“You might be taking your method acting a bit too far, Tris.” She stomps past me, and I chuckle to myself, resisting the urge to give her a teasing slap on the butt as she goes on her merry way.
One thing is certain. There’s going to be trouble in paradise, and it’s been a long time coming.
Chapter Eighteen
LEXI
“Why is it that every permanent employee here is either married or attached in some form?” I ask as I sit down at my desk across from Jem.
This fake engagement with Tristan is turning into a farce, and to keep it up for three months seems nearly impossible.
What was I thinking signing up for this?Everything he does grates on my nerves—also known as libido—and the way things are going, I’m going to need lots of time with the Bob, my battery-operated boyfriend, because I’m not going to let Tristan…Ugh. My heart is pulsing—everywhere. If he hadn’t been there in our room earlier this morning, I would have taken yet another shower because I’m sofucking wet. Sea slugs shouldn’t be a turn-on, but I was watching Tristan’s hands more than anything. And then he touched me.God help me.
“You’ll see,” Jem’s voice bulldozes through my Tristan-sex-fogged mind. “Check out that board. All those single guys coming to ‘dive’ want some kuma on the side.”
“Kuma?” I lean on my elbow, forehead in my palm.Do I even want to know?Maybe I’ll have basic Swahili down by the time I’m done here.
“Pussy. That’s what you call it. You know, they come here and think it’s Love Island or the hub of the local sex trade. The disappointment! And having to explain to them that the massages happen out in the sala on the beach where they can’t ask for a happy ending? Sheesh.” Jem shakes her head. “You have some things to learn, don’t you? Lucky for us, we have some regulars who know to pick up their piece in town before they fly over.”
Oh hell. Things to learn? I can tell her a story or two. I stand and turn toward the massive whiteboard where four weeks are plotted out with guests coming and going, color-coded with special needs—whether it be dietary requirements, allergies, honeymooners, repeaters, whatnot. Wedding parties have their own line and are blocked out in bright orange. Can’t miss that. The board is a relic from the past when there was no internet connection. Some habits die hard, especially since Jem still runs the show here and makes sure it’s updated daily.
My eyes travel over every single room booked for the next month, and I groan as I note that they’re written in red, with warning bells and all. They’re all men. Might it be that women don’t feel safe traveling here alone?
“Not everybody who works here is attached or married, but the singletons don’t last. We always hire couples when we can because it gives us better staff retention,” Jem says. “This isn’t a job for young singles anyway. People get lonely. They want to party and hang out, get drunk, do drugs, sleep around, you know how it goes. But that isn’t allowed on the island. That’s one reason. Now imagine one of the staff getting lonely and trying to get it on with a guest? Hmm?” She shakes her head indisgust. “Beaumont isn’t that type of establishment. Therefore, the couples rule.”
That’s something I hadn’t considered. This isn’t New York with millions of people. Tensions can run high when there’s no outlet in a small community like this, and crossing the line could destroy the hotel’s reputation, not to mention being career suicide. But…humans are humans.
“Makes sense. So who are our singles?” I’ve met all the staff, but I’m still getting who’s who sorted in my head. Now that Miriam is gone, I might get more than two words in with everybody I’ll be working with.
“Well, Deshni and Sarika are both single. The only reason Beaumont allowed them to run the spa was because they’re sisters and could keep an eye out for each other. They’re still here, and they’re still single.” Jem sighs, and it’s almost world-weary. “And there’s Roger. He’s still here too, to my surprise. When he came two years ago, I thought he’d be gone in a month, like so many of them.”
I nod, putting it together. “I met Roger when we came here. He works with Tristan.”
“Yup. He’s a boat boy but wants to be more than that. He almost left—” She clears her throat. “Well, he would have left long ago if it weren’t for—” Jem breaks off. “Never mind. This little island…it is what it is.”
I glance at Jem, but her eyes are on her computer screen as she types away. I want to dig deeper, but I didn’t miss the undercurrent of resignation in her tone. Here’s Jem, completely able to run the show by herself, but someone from Beaumont’s head office must be peering over her shoulder day and night. Nothing would drive me more nuts than having my competency questioned for thirty-odd years. I’m not really needed here. I shouldn’t be in that managers’ cottage; it should be Jem and her husband Mike.
I sit down with a sigh, and Jem shoots me a look over the rim of her glasses. “You keep that zirconia on your finger, Lexi. It’s the first step in warding off the creeps.”
Zirconia? If I had it in me, I’d let her know it’s a freakingTiffany. An airport Tiffany, but still. “Tristan’s here,” I say.
“Uh-huh. You’ll see how much he’s worth within the next weeks. Nothing tests a relationship like spending time on this little island. A place like this brings out a man’s true colors.”
Oh, God. If she only knew…Shit. What if she knows? Has she figured out our secret fake engagement in less than a week?
Impossible.
I sink down into my seat so I can hide behind my computer screen, ready to put my head in the space that dries up any salacious thoughts about my fake fiancé, his smile, his teasing, his general hotness, or the fact that I know what he looks like when he’s asleep. So freaking sexy. I haven’t exactly been sleeping through at night, and staring at Tristan on his side of the bed is half the reason for my current frustrations. Because lying there, watching him, breathing in the same air, reminds me so much of how far we went once and how that one night changed—no,ruined—everything.
And then he stroked my hand in that closet. It was such a small, gentle gesture, but it reverberated straight to my underbelly where the tension’s been mounting.
I need something—anything—to get my mind off my roommate. I open the internet browser to feed my Mia Reed addiction. I log into my email and check that first, telling myself I shouldn’t be so desperate for my fix. There are new emails, three of which I care to read: from Tessa, Evan, and Mom.
Tessa’s started her filming, and she’s loving every minute of it.Things are so real now I have to pinch myself like a thousand times a day. And guess who’s been cast as the male lead…She goes on for several lines about the cast and finally ends her emailwith a triumphantand Mia Reed is lying so fucking low, nobody can find her! Do you know she’s ghosted social media???!! She’s ghosted the world!!! She’s gone, girl, GONE!
Uh, nope. I didn’t notice. But now that she’s the topic of discussion, I hastily do the rounds of every social media platform the actress uses. It’s all old news—no new posts, reels, video, or anything since New Year’s. I was in such a travel tangle and heat haze that I didn’t notice this until Tessa pointed it out. What the hell?
I reply quickly, with happiness for her happiness, and then end withWhy would Mia Reed ghost social media? There isn’t any news of her being out and about?
