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I chew my bottom lip, wondering if I’m capable. Am I really giving up being a goody two-shoes to destroy Don Juan Salami?

Yes, yes, I think am.

“You know . . .” I lean an elbow on the counter, trying to appear casual. “There is something else.” I grin, preparing my next shot in this guerilla war.

“Noa, I’ll take it from here,” says a new voice.

I do a double take as a lanky teen nudges aside the man who was helping me. Noa simply smiles at her, steps away from the computer, and moves to another station to take the next person in line.

“You!” I grab the counter before I glance around to make sure I’m not hallucinating. Lowering my voice, I spit out, “What are you doing here?”

“I often ask myself the same question.” Unconcerned, Jaz clips on her nametag. It’s embossed with the hotel’s logo and pinned to her aloha shirt. She’s sporting all-new clothing.

“I didn’t leave a happy customer at our last meeting.” I frown.

“Hopefully, I can remedy that. So, what else can I do for you today, Miss Sinclair?” For some reason, Jaz is grinning, almost as if she’d be happy to aid and abet.

4/

giovanni

Hellion in White Silk

“This is a disaster,” I say.

Hands on my hips, I stare at the bungalow across the lawn. It’s the private house on the beach I should be staying in. It’s not that this first-floor, zero-view room isn’t nice. It is. It’s that it doesn’t have a professional kitchen, the one thing I need to get through the next several weeks.

“Explain.” I turn to Casey, trying to remain chill. It’s not like her to mess up. She’s meticulous to a tee. And because she is, I know she’s doing everything possible to rectify the situation.

“Your reservation wasn’t even in their system. But I confirmed it five times before we left for the trip, Gio. Five!” She fiddles with her glasses.

“Let me get this straight.” I settle into my WTF stance. “I’m having several events over the coming weeks that have this entire hotel booked, and they can’t do better than this?” I gesture around the tiny, dark space.

If this were a few years ago when I was jobless and broke, I would have been happy with any trip to Hawaii. In fact, I would have been thrilled to sleep on the beach, bathe in the ocean, and talk to a volleyball with a smiley face stamped on it when I was lonely. I’m not high-maintenance, but in this scenario, at this moment in my life, this accommodation blows.

My entire filming schedule was based around that house. I had studied the photos of the interior, planned out every shot, scripted every skit in advance, so I wouldn’t waste a single second. My fear of failure demands it. But now, all that hard work and preparation means jack.

“Management offered the restaurant kitchen during off hours until another bungalow opens. If another opens.” Casey releases a nervous chuckle. She clears her throat and continues. “And we still have the test kitchen in the ballroom. That’s nice.”

I appreciate the hotel’s willingness to accommodate us, but the sterile stainless-steel backdrop of a working industrial kitchen isn’t going to cut it, and it would be hard, if not impossible, to pull off the overnight hours. And though the test kitchen is great for teaching and seminars, it’s visually boring for most social-media shots. I could have achieved the look at home in New York. But most of all, it negates the whole coming to Hawaii for tropical backdrop vibes. All of it is a no-go from the start.

Casey’s smile is overly confident. She’s trying to remain upbeat. Sure, it’s her job to make things run smoothly, but we both know this is a disaster, even if it’s not her fault. The hotel fucked up. There’s no way around it.

“That house was the best location on the property.”

Hell, it’s the best place out of every hotel on the island, and it’s the only Hawaiian-owned resort on Kauai. I refuse to spend money anywhere else. Everything about it is so perfect, it hurts. I scrub my face with my palms.

Yes, I could go vigilante and shoot on cell phones and film wherever I want. I’ve done it a thousand times, but it doesn’t help all the planning.

Groaning, I drop into the only chair in the room. A headache is forming. I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes tight.

I want ocean vistas. I want palm trees. I want that house!

“I’ll do some research,” Casey says.

“Find Matt. Maybe that asshole has some ideas.”

I wave off Casey, wanting to be alone to rethink this. I anchor my elbows on the armrests and steeple my hands, pressing them to my lips.