Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
I didn’t see him again after I fled the ballroom. I thought I maybe heard someone knock on my dorm door, but I didn’t answer it, of course. It was late, and I was already in bed midwallow, a bite of chocolate on its way to my mouth. If it was Lara and Camila, they would have called out to me through the door. And if it was Cole, well, I had nothing to say to him, so why bother? Still, I didn’t like the nagging feeling that someone might have been out there. So a few minutes later, in a fit of annoyance, I threw off my blankets and opened the door, only to find absolutely no one. The path surrounding my door was completely empty save for a little hoppy green frog.
“Did you knock?” I asked him.
Ribbit.
Now, Cole brushes his wet hair back with his hand (becoming even more devastatingly handsome in the process, mind you), and then he speaks to the group with an authoritative edge. This morning’s version of Cole is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Soggy clothes aside, he’s clearly leading the charge. Meanwhile, Todd’s at the back of the group, trailing behind, trying to get something unstuck from the bottom of his rain boot. The group has stopped walking, but he hasn’t noticed. He collides into a passing guest, and the woman shoots him a death glare.
“You mind?!”
Cole’s giving directions to the group, pointing toward various parts of the resort.
Then he sees me, and he stalls midsentence.
I gulp and look away.
It’s shit timing too. All morning, I’ve had a group of people clustered around the excursion desk demanding something. But not now. Most everyone who wanted to catch a flight off the island has left to wait at the airport, and everyone who’s staying has settled down to an activity. There’s an eerie calm in the lobby now. We’re in the eye of the storm. Cole says something to the group, and then he breaks off to head toward me.
Oh brother.
Here we go.
Batten down the hatches! Gird your loins!
Why do I feel like I should be drawing a weapon? I have none, of course. There’re no pockets on these shorts, so where would I fit a rifle or a long sword, anyway?
Just to cover my bases, I pat around the bottom of the desk. Nothing. No, wait. Gum. Gross.
He reaches me, and I ignore my quaking knees. Before he can get started saying whatever it is he’s about to say that will undoubtedly be both witty and devastating, I cut him off at the pass. My heart simply cannot take it today. I should be back in my room convalescing after the events from yesterday, not standing here defenseless.
“Good morning, sir,” I say with a tone I reserve solely for difficult guests. It’s cheery and robotic. Coincidentally, exactly how I would like to keep my relationship with Cole moving forward. “If you’re interested in booking a flight off the island, it’s not too late. I can get you to Russia? Or perhaps Bangladesh? Algeria? We have a desk set up just over there with helpful staff who can assist you in calling the airlines. But if you’ll promise to leave the premises within the hour, I’ll personally fund your ticket myself.
“If, however, you’re intent on weathering the storm with us, please take a pamphlet to learn about the exciting activities the hotel has organized for the day. Most guests will be occupying themselves with arts and crafts, but for you? I could organize a special trip straight to he—”
“Enough. You’ve made your point.”
I’m a short-circuiting Stepford wife as I force a laugh. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir. Would you like a pamphlet? Or perhaps a beverage? They’ve finished serving breakfast, but we have the most excellent coffee station—”
“Paige.”
I blink and it’s me again, feisty and hardened. The lobotomy didn’t take. “What?” I snap.
I’m forced to see him, then, really look at the man I’ve grown so accustomed to. From infancy, he never stood a chance of being easily palatable. His features are too pompous and severe. He has the nose of a haughty aristocrat. The cunning gaze of a ruthless titan of industry. He looks at you and you feel absolutely lacking in comparison. A nuisance.
But then, from certain angles, in the right lighting, there is a softness to him, I swear it. Take now, for instance. I know he’s imploring me to do something. Trust him? Yeah, right. That ship has sailed.
“Did you pack a bag this morning?” he asks.
I scowl at him. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business. We are not friends. We hate each other. You no longer have access to any pertinent information about me. Now, if you’ll excuse me”—I wave for him to step aside, like Buh-bye. See ya—“you’re blocking the desk for all the guests who are patiently waiting in line.”