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.”

  Never mind that the lobby is a deserted ghost town.

  I take matters into my own hands.

  “You there, sir! Can I assist you?!”

  I’m waving my hands, trying to get the attention of a teenage boy who’s cutting through the lobby. He’s dressed head to toe in black; his outfit is replete with menacing chains rattling around his thighs, a poky little metal choker around his neck, and heavy dark eyeliner. He has his headphones in, and when he sees me trying to initiate conversation, he flips me off with both hands and keeps walking.

  “Okay, well, he’s obviously already on his way to an activity. Strange, because I didn’t see any satanic rituals on the schedule, but I could have missed it . . .”

  Cole stands there, completely unperturbed. I’m only now realizing that when it comes to me, he has the patience of a saint.

  “We’re moving staff into the hotel tonight,” he informs me with a defeated sigh. His hand runs through his hair. I see the fatigue in his expression.

  “What? Why? It’s not even supposed to get bad until tomorrow morning.”

  “Correct. And this way, everyone will already be here, safe and dry. I’m not spending all of tomorrow attempting rescues if shit hits the fan. It’s a waste of resources. Any employees who want to leave resort grounds are free to do so without consequence up until nine p.m. tonight, at which point we need to know that everyone is accounted for inside the hotel.”

  I refuse to show my annoyance. He’s already succeeded in seeing too much of me over the last few months. I’ll have to get better about putting up a wall with him, tuning him out.

  I look away and douse the fire in my tone as I continue. “Fine. Who am I rooming with?”

  I already know he’s going to say him. Of course he’s going to put us together. He’s a maniacal scientist, and I’m the rare specimen he’s been hunting for the world over. I’ve got her! I’VE FINALLY GOT HER!

  He doesn’t even need to consult a clipboard. He has it memorized. “Desiree, a masseuse from the spa.”

  “Oh.”

  If I sound disappointed, it’s only because I guessed wrong.

  I mean, I wouldn’t have put it past him to have orchestrated this entire thing—hurricane included—just to torture me. To put me with Desiree—who is a little older than me and nice enough—is so unlike him.

  “And who are you with?”

  Tamara’s name springs to mind so fast it’s troubling.

  If he says Tamara, I’m going to hurl.

  “Maddox.”

  One of the boat captains.

  I hate that I’m relieved.

  Word about the room assignments spreads through the resort quickly. I figured there would be murmurs of insurrection or, at the very least, voiced annoyances, but mostly people are relieved to be moving into the hotel. The building is newer and safer, not to mention much more elevated than staff housing. Water collects around our dorms even in minor storms, so as much as it pains me to say this, Cole is probably right to take precautions.

  I’m even excited to room with Desiree. I don’t know her well, and this will give us a chance to bond. Who knows, I might come away from all this with a new best friend.

  It’s actually lucky that I ended up with the room assignment that I did. Camila and Lara are together, but they’re stuck in a two-queen suite with two other people.

  “What the hell? One bathroom for four of us?!” Lara groans.

  Camila shakes her head. “I’m claustrophobic just thinking about it.”

  I try not to rub it in that I’ll be spared the worst of it. A king suite in a luxury hotel? That ain’t half-bad. I’m already excited about all the little fancy soaps and shampoos I’ll be able to pilfer. If Desiree wants them, too, we can always go halfsies. She gets the body wash, I’ll take the lotion, and so on. I’m busy all day, so I don’t manage to find the time to make it back to my dorm to grab my bag until after dinner. I check once more that I’ve taken everything I need for a few days, as well as anything I couldn’t easily replace in the event that it’s lost. It’s not exactly sad, just strange. The entire day has felt like a weird fever dream. And the rain. THE RAIN. I know I live on a tropical island, but it’s enough! We get it! As I leave my dorm, I have to tuck my duffel bag up under my poncho to keep it from getting completely soaked as I run back to the hotel.

  At reception, there’s a line to get our room keys. When I reach the front, a tired woman asks me, “Last name?”

  “Young.”

  “Paige?”

  I nod, and she passes over a silver key card with a discreet palm tree on it.

  My vacation has officially begun! Pass me a cocktail, something served in a hollowed-out pineapple! Lather me up in sunscreen and plop me by a pool!

  I’ve been assigned room 3124 on the third floor. I head up, glancing at the numbers as I pass them in the hall. 3075, 3076 . . . 3118, 3119. When I finally near my room, I see the door across the hall is propped open.

  Cole is inside, placing a few folded shirts into the top drawer.

  He doesn’t see me, so I pretend I don’t see him.

  I scan my key card quickly and hurry inside my room, only to be confronted by a strange scent that I can’t immediately place. But that’s suddenly the least concerning thing about this room.

  My roommate is already here. In fact, she’s hard at work tugging the king-size mattress onto the floor. Maddox, Cole’s supposed roommate, is draping the sheets from the bed over the lamps to dim them to a sultry glow.

  “What is this?” I ask, concerned I walked onto the set of a porno.

  That’s what it smells like, by the way . . . sex.

  Desiree and Maddox aren’t even fazed when they look up and find me surveying the scene. Never mind that Desiree is clad in revealing lingerie and Maddox is only wearing a pair of tight red boxer briefs. Is that . . . I lean in, eyes narrowing. Is that a little dog collar around his neck?

  “It’s our love den. We’re all about to die, so there’s no point in hiding our relationship anymore.” Maddox nods in agreement, sidles up to Desiree, and pinches her playfully on the butt.

  I blink several times as my overloaded brain unpacks the information.

  “Okay, well, good for you, I think? But where am I supposed to sleep?”

  Desiree takes my shoulders and ushers me out of the room. “You’re going to have to find another room, sweetie. Byeee.”

  Fine. Who am I to stand in the way of . . . whatever the hell that was?

  Out in the hall, I’m relieved to find Cole’s door closed now. He’s probably in there, pleased as punch. His roommate has abandoned him to set up shop across the hall, and now he’s sitting pretty all by himself. Too bad Maddox and Desiree didn’t tear his room apart instead of mine. I can only imagine the look on Cole’s face if he were the one to walk in on that. I’d pay good money to see it. A week’s wages, easy.

  Out in the hall, I formulate a plan B rather quickly. It’s genius, really. It takes some asking around, but I eventually learn that Blaze has been assigned room 5011. Perfect. He’ll find me on his doorstep, all alone like a baby bird who’s fallen out of her nest. Men love playing the hero, and what better way for him and me to really get this relationship going than to spend the night together? Watch out, Maddox and Desiree, we might be creating a little love den of our own.

  Up on the fifth floor, I knock on room 5011 and then fix my hair, adjust my top, try on a smile, then decide it’s too chipper. Instead, I opt for pleading innocence.

  The door opens to two men’s laughter.

  Oh, what’s the joke? I love jokes!

  It’s Blaze who answers the door, and he looks surprised to see me.

  “Paula?”

  The edges of my vision start to get fuzzy and black.

  Paula, he calls me. PAULA. We shared mashed potatoes and steak and an evening of conversation (albeit stilted), and he still thinks my name is Paula?!

  “Paige,” I say, somewhat rudely. “My name is Paige.”

  He laughs this off and thunks himself on the forehead. “Duh, yes. Paige. What’s up?”

  He sees my duffel bag resting at my feet and then takes a step closer to the hallway, closing the door tighter as if to say, You weren’t planning on coming in here, were you?

  “Who’s at the door, sweetie?” a man calls from deeper inside the hotel room.

  Sweetie is a common enough nickname among guy friends, right?

  Sweetie, honey, you sexy thing, you—I think they call each other this stuff all the time.

  It’s cool that Blaze is so confident in his masculinity. No fragile male egos here! Harry Styles would be proud.

  Blaze turns to reply. “It’s Paige!”

  Then there’s shuffling, and the other guy approaches the door. Would you look at that? It’s Serge! Shirtless!

  He wraps his arm around Blaze’s waist and gives me a big warm smile.

  “Paige! It’s been too long. I thought I saw you leaving the staff meeting the other night, but it was hard to tell. You looked like you were running—”

  “That wasn’t me. Anyway, are you two . . .”

  I was going to say a couple, but Serge finishes with, “Gay?”

  When I do nothing but blink dumbly, he takes pity on me and answers his own question. “Very.”

  “Congratulations” is the word that falls out of my mouth. And I really do mean it. I’m happy for Blaze and Serge. Now that I think about it, they’re actually perfect for each other. But man, talk about a plot twist. I mean, sure, if I’d thought about it for even half a second, the signs would have all been there, in bold, lit up like the Las Vegas strip. Unfortunately, I’ve been a little preoccupied as of late . . . well, ever since Cole and I kissed, really. His rejection at the time hurt so deeply, I suppose I turned desperate. I’d pinned all my hopes and dreams on Blaze in an attempt to find a real, meaningful connection. And yes, if that connection happened to sidetrack me from my very real, very painful obsession with Cole . . . well, all the better.

  I’m not sure how long I stand there, saying nothing, but it’s long enough that Serge pushes past Blaze and rests a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay, Paige?”

  Nope. Not even a little.

  “All good in the hood!”

  Jesus, I gotta get out of here. I reach down, grab my duffel, and move on to my next—and final—option.

  For the record, Camila and Lara are about to relent when I finish my very convincing argument for why they should let me be their fifth roomie for the night. I can tell. Lara’s face is a mask of pity. Camila’s bottom lip is jutting out a little. Of course they’re going to take me in. They love me. They want to help me out, but one of their roommates puts the kibosh on the plan real quick. I barely have a toe nudged in the doorway before she walks up and takes matters into her own hands.

  “No. No way. There’s already three too many bodies in this room. I’m about to start killing people off. Find somewhere else to sleep.”

  I should be holding a speaker that’s softly playing Green Day’s “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” as I walk aimlessly around the resort for the next hour. I’m like Mary, adrift and alone. No Joseph by my side. Also, for the record, no immaculate conception to contend with.

  Where, oh where, will I sleep tonight?!

  Eventually, with so much reluctance I can barely finish the last few steps, I find myself outside Cole’s room.

  Am I really going to do this? Sleep with the gorgon? I don’t see a way around it. I could stay on the couches in the lobby overnight, but I know management would hate that (and I’m not trying to get fired early). Not to mention, I need someplace to stow my crap. I can’t just carry around this duffel bag everywhere I go.

  From across the hall, the guttural, animalistic sounds of tantric lovemaking are clearly audible—Maddox and Desiree have hit an all-new crescendo—just as I raise my fist and knock.

  Chapter Seventeen

  COLE

  I open the door to my hotel room just as Paige pushes her way past me like a whirling dervish.

  All I see is the back of her blonde hair as she kicks off her shoes and drops her duffel bag on a chair. I’m still holding the door open in confusion as she starts unloading her clothes into the bottom drawer of the dresser like that’s been the plan from the start.

  Without looking up, she states plainly, “Let’s establish some ground rules right now. No talking to me. That’s obvious. No looking at me either. No touching my stuff. No . . .” She pauses her unpacking so she can consider other possibilities. Then she shakes her head. “Hmm, nothing else is coming to mind right now, but if I think of other things, I’ll update the list then. But you should know that all of these aforementioned offenses will be punishable by death.”

  “Death, huh?”

  No answer.

  “What are you doing?” I say, lamely, trying to catch up.

  Why is she in my room?

  She looks up at the ceiling and speaks with a bone-tired tone. “It’s a long story and I can’t possibly get into all the details, but essentially, Maddox shacked up with Desiree across the hall. Like they are really going at it. Once they’re done with it, that room will need to be heavily sanitized, or potentially just taken out of the rotation altogether. Oh, also, Blaze is in love with someone else. You probably already knew that and were reveling in the fact that he and I would never end up together, but whatever. Moving on. The only friends who could take me in, Lara and Camila, have utterly abandoned me. I can either sleep in here or behind the back dumpsters outside, so . . .” It’s like she’s giving it another moment of thought before she shudders. “You narrowly won out. But only because I’m worried how high the floodwaters might rise. I don’t want to wake up adrift at sea.”

  Well, that’s a lot to unpack, and I’m only confident I caught maybe a third of it by the time she finally takes a breath. The important bits stick, though. “Of course you can stay here.”

  Though, to be clear, she’s not waiting for my permission. She’s making herself at home in the place already. This is her room now.

  “But I can have a word with Desiree. Obviously, she’s not allowed to take over that room and kick you out. It’s unprofessional and inappropriate—”

  She shakes her head, fully committing to the martyr bit with a weary tone. “Save it. Who am I to stand in the way of love? People should be happy. Not us, obviously. But other people. Better people.” She finishes unpacking and slams the drawer closed. “Now, no more talking. That was rule number one.”

  I let the door close. “Talking?”

  “Yes. If you’ve forgotten the rules already, I can jot down a list. In fact, I might have just come up with another—” She turns back to survey the room like she’s intensely focused on solving a problem. I watch from the narrow foyer as she stands and walks over to the large window, flattens her back against it, and then starts taking steps, strategically lining the back of her heel up to the front of her toe. She does this over and over until she reaches me, pauses, and looks up with a challenging gaze. We’re chest to chest. Her eyes are two tiny chisels trying to bore through me. It’s the first time she’s looked directly at me since she strolled into my room. It feels like someone’s squeezing a tight fist around my stomach.