Yes, but everything I am saying about her is true.
Which is why I can’t let her marryhim.
Daniel Colby.
Like me, he owns multiple top-notch restaurants around the Denver area.
Unlike me, most of his ideas, recipes, and cocktails were stolen. He has guys that he sends into other establishments to taste food, critique it, talk to the cooks and persuade them to come work for him, bringing those secrets with him.
Is it illegal? Not really, but for enough cash, people will do it. For enough cash, most people will do anything.
We all sell a little part of our souls to the devil, though, don’t we?
The flight from Denver to Costa Rica is approximately five and a half hours. Since we are bulleting due south, it’s the same time zone. Meaning, I will land at 3:30pm giving me just enough time to grab my rental car and haul ass to a resort near Tamarindo to stop the bride from walking down the aisle at sunset.
As I drive, listening to a tour guide turned comedian on the radio talk about freshwater alligators with an appetite for Americans. I look out the window and actually take the place in for the first time.
It’s beautiful. Tropical, green, mountainous, lush. If I were here under any other circumstances, I might be enjoying myself. But it’s a little hard to feel like you’re on vacation when you’re literally about to commit what might be considered in most countries…kidnapping.
Fingers crossed Costa Rica isn’t one of those countries.
From what I hear, you can buy off the cops in most situations. It circles back to thatfor enough cashscenario.
I pull up to the valet and throw the door open before the concierge has a chance to open it for me.
“Buenas tardes, señor,” he says with a slight look of panic on his face. It’s probably because I look like a bull ready to charge.
“I’m here for the wedding,” I say as a woman with a tray full of fruity cocktails with little umbrellas hands me a glass.
“Do you have a brochure for your stay?” he asks with a thick, velvety accent, brimmed with alarm and irritation. Because of immigration laws, you have to provide proof of paid travel everywhere you go here; even just to get through customs. Luckily, I have everything I need.
“No, I’m not staying at the resort. I’m here for the–Hey! Can you not do that? I’m not staying.” I call out to the bellhop who is in the process of removing my bag from the trunk. “I am only here for the wedding.”
“Lo siento, señor, but the wedding is private. There isn’t even a wedding party. They ahh,…como se diceeloped?”
“Already?” I snap, throwing my suitcase back into the car and slamming the trunk.
“Sunset,” the woman with the tray of drinks swoons. “Muy, muy romántico…”
“Si. Muy,” I say flatly. Then I realize that love bird over here is my ticket in, so I nod my chin up at her, catching her brown eyes. “And where is this wedding taking place?”
“Señor,” the concierge cuts in, or tries to.
“The beach. By the gardens.” She tells me.
“Thank you.Gracias.” I say and turn to hand the guy a fifty, American. “Just leave the car right here,hermano.I’ll be back in less than ten minutes.”
With that, I run towards the doors. I can feel their eyes on me, his in disbelief, hers…doing other things…but I keep going. If I had to guess, I am bigger than any of the security guys here; faster, too. I run down the marble steps, past the fountains, through the back doors, and down another flight of steps.
Alas, my Tom Cruise-esque Mission Impossible entrance is short-lived because after that, I am clearly lost. The sidewalk splits in about seven different directions, all leading to differentsuites, shops, and restaurants. By the way, when they say all-inclusive, they really meanall-inclusive.
Fucking pig. He’s literally waving the world around in front of her so he can take the only thing she cares about.
I don’t know which way to go, so I just pick a path and start moving. The tree line is promising, and I assume that’s gotta be it. Meanwhile, the sun is dipping lower and lower in the sky.
Fuck.
I pick up the pace, calling out to people as I pass.
