Picking up my massive to-do list, I addSource deserted island, then stare at it. How the hell am I supposed to come up with an islandandmanage to get power, water, a kitchen, and facilities to it in the next three weeks? This is some Fyre Festival-level insanity.
Next to me, Kat is flipping through the brochures I gave her so she can familiarize herself with the amenities and services the resort offers. “Huh, I didn’t know you guys had a yoga studio.”
“Um, yes, Hadley’s been working there since high school.”
“Seriously? I didn’t know she was a yoga teacher.”
Oh my God, she’s been my best friend since before Kat was born. How does she not know this? “What did you think she did?” I ask while I search “Benavente Islands deserted islands with power and water” online.
“I don’t know. I thought she worked in a doctor’s office or something.”
Breathe, Nora, breathe. Long, slow, deep breaths.
“Ooh! This infinity pool issogorgeous. Are we allowed to swim when we’re off the clock?”
“Definitely not.”
Her shoulders drop. “That seems like a total waste.”
“Uh-huh, but I really am busy, Kat, so if you can read quietly, that would be awesome.”
“Sorry,” she says but not in a sincere way, more like in a sarcastic “sooorrrrry, gawd” way.
Ha! An article on uninhabited islands in the chain of the Benaventes on a website calledNature Review. I click on it and scroll through what turns out to be a lengthy technical paper on the migration of the Grenadines’ pink rhino iguana throughout the Eastern Caribbean.
Next!
“Wow, I didn’t know that the guy who wroteClash of Crownsfinished his series here,” Kat says, popping her gum.
“Yup, he did.”
“That is sick. Like, is there a plaque outside the room he was in?”
“He actually wrote it on a private island the resort owns called Eden,” I tell her. “There should be a brochure about it in the pile.” My phone rings before I can remind her to be quiet again. “Nora Cooper speaking.”
“Oh good. I wanted to make sure you’d pick up,” a man with a North American accent says. “Iloatheit when someone doesn’t answer their phone.”
“Umm… yes, can I help you with something?”
“Vincent St. Pierre. Did you get my email?”
“I just finished reading it and got straight to work on sourcing that”—glancing around, I realize I shouldn’t say it out loud. Not while Mr. Secrecy is on the phone—“thing you asked for.”
“The deserted island?”
“Yes, that.”
“And?”
In front of me, Kat is holding the Island of Eden brochure up to her face. That’s my answer. Eden is Paradise Bay’s private island. It has exactly one luxury villa set atop the highest point, overlooking the sea to the south, but is otherwise surrounded by jungle. A staff of three —chef, full-time butler, and housekeeper—look after guests. They live on houseboats moored just offshore. Power, check. Water, check. Kitchen, check. It would be easy to film so it has the appearance of being deserted.
“I may already have found it, but I’ll have to let you know if it’ll work out.”
“Hurry up and find out, please. We’re running out of time.”
Running out of time to do the thing you sprung on me ten minutes ago?“It’s my top priority.”
“If that’s the case, why are you answering random phone calls?” he asks, then, just when I’m about to say something I shouldn’t, he laughs. A long, drawn out, totally phony laugh. “Just kidding. Always pick up when you see my number, mmkay? Gotta run. I have twenty million things to do before I get on the plane.”
