She doesn’t look like she’s going to cave anytime soon. We could be here all night, so I move aside for her, and she completes her task of measuring the length of the room with a satisfied hum.

  “Thirty-one feet, give or take. I’ll be generous and let you have the bigger portion. Fifteen feet for me, sixteen for you. I know maintenance is busy battening down the hatches, but I think you and I could jerry-rig a dividing wall easily enough. Where do you think we could find some plywood around here? And how good are you with a hammer?”

  She’s serious.

  If I handed her a pack of nails and a two-by-four, she’d have a KEEP OUT sign erected within a half hour. By the end of the day, I’m sure she’d finish construction on her wall. I burst her bubble with a dry tone. “Every bit of plywood we have is going toward hurricane prep. Your wall will have to wait.”

  “Nonsense. Plywood’s out, but we can get creative. How many shirts did you bring?” She opens the top drawer of the dresser. “Perfect! Look at this! We can string them on a line from wall to wall. Right over the bed and everything. That could work.”

  “Put my shirt down.”

  She holds my white T-shirt lower so that it falls exactly at her neckline. It’s like she’s a child at a fair poking her head through a silly backdrop. Look, mom. Take my picture! “Now, now, don’t get testy. If you don’t want me to use your stuff, I’m sure I can just borrow clothes from Maddox and Desiree. They aren’t using them right now anyway. Also, for the record, I didn’t realize you owned T-shirts. Not to mention, this one is decadently soft! So unlike you. I’d expect you to prefer fiber constructed of aluminum cans and old tires. Tough and durable.”

  She says the end part with a strong Soviet accent, heavy emphasis on the r.

  Sometimes—okay, all the time—I look at Paige and think, Goddamn it, you’re the funniest person I’ve ever met. Simply existing near you makes my day that much better. But the greatest travesty in all this is that I can’t tell her. Not how funny she is, not how much I want to kiss her, even when she’s being goofy, even when she waggles my T-shirt back and forth just to taunt me.

  “I want my shirt back.”

  “What are you going to do to get it?” she asks, holding it up like she thinks it’s out of my reach.

  I snatch it, and it’s like taking candy from a baby. Easier.

  I tell her that, and she scowls.

  “I can’t believe I’ve forgotten myself. You’ve completely distracted me and made me break my own rule! No talking is no talking. Now, go to your side of the room and leave me alone.”

  The next thirty minutes go like this:

  Outside, the rain picks up to a real downpour. Without the TV on, I can hear the storm strengthening, the wind howling. There’s a palm tree just outside our room that keeps thrashing against our window. It would be an ominous backdrop if we were in any way paying attention to it.

  We’re not. There could be ten hurricanes, a dozen tornadoes, and an earthquake to boot and we would still be zeroed in on intently ignoring each other, nothing else.

  I sit in a chair with my computer open on my lap. I’m working, answering emails, minding my own business.

  Paige goes at it, rearranging the furniture in the suite. If it’s not nailed down or ten thousand pounds (like the dresser and the bed), chances are it’s found a new home. She learned that lesson the hard way. Watching her try with all her might to shift that dresser barely half an inch was highly entertaining, but I had to pretend like I wasn’t watching. I made a sound—a blunted laugh that I had to swallow—and she looked up at me with a speculative gaze. I squinted down at my computer screen and moved my mouth really fast like I was reading the most important document I’d ever seen. Oh, look at this email, straight from the president, filled with the nuclear codes and the conclusive evidence that Jack from Lost was in purgatory the whole time.

  I had a footrest at one point. That’s gone. She came over and stood, looking down at it without saying a word. I eventually got the hint, picked up my feet so they hovered just above it, and like a little rat who’d been lusting after a piece of cheese, she swiped the ottoman away immediately. It’s now stacked on top of an end table, alongside a floor lamp and a few spare pillows. Her rudimentary blockade means that if I want to go to her side of the room and peek out the window, I’ll have to climb over the bed.

  It also means that if she wants to access the bathroom, or the all-important thermostat, she’ll also have to humble herself and shimmy across that comforter onto my side.

  She shivers and rubs her hands up and down her forearms, trying to warm up. “Bit chilly in here, no? Andbeforeyoureply,” she amends quickly, forming one long rambling word to get the sentiment out as fast as possible. “I was talking to myself.”

  She looks over at me, and without even having to stand from my comfy chair—(Oh yes, did I mention the best seating in the suite is on my side of the bed?)—I reach up and press the down arrow on the thermostat, cranking it cooler by one more degree. I just can’t sleep well if it’s too warm, you know?

  Paige’s teeth audibly chatter, and I almost feel bad, but then she whips the comforter off the bed and wraps herself up in it, sitting on the window ledge, looking out into the dark, menacing night.

  I grab the TV remote, thinking I should at least check the weather to see if there are any updates.

  “I guess he thinks he gets final say on what we watch,” she says, now referring to me as if I’m not even in the room.

  “Do you want me to see if I can do a split screen on the TV? That way you can watch your show and I can watch mine?”

  With a groan of annoyance born from deep within her soul, she pushes her phone out of the rolls of the comforter so she can unlock it. “Hey, Siri, can you tell Cole that I’m not talking to him right now?”

  In her doltish robotic voice, Siri answers, “I’m sorry, I can’t help with that.”

  Paige lowers her face right near the microphone and, in an angry, catty tone, says, “Okay, well, what good are you, anyway?”

  Siri replies, nonplussed. Cheery, even. “I didn’t get that. Could you try again?”

  “You know, it makes no sense for us to be in this room together and not talk about what you overheard the other day,” I chime in. “Notice how I said ‘what you heard’ and not ‘what you think you heard.’ You got it right. I told Todd that I was going to fire you, but I’m not going to.”

  Paige looks up at me, and her expression is murderous. She’s thinking of subjecting me to medieval torture tactics. Disembowelment, perhaps? What’s the one with the horses? Oh yes, being drawn and quartered.

  “Do you think I’m the absolute dumbest person on the planet? Like, there’s ol’ Paige, the most gullible idiot to ever pass through the lobby doors here at Siesta Playa. Here, take this commemorative plaque.”

  “You’d understand the truth better if you actually let me finish saying it.”

  “So say it. I’m all ears. I can’t wait to see how you spin this into something that you think makes sense.”

  She wraps herself more tightly in her huge comforter and prods me to continue with an impatient glare. Never mind that she looks like she’s cosplaying as the Michelin Man. I’m meant to take her seriously, so I do.

  “We agree Todd sucks.”

  Her reply is icy. “That’s the verdict the world has come to, yes.”

  “Great. Well, he’s also my direct superior, and if I want to keep my job here at Siesta Playa, I have to play the game.”

  “You mean sell your soul to the devil.”

  “No, I mean placate Todd long enough to figure out how the hell I’m going to get him out of here once and for all.”

  Her expression hardens. “Impossible.”

  “No, actually. It’s not. No one knows him better than I do. His comings and goings. His likes, dislikes. His vices.”

  She’s intrigued, but she doesn’t want to admit it. “What’s that supposed to mean? What does any of this have to do with me?”

  “He’s not squeaky clean, and I know how to prove it.”

  “Oh, okay.” Her eyes roll back in her head like she’s heard this snake oil pitch one too many times. “You’re a detective now too. Cool.”

  “I’m not a detective. I’m an auditor by nature. By blood, actually. It’s what I do. I look at official financial accounts and I search for discrepancies. It’s like a hobby.”

  “Okay, so you’re a truffle-hunting pig, only you wear a suit and enjoy calculators. Still, I don’t understand how—after working here for five years—you only now figured out that Todd is up to no good. Are you not a very good pig, or what? I mean, what are the odds that you figured it out at this precise moment? Why now?”

  We’re veering into dangerous depths, inch by inch, lowering ourselves so that, here in a second, we won’t be able to easily swim our way back to shore again. Not back to where we’ve been, not to the safety of all our unspoken words and misread feelings, the cloaked banter and the disguised love. We’re going to unmask the truth, and then what?

  It doesn’t matter. The unknown is our only path forward now that Paige thinks I’m going to fire her. She won’t believe me until I tell her all of it. Every. Last. Detail.

  “The correct question is who.”

  She furrows her brows.

  “Who did Todd threaten recently that forced me to finally dig deep enough, care enough to figure shit out? I’d been somewhat lazy, I admit. The first few years on the job, I was learning. I knew Todd was horrible, but I didn’t think he was illegally horrible. Then he started in with these layoffs. Some were warranted, fine. The clown, Annabelle . . . it’s why I went through with them. But not you.”

  There’s a hard set to my jaw, a determined edge.

  This is more information than she bargained for. She doesn’t look like she’s slowly recognizing and reconciling the truth. It’s like she’s rejecting it. A shake of her head, then another. She’s up off the windowsill now, moving back and forth, not quite pacing but shifting her weight with agitated steps like she’s a computer that’s been forced to do too many commands at once. She needs a reboot.

  “I don’t believe you. Why would you do that?” Her eyes are so wide now, blinking in the sight of me like she’s never seen me this clearly before. “Go through all that trouble for me?”

  Lightning flashes outside—a colossal, deafening boom shakes the windows—and then the TV and lights cut out all at once, right along with the AC. We’re plunged into darkness, and I wait for the backup generators to kick in. Any minute now would be great. I’m holding my breath, I realize, and I’m forced to exhale as we settle deeper into the dark.

  “Shit.”

  “Shit,” she says, nearly in tandem with me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  PAIGE

  Just when we need them the most, the generator gods have failed us. We shouldn’t be standing here in a darkness so intense I can’t make out my own hand waving in front of my face. Doors slam out in the hall. Worried voices carry through our door. People are already starting to panic.

  Cole and I don’t say a word. It’s like we reject this reality. We want another one. A brighter one.

  If only we stay frozen, the lights might flicker back on.

  Please, oh please, turn back on.

  It’s disorienting to say the least. My head is spinning, but then, of course it is. Hurricane and power outage aside, Cole just laid it all on me. I was ill prepared to hear that confession. I mean, it was a confession, right? The beginnings of one, at least . . .

  He’s trying to take Todd down for me?

  My heart starts racing so fast I feel like I need to clutch my chest.

  “Paige?”

  I turn toward his voice. “I’m here.”

  “You’re being quiet.”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “About the storm?”

  Oddly, “No.”

  I’m unpacking his last few words. Everything he said before the lightning strike. His timing is truly impeccable. I wonder if there’s a Hallmark card for declaring your feelings during a natural disaster.

  “Are you okay?” he asks like I’m this close to losing it.

  He’s correct in his assessment.

  “I think?” It’s half statement, half question. Maybe he could tell me if I’m okay. Is he okay? Is anyone in this hotel right now truly okay?

  Oh, so this is what existential dread feels like . . .

  I listen to him start to try to feel his way around the room. His toe gets stubbed on something hard, and he lets out a sharp guttural groan. There’s more fumbling after that, less gentle now that he’s already in pain. No doubt he’s trying to recall from memory how exactly I had everything stacked. There was the chair, end table, pillows, lamp. Lamp!

  Too late.

  He bumps it slightly, and it crashes down on my side of the room. The bulb shatters, and I jump back with an embarrassingly high-pitched squeal.

  “Don’t move!” he shouts.

  I go stock still.

  “There’s going to be glass shards everywhere. You took your shoes off when you first came in. I don’t want you cutting your feet.”

  I pinch my eyes closed as I berate myself for being so ridiculous. Why did I have to make this so hard on us? I essentially created a death trap obstacle course for him to navigate. “I’m sorry.”

  It’s so faint, I’m surprised he hears it.

  “You didn’t knock it over,” he assures me, trying to steal the blame when we both know it lies solely on my shoulders.

  “I don’t know why I tried to divide the room. I should have just locked myself in the bathroom and called it a night. At least I wouldn’t have caused as much trouble in there. Although, who knows . . . I could have flooded the place, I guess.”

  He doesn’t confirm or deny my stupidity. Instead, he stays on task.

  “I was trying to make it to the dresser. That’s where my flashlight is.”

  Flashlight!

  Duh.

  I’m still holding my phone, and I quickly scroll through the screen prompts until I turn the flashlight feature on. I have officially redeemed myself, slightly.

  Shallow light blankets the room now. I reluctantly look up at Cole, wincing as I brace for the worst. He should be scowling at me, angry beyond belief, his injured toe throbbing in tandem with his violent thoughts. But instead, his expression is soft and caring—his relief palpable. Suddenly there’s a heavy lump in my throat, one I have a hard time swallowing past.

  “Smart. I forgot about my phone.”

  He tugs his out of his pocket and turns on his flashlight too.

  “Now that you have that light, check around you and make sure there’s no glass. If you can, try to get up on the bed.”

  For once, I don’t argue. With careful steps, I tiptoe toward the bed and scurry up onto it like there’s a monster clawing at my heels.

  “Now stay there,” he says, holding his hand up like a stop sign.

  With the light from our phones, he can easily find his way to the dresser. His flashlight clicks on, and now there’s plenty of light to see the mess I’ve made around the room.

  Good grief. It’s like the hurricane’s already passed through here and left its destruction.

  “I need to get a broom and vacuum from the housekeeping closet.”

  His declaration is punctuated by a phone call. Ah, so it begins. The frenzy.

  If the entire resort is without power right now, we’re screwed. Guests are going to lose their minds. I mean, take their lights, fine. But their TVs?! How are they supposed to watch Family Feud now?!

  Beyond that, there’s the fact that it’s late August. Outside, it’s a humid ninety degrees. This hotel is well insulated against the elements, but it won’t matter. If the backup generators don’t kick on, it’s going to get hot in here, and fast.

  There’s also the real fear of the hurricane to contend with. These guests are away from home, in an unfamiliar environment, rightfully worried about their safety. Poor Cole. He’s about to be their punching bag.

  “I’ll do it!” I rush out as he frowns, still reading something on his phone. “I’ll clean up in here. Just go. I’m sure they need you.”

  “The backup generators should have kicked on,” he says to himself. His concern is etched in worry lines across his face.

  “I know.”

  He drags his hand through his hair. I know he wants to let loose a string of expletives a mile long. I would. It’s been one issue after another over the last forty-eight hours. Then I really helped things along by showing up at his door with my own basket of crazy. And he just sat there and took it while I rearranged this place. It’s laughable how patient he is, but I see it taking its toll. The way he rubs his forehead. The way he squeezes his eyes shut tight, like he’s steeling himself to open them again and face what awaits him. The stress would be too much for anyone.

  He looks up at me with a fierce, determined gaze. I nearly gulp. “Listen, I need you to stay in here, okay? Downstairs is going to be a madhouse, and I don’t want you anywhere near it. Just stay put.”

  Already, I’m creeping toward his side of the bed so I can swing my legs off. “I could help. I mean, I’m an employee here—”

  “No.” I freeze in place. His tone leaves zero room for input. “With everything else going on, I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

  Ouch.

  “I promise I won’t mess anything up.”

  He’s worried I’m a liability, like I’ll go down and rearrange the furniture in the lobby too. Break all those lamps.

  But then he shakes his head, his heavy gaze holding mine as realization dawns. He’s not worried about the trouble I’ll cause. He’s worried about me. My well-being.

  “Stay here until I get back,” he implores.

  And what can I do except to nod and agree?

  This is the weirdest night of my life.

  I can’t even sit in my feelings about how Cole is acting toward me because he’s gone and I’m still in this semidark hotel room, holding my phone and sitting on the bed, utterly useless—still wrapped in my comforter, mind you—while outside, the storm rages on.