who enjoys discomfort.”
Adrian’s glare could melt steel. “I’ll take a standard room. Elle gets the other. Miles and Caleb can figure out who gets the primary bedroom and who gets the couch.”
“How generous of you to allocate my sleeping arrangements,” Miles says dryly.
Elle looks between us, exasperation clear on her face. “This is ridiculous. We’re adults. We can sort this out at the villa without testosterone-fueled posturing.”
