“Marisol can step in.” His hand is still on my elbow. “You need to go back to your villa and rest.”
I want to argue more but honestly I’m too tired.
He pulls out his phone and texts someone. “Keon’s bringing the SUV around. He’ll drive you back to the resort.”
I raise my chin defiantly, which makes the room tilt. “I bought my rental car.”
“Which you’re not driving in this condition.” He guides me toward the door with the kind of gentle authority that’s really unfair given my current state. “Come on.”
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, but I let him lead me outside because standing upright is taking all of my available energy.
The SUV pulls up. The driver, Keon, gets out and opens the back door without comment.
Corin helps me into the backseat. “Take her to her villa. Make sure she gets inside safely.”
Keon nods. “Yes sir.”
I slump against the leather seat as Keon pulls away. Through the window I watch Corin standing in the parking area, hands in his pockets, watching the SUV until we turn onto Queen’s Highway.
Just protecting his investment, of course.
Can’t have his hundred-thousand-dollar consultant dying of tropical fever.
Or maybe he actually cares?
Ha!
Don’t be stupid.
Back at my villa, Keon walks me to the door, waits while I fumble with my key, then nods once and leaves.
I collapse onto the bed still wearing my clothes because undressing requires motor skills I currently don’t possess.
The ceiling fan spins lazily above me. I watch it and try to remember when I last felt this awful.
Has to be law school finals week.
I had the flu and still took three exams.
Yeah and barely passed two of them.
Great precedent.
I close my eyes and drift in and out of consciousness.
The room is too hot, then too cold, then too hot again.
At some point there’s a knock on the door.
I ignore it.
Another knock. More insistent.
“Go away,” I call out, which comes out as more of a croak.
“Amara. Open the door.” Corin’s voice.
What is he doing here?
