Stop it, I mentally chastised myself.
I rounded the corner, heading toward the coffee place, my skin sticky with sweat.
“Excuse me, pardon me,” I said while slithering behind a gang of guys in suits, channeling my inner grandma. All the while, I was trying to secretly sniff my own armpits. Too late, I deduced. I wanted an iced coffee with every inch of my life.
Of course, these men standing in my way weren’t young, athletic guys in those skinny-fitting European-looking suits, but guys closer to my age—tall and thick, filling out expensive suits.
They just had to be clogging up the whole place at five in the afternoon, congregating by the counter, as if no one else in the world existed, when all I wanted was my afternoon pick-me-up. I’d earned it on my three-mile run. It also hit me that these dudes looked hella out of place in the middle of a resort in Hawaii. Not even one of them was in swim trunks; they were dressed for a meeting or dinner. I thought everywhere was casual here. Was this considered appropriate Hawaiian resort etiquette? Ford hadn’t been dressing this way.
Except, if I was being honest, I wasn’t much better myself—slinking around all sweaty and stinky, secretly hoping my sweat didn’t drip on or suffocate anyone close enough to snag a whiff. Well, at least I had a hint of regret, berating myself for not grabbing a towel in the gym on my way back into the main hotel.
Two taller-than-tall guys, deep in conversation, must not have heard me say, “Excuse me or pardon me” twelve times, nor did they smell me, because they didn’t move an inch. “Excuse me,” I repeated. Again.
The extra-stocky one with a mess of blond hair wearing a navy blazer as if it was a second skin looked my way and gave me a nasty look, his nose turned up at me—presumably. To be sure, I took a quarter turn each way to see if someone grosser-looking (or smelling) was behind me.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the darker-haired, slightly taller, less stocky guy said, while sidestepping closer to the pastry case so I could squeeze through.
I nodded and walked by, making my way toward the counter.
“Jesus, you don’t have to be a dick to everyone,” I heard thenicerraven-haired one murmur.
“Please don’t start pulling out your savior complex, Craig,” the beefy asshole chastised his friend.
They might have been overdressed for a tropical destination, but these men acted like little boys rather than as uppity as they were dressed. Then, right when I felt my eavesdropping would turn interesting, another impatient guy demanded my attention. This one, younger and lankier, was behind the counter and clearly ready to take my order. “Can I help you?” He huffed out his words as if he had somewhere better to be.
“Iced coffee, unsweetened, a splash of almond milk.”
“Size?”
“The biggest one you have.”
“Would you like a water too?” Apparently he was the only one grossed out by my sweaty mess. I wondered who the aging Ken doll behind me was as the barista dude wrote on the cup. “Name?”
“Huh?” I was so deep in thought I didn’t hear what he asked, which made an already uncomfortable exchange more so. “Oh. Jamie.”
The young dude started scribbling my name on the cup and asked me for my room number, and as I whispered the numbers, the coffee shop seemed to get deathly quiet.
“Like I said, that’s her,” the beefy jerk said behind me.
“Of course it is. I saw her last week. You’ve seen pictures,” the nicer one chimed in.
It was obvious they were talking about me, but I couldn’t figure out why anyone would see pictures of me, or know me, for that matter.
“I’m sorry.” I turned around, shocking myself. “Are you talking about me? I’m not part of the movie,” I assured them, thinking this must be a mistake. “I’m just a guest at the hotel.” For a quick minute, I thought they believed I was an actress—I had no idea the joke was on me.
“We know who you are,” the slimy one said with a smirk.
“Simon, let it be,” the one I’d come to know as Craig said, putting his hand out in front of Simon’s waist. I wasn’t sure what he was stopping him from, but I was relieved when I heard my name called.
As I rushed off to get my iced coffee, I couldn’t help but wonder what they meant.They knew me?
Before I could consider the possibilities, the minuscule coffee shop seemed to turn on its axis. Noise started hitting an unheard-of decibel and whispers became shouts.
“Bella! Bella Dash!”
The two burly men had long forgotten me and were rushing to keep the crowd at bay. People swarmed from the lobby and the whole area felt beyond maximum capacity. And there I stood in my damp workout clothes, hair a knotty mess, curves on display in not-so-flattering workout gear, and my makeup long rubbed off.
Bella strutted in wearing a black bikini barely hidden by a see-through mesh cover-up, hair perfectly straightened and makeup professionally applied. I stared at her as if she’d jumped off the pages of a magazine, and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen her since coming to Hawaii. Ford had said she’d requested privacy in a her own villa, but her current attitude suggested otherwise. She stopped for several fan photos, smiling and jutting out her hip. My feet felt glued in place while watching her. I kept standing and sucking back my iced coffee when I should’ve been looking for the nearest escape. The last thing I wanted was to appear in some random photo looking the way I did.
