She taps on the keyboard for a minute, then says, “I’ve got a lovely Toyota Sienna that just came back from getting detailed. And good news, we’ve got our Caribbean CupPromotion going on today so I can throw in four bottles of Fiji water for free.”
“Awesome.”
“And where are you going today?”
“Where am I—?!” No. Calm. “I just need to drive it from here to the dock where the seaplanes are. I’m assuming there’s somewhere I can park it for a few days.”
“Oh yes, they have a secure lot there. I believe it’s forty dollars a day,” she says. “I’ll just need your driver’s license and we can get the paperwork started.”
“Perfect. Thanks.” While I dig around in my handbag for my wallet, a thought pops into my head. “Say, Noreen. You wouldn’t be able to give me a lift, would you? For a fee, of course.”
She looks at me like I’ve just asked her for a threesome with her and Puff Daddy. “There’s no way I can leave. I’m swamped today.”
Thirty minutes later, I finally find the dock. I’m honestly so stressed I’ve barely even noticed how beautiful this island is. It’s a fucking paradise, but it’s completely lost on me. I squeal the tires as I turn into the parking lot and come to a screeching halt in the first stall I reach. Getting out, I leave the mini-van door open while I race over to the payment machine, jam my credit card in and follow the instructions, waiting a torturous twenty seconds between commands. When I get to the last question, I let out a panicky cry. “What’s my license plate number? How am I supposed to know that?”
I run back over to the van, snap a photo and sprint back, only to find the machine has timed out. “No, please, please, please…”
Taking a deep breath, I start over.
Three minutes later, I’ve got the van locked up and I’m running along the dock with my luggage bouncing behind me on the wooden slats.
Don’t cry, don’t cry. Crying won’t help anything. Run. Just keep running. You will find some help.
When I reach the end of the dock without seeing a soul, my empty stomach churns with desperation. There’s nowhere else to run, except right into the sea. I stand perfectly still in the hot wind, my mind racing. What do I do?
Cry. I’m going to cry. I’ve been holding it together for the past four days. I didn’t cry when Li’l Rhythm had the heart attack and we went into crisis mode. I didn’t cry when Guy made me cancel the second flight. I didn’t cry when my flight was delayed and I missed my charter.
But now, it’s okay to let it go. At least out here, I can be alone to cry, so even though I’m technically in a public place, I’m not in public because I am All. Alone. In. The. World.
I plunk myself on my suitcase and give in to despair. Sobs pour from my chest. I’m the worst sister of all time. Tiffany is never going to forgive me. It’s not as if this is the first time I’ve flaked on her. The truth is, since Guy offered me the job, I haven’t been there for her at all. I wouldn’t forgive me either.
I’m crying so hard, I don’t even register the sound of a plane until it lands in the water nearby. I watch as it slows and turns, then glides to the far side of the dock. It’s bright yellow and a little rickety. In my normal life, I’d never step foot on that thing, but it’s my only chance.
I stand, load up my arms, and drag my suitcase as I run toward the plane, waving my makeup case at the pilotwhile the propellers slow to a stop. The door opens, and a tall, built guy in jeans and a white t-shirt hops out.
“Hey! Hi, there!” I holler.
He ignores me in favor of locking the door.
“Hello, Mr. Pilot Man! I need your help!”Mr. Pilot Man? WTF, Paige?
His body stiffens, then he turns to me with an irritated look on his face. Even though he’s wearing aviators, his set jaw is making it clear that he’s annoyed. Why am I so annoying when I panic?
I stop right in front of him, panting. “Hi! Sorry. I need to get to Azure Island right away.” Pant. Pant. How embarrassing. Chadwicks don’t pant. Especially not in front of insanely hot men.
He sniffs, then says, “All done for the day. Check back with me tomorrow. Or better yet, check with someone else.” Looking me up and down, he adds, “You look high-maintenance. I don’t do high-maintenance.”
Wow. What a jerk. “First of all, the last thing I am is high-maintenance. And second, I’m not asking you todome. I’m asking you to give me a ride.” Although, my lady bits wouldn’t mind negotiating the type of ride I’d be getting.
He grins down at me, and it’s not a particularly friendly grin at that. There’s something about it that causes a shiver to run down my spine. Pointing to my makeup kit, he says, “What’s in there?”
Lifting my chin, I say, “None of your business.”
“If I’m not mistaken, it’s filled with all sorts of creams and paints and powders you don’t need. Any woman with that much makeup is high-maintenance.”
Well, that was certainly rude. Except for the part about me not needing makeup. “That’s a pretty big assumption. What if there’s no makeup in here at all? Maybe I have achronic illness and I need dozens of medications every day to keep me alive?”
“Do you?”
