The way Sunny replicates my eyelash flutter and her condescending smile irritates me all over again. I clear my throat. Fake it until you make it, I suppose. “In a situation where my wife's flight is delayed, what is the protocol? Paying customers should not be penalized for what is entirely out of our control.” I know that all too well. Intertwining my fingers together, I wait for a response. Heat tingles my cheeks as whispers sound behind me. It looks like I'm making a scene. Well, Jones women don’t do anything half-heartedly.
Sunny opens her mouth, and before letting her finish, I interject. “In fact, I'd like to speak with your manager to resolve this disarray. My important meeting with the owners—the Blakemans—is coming up, and I'm exhausted. Discussing my mediocre customer experience would be a waste of everyone’s time. Therefore, I'm certain management would make an exception.”
“With all due respect, those same owners were the ones who put this policy in place.” She glances at the clock. “Unfortunately, my supervisor just stepped into a meeting. We understand life happens and navigating flights to the island can be a challenge, hence the grace period. You will be able to terminate your reservation and only be required to pay for the night, plus a thirty-percent surcharge to the card on file. Would you like to hear details regarding our cancellation policy?”
“No,” I growl without a second thought. Going back to Seattle without executing this wine deal is simply not an option. “Like I said, we are celebrating our honeymoon, and my meeting with the owners ofthisestablishment will not be impacted by your negligence.” I grumble through gritting teeth, “My wife will be here tomorrow.”
“Working during your honeymoon. Interesting.” Another mocking smile tugs at her lips. “I look forward to meeting Mrs. Jones.”
“I'm sure you do.” My death grip on my carryon handle tightens, and I stroll toward the elevator, gaze pointing downward toward the fish judging me inside the floor.
A group of women step off the elevator. Their booming laughter seems to be aimed at me. How am I going to get that signature? Telling the Blakemans the truth isn’t going to happen. Facing yet another embarrassment is not an option. I need a wife andfast. I shake my head and chuckle to myself. Hell, if I’d known, I would’ve asked that woman from the rooftop party. Ignoring the empty elevator, I scan the lobby, eyes halting on the concierge bag drop-off. I wheel my luggage over and request my bag be placed inside my villa. The short-haired Thai woman wearing a bowtie, who appears to be having a much better day than I am, brightens at the large tip I slide into her hands. At least someone’s day is improving.
Light-bulb moment. I, Basil Jones, am charismatic, a knockout, and…single—sort of. I’ll fix those details later. A two-week solo trip to an island is what I need, and redemption, fun, and more damn mojitos are what I deserve. After flashing a toothy grin, I ask the million-dollar question.
“Where is your closest bar?”
CHAPTER 4
CAROLINE
I yawn,peering up at the wooden bar sign,The Tiki Taco, and enter the hut, crossing the threshold for shade. The thatch roof serves as a minuscule shield from the island’s morning rays. At my last layover, Kaydence said she’d email the case details, but I haven’t received them yet. I'm already behind, with check-in being hours away, and I have no file to review.
The sound of rushing waves washing over the seashell-littered sand helps loosen the stiffness in my neck muscles. I’ll take this over a maddening rush hour any day. I breathe in, filling my lungs with the smell of crisp, clean air, and near the end catch a whiff of burning charcoal, paprika, and fresh garlic from the grill. The bartender, an Asian woman with midnight hair flowing to the middle of her back, walks over to take my order.
“Does your orange juice have light or no pulp?” I ask, opting in for an ocean-view seat in the empty bar. I drop my bag on the barstool beside me.
She nods. “Fairly light for fresh squeezed.” A curious smile splits her lips. “Usually, patrons are more concerned with the amount of champagne that goes in, not the pulp.”
I chuckle. “Hearing the word ‘champagne’ this early makes my stomach hurt. I’ll take a glass of OJ, please.”
“Coming right up.” She points at a metal sign while lowering to open the mini fridge.Tacos because murder is wrong.“You’re on a getaway island, and we serve food and alcohol twenty-four seven. There’s no one judging around here if you change your mind.” There’s a contemplative sound. “Then again, after last night’s debacle, I appreciate the change in pace.”
“Debacle?” My eyebrows pinch together. Usually, I need to flirt to get insight from the locals, but not today, apparently. I’m not complaining. The last thing I want is to get involved with someone. My mind travels back to the empty hotel room in Seattle. See how well that turned out last time?
“Some teary-eyed woman going on about—I’m guessing her ex.” She sets my drink in front of me. “Can’t have an island filled with sapphics without dealing with relationship drama from time to time.”
I take a sip and shrug. Paying local bars a visit often yields results and every once in a while, I’ll sample the local cuisine. Food too. I open my mouth to inquire about the resort I’m staying at, Goddess Lagoon; however, hearing about someone else’s relationship issues is oddly satisfying. I set my glass on the napkin square and rest my head on my fist. “What’s the story there?”
The bartender points at a seat three down from me. “No clue, but she seemed like theDynastyrich-bitch type. Sat right there and silently nursed drinks, which unraveled into a complete shitshow until I cut her off. Every time a patron sat down, she threw herself at them, repeating variations of, ‘I need a new wife. Fuck Olivia.’ Which was fine until my tips reflected otherwise. She started to literally cry and ask if she could buy a wife for two weeks.” She scoffs. “All I know is that I’m never giving my future child by that name. She ruined it.”
“I hope there was a good reason for someone to shoot their shot at a bar less than a quarter mile from a couple’s resort.” I shake my head.People be peopling.Those with money always find a way to get theirs, regardless of the collateral damage. “I’m exhausted for you. Unfortunately, nothing surprises me anymore. Probably trying to make her ex jealous.”
“Who knows? Between the constant partying on the east side and the hopeless romance on this side, most people get along around here, despite the number that have dated each other. To be fair, I’ve never understood the ‘friends with your ex’ thing. Tried it. Never again. Once I’m done, I’mdone.”
If only I could shake off the sting of rejection from B.H.J—presumably her initials. This is why I don't do serious relationships—she wasn't even an ex. I raise my glass. “Cheers to that.”
“Funnily enough, she didn’t hit on me. I would’ve considered it, given her tip alone. Doesn’t help that I’m a sucker for gorgeous eyes. Oh well.” She shrugs. “I’ve dealt with plenty worse back in Austin. I feel for whoever has to deal with that ticking emotional time bomb.” The dribbles of juice on the bartop edge get wiped clean. “Anyway, that was my night.”
“Oi!” a husky voice shouts from behind me. “Are the breakfast tacos ready yet?” Sounds of click-clacking from flip-flops amplify as someone approaches.
My attention shifts toward an older white butch a few inches shorter than me with tan freckled skin. Sport sunglasses rest on top of shaggy silver hair. and a tropical printed shirt is loosely tucked in the front of their cargo shorts. I squint. Is that a scarf around their neck?Here? We lock eyes briefly, then I casually turn to face the bar mirror.
“Make it two plates, Akari,” the person adds.
I barely hold back my grimace when sensing the weight of another human plopping down beside me.Out of all the empty seats, you justhadto pick that one.
“Coming right up, Lynn.” Akari’s warm smile and friendly wink in my direction tell me I’m in decent company, but I always question the premise.
