I wonder then if he has any dating profiles. I imagine his bio reads like a job posting:

  Cole Clark, age 30

  Seeking full-time romantic partner.

  I enjoy pivot tables, closed loop communication, and achieving corporate synergy. I don’t play games (unless rules are clearly defined).

  Position Requirements:

  5 years experience in polite small talk. Must be able to lift up to 2 pounds for occasional hand holding (waffle style preferred).

  Benefits:

  Requited love at fair market rate. To become vested after 4 years of service.

  Is he on dating apps?

  And why does the idea of him matching with some equally goal-oriented female cyborg twist my stomach into a tight knot? I can picture them now, nerding out over HTML codes and QuickBooks updates.

  Or maybe that’s not his type at all. Maybe he likes giggly girls who serve drinks at the Bistro. Yuck.

  “I’d prefer to get this over with so I can get on with my night. What do you want?”

  “Manners. Decorum. A smile.”

  His scowl tells me I’m not getting a single one of the three, so I sigh.

  “You owe me.”

  His eyebrows arc up in disbelief. “I owe you?” He shakes his head. “I can’t wait to hear where this is going . . .”

  I step closer to him—attempting to go toe to toe—and appear as intimidating as possible. My blonde hair doesn’t help with that. I should have worn a beanie.

  “Yesterday at the pool, you scared Blaze away.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and cock my hip to the side. There; I’m no longer to be trifled with.

  It’s clear from the lack of contrition in his expression that Cole doesn’t agree with my assessment of things. “He was on the clock, and last I checked, flirting with female staff doesn’t constitute any of his daily tasks. He’s not getting paid to ogle you in a bikini.”

  There’s a distinct anger in Cole’s tone. In fact, if he were someone else, any other man, I’d think he was jealous. However, with Cole, I know his anger lies solely in loss of productivity for the company. Equations are swirling in his head. Maximum Drink Output − Bikini Observing = WARNING WARNING WARNING.

  “He wasn’t ogling me,” I press.

  He all but snorts.

  “His tongue was lolling out of the side of his mouth,” he responds dryly. “If this were a cartoon, his heart would have danced out of his chest.”

  I hum like this is news to me. “Well, at least we’re getting somewhere. You agree that Blaze is attracted to me . . .”

  I dangle the sentence out until he’s forced to give a slow, resigned nod.

  I smile. “Good, now I need you to help me woo him over once and for all.”

  His expression clouds over with irritation. “That can’t possibly fall to me. Go get Camila or Lara to give you advice about how to win over men, and leave me out of it.”

  His gaze shifts pointedly to the door in an invitation for me to leave.

  I ignore him. “I’ve tried that, obviously. Camila and Lara have given me loads of advice and still . . . I’ve come up short with Blaze.”

  He remains unconvinced. “So why come to me?” he asks skeptically.

  I know he trusts me as far as he can throw me. Which, strangely enough, might be pretty far, given the toned physique I can make out under his suit and tie. I saw him nearly naked on that beach two months ago. I know what lies beneath his prim and proper exterior. Maybe my theory about his suits holding all his power is wrong after all.

  I clear my throat and refocus.

  “Why not come to you? You’re incapable of lying to me, Cole. In some people, honesty is a virtue, but for you it’s just a weakness,” I taunt, leveling a mind reader’s gaze in his direction. “So tell me, where am I lacking?”

  At first, he holds out. Long seconds pass as we endure a silent standoff.

  Then, he props his elbow on his desk and crosses one of his ankles over the other, getting comfortable in his assessment of me. His throat constricts with a swallow as he gives me a drawn-out once-over. His perusal is so unnecessarily long it makes me want to squirm, especially as his gaze trails down my bare legs. When his brown eyes clash with mine again, they narrow shrewdly.

  “Well, for starters, I think you’re barking up the wrong tree. Blaze has the IQ of a gnat.”

  I bristle at his cruel tone.

  “Well, he’s who I want,” I insist with a harsh finality. “And I’d be careful, Mr. Money Man. Disparaging the guy who brings in all that alcohol revenue for the resort isn’t so wise.”

  He gives up leaning on his desk and instead tilts closer to me. The air shifts.

  His breath is minty fresh, and I’m staring intently at his mouth as he begins. “Okay, you want Blaze? Here’s what you’re going to want to do.”

  I immediately wish I had a pen and paper to jot this down. He looks like he’s about to dole out some seriously good advice.

  “You’ll need to buy a clicker.” He air-clicks his thumb and makes a light popping sound effect with his tongue. “You can find one on Amazon. Oh, and grab a bag of M&M’s—y’know, something small so he won’t choke if he forgets to chew. Every time he displays some good behavior, like paying you any meaningful attention, you’ll click the clicker and treat him. You’ll have him eating out of your hand in no time.”

  I’m already giving him a You’re not funny glare, my eyes narrowed into slits, but he continues, unperturbed. “Now, if he jumps up and starts pawing at you, you can try the choke chain. But remember, some guys aren’t into that.”

  I’m already walking out of his office at this point, wishing I hadn’t bothered in the first place.

  “Have you tried one of those whistles?” he calls after me.

  Cole, I decide, will be no help at all.

  Chapter Ten

  PAIGE

  Sometimes you have to go after what you want. Love isn’t going to just fall into your lap. I think whoever coined the phrase “Good things come to those who wait” probably just didn’t want to have to pause Netflix and get up off their couch. Genius, when you think about it.

  I don’t have that luxury. It’s time to make a move with Blaze once and for all.

  I seek him out at work. The grotto isn’t that busy since it’s only 2:00 p.m.

  He’s behind the bar, slicing lime wedges and dropping them into a plastic container while he sways to the beat of the pop music playing over the speakers.

  “Blaze! Just the man I was looking for!” I drum my pointer fingers on the counter.

  He looks up, startled. “Uh . . .” Worry lines his forehead as he searches behind me. His eyes flit back up the path in both directions, like he’s expecting someone else to appear. Cole, perhaps?

  “It’s just me,” I say with a light laugh.

  His demeanor visibly relaxes.

  I made sure to wear my name tag today. It’s pinned on my shirt, visible to anyone within a twenty-foot radius. Still, I straighten my spine and jut out my chest to make sure he sees it. Paige. Yes, that’s my name. The effect my posture has on my breasts is a plus as well.

  “So what’s going on?”

  “Just . . . slicing limes,” he says with an easy smile. “Do you work today?”

  “Yes, but I’m off at seven p.m., and I’ve been dying to try the new steak restaurant that opened last month. You know the one? Lara and Camila won’t go with me . . . they aren’t big meat eaters.” This is a lie, of course. Today, they served hamburgers in the cafeteria for lunch. Camila ate a double with extra cheese. The juices oozed down her chin. Hopefully Blaze didn’t notice.

  He continues right on slicing limes, unbothered by my predicament. “Bummer.”

  “Yeah . . .”

  Then he looks up, having put two and two together, albeit slightly slower than I would have preferred. “We could go?”

  Ding ding ding!

  “Okay! Tonight?”

  He shrugs. “Why not?”

  Mild enthusiasm aside, this could work.

  “I’ll meet you at eight? Umm . . . you know how to get there?”

  This is a genuine question. Though well laid out and extremely intuitive, the resort grounds can be complicated for young children and . . . really anyone, okay? It’s not just Blaze!

  “I could draw a map,” I suggest helpfully.

  He laughs, but then he drops his knife to retrieve a pen and scrap piece of paper from behind the bar so that I’m forced to do it.

  “So you know where the main lobby is, right?”

  He looks stressed by the question.

  “Okay, actually. We’ll start from where we’re standing right now.”

  Dear god, if Cole somehow catches wind of this, I’ll die.

  Camila and Lara are happy for me. Happy enough to insist I let them help me out as I get ready for my date.

  “This eye shadow expired three years ago!” Lara says, holding up a brown shade she must have found at the bottom of my makeup bag.

  “Makeup expires?!”

  This is news to me.

  Camila shakes her head and points to the bag she dropped on my bed when she first arrived. “Just use my stuff. It’s in there. I brought it with me just in case.”

  Camila’s behind me with a curling iron, concocting perfect beach waves before spraying my whole head with enough hair spray that I start to hack up a lung.

  “Jesus,” I say, waving my hand through the plume of particulates suffocating me.

  “What? The island is humid. You want these curls to fall the second you step outside?”

  I’m reminded over and over again that beauty is pain as they prepare me for my date. No simple outfit will do. They pour me into a red minidress that squeezes my boobs so tight I can’t take a full breath.

  When I complain, Lara levels me with a harsh glare. “Do you want to look insanely hot, or do you want oxygen? You can’t have both.”

  “I’ll take the oxygen,” I answer swiftly, tugging my hair aside so that they can unzip the dress and find me something more practical to wear.

  “Wrong.”

  Okay, then . . . apparently that was rhetorical.

  On my way to my date, the absolutely best thing happens, and it’s total happenstance! I’m just breezing past the executive offices in the main lobby (pacing, actually, back and forth)—when I accidentally bump into Cole leaving for the day. He has his suit jacket tossed over his forearm, a utilitarian leather satchel hanging over his shoulder.

  When he sees me in my red dress, his eyebrows nearly touch his hairline.

  He veers off the path and heads over. When he reaches me, his whistle is low and long, not quite a catcall, but effective in reddening my cheeks all the same.

  “That’s some dress. What’s the occasion?”

  “Oh, just a date,” I remark like I’m exhausted about the prospect.

  Another day, another date! God, I can’t keep these men off me. I need a long stick.

  He rubs his chin with his hand, looking away for a moment. Then when his gaze meets mine, it’s sharp, almost spine tingling. “So the whistle worked,” he notes. “Or was it the clicker?”

  “I do enjoy your little witticisms, believe me, but if I stand here talking to you much longer, I’m going to be late.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Smith’s.”

  “That’s over near staff housing,” he remarks. I hate Cole’s brain and his ability to cut through my bullshit so easily.

  “Yes, well, I needed to check my mail,” I lie.

  Our mail gets sorted and stashed near reception.

  “In those shoes?”

  I look down, and down some more. My legs are miles long in these high heels I borrowed from Lara. They’re a half size too small. In the morning, I’ll be hobbling along, sporting blisters the size of Africa, but they’re worth it just to watch Cole slowly swallow, his hungry gaze devouring my legs.

  “These? They’re so comfortable.”

  I try to shift my stance, to pop a hip and prove my point, but my ankle rolls, and I nearly go down. Cole reaches out to steady me, and I don’t even push him away. I’m actually glad for the support.

  “All right,” he says with a long-suffering sigh. “Let’s go. I’ll walk you.”

  “If you insist.” My tone is resigned, but my hand on his is desperately screaming Do not let go of me.

  I should have practiced more in these high heels before I left my dorm.

  “Why didn’t Blaze come and collect you for your date? Surely he’s dying to get his hands on you.”

  It occurs to me that Cole has his hands on me, securely, tightly, wonderfully. His arm is a tight band around my back. His hand squeezes my hip with just enough pressure that I don’t have to worry about face-planting once we make it out onto the pebbled path and my ankles turn into spaghetti noodles.

  “I think it’s so much more fun to meet at the restaurant, don’t you? That moment when you look up in a crowded dining room to find your date staring at you with unabashed longing.” I pretend to shiver at the prospect of seeing Blaze like that.

  “How sweet,” Cole notes like the concept makes him viscerally ill.

  “So what are your plans for the night?” I ask, staring up at him with my long mascaraed lashes. “Meeting Tamara somewhere? I saw you two flirting by the pool.”

  “We weren’t flirting.”

  I hum like I’m barely interested in this conversation. “Really? Could have fooled me.”

  He frowns down at me, his gaze glued to my glossy lips. “I’m not hanging out with anyone. I have more work to do tonight.”

  “Oooh, sexy. Tell me more. Are you going to pop the cork on a bottle of wine while you make love to your spreadsheets?”

  His gaze takes on a new challenging edge. He’s had enough of my smart mouth. “You know who has good wine? Smith’s. Maybe I’ll go in and enjoy a glass while they prepare my dinner to go.”

  “You should!” I say, praying reverse psychology is a real thing. “Definitely.”

  Meanwhile, I think, Listen here, you diabolical mastermind, if you so much as step foot inside Smith’s, I’ll . . .

  “Blaze!” I squeal with delight as I see him just up ahead, standing in front of the restaurant. I’m immensely relieved. A part of me regretted not checking in with him again this afternoon. I’ve been worried he’d find himself wandering aimlessly around the island, consulting my map in confusion as he reached a cliff’s edge. Well, it says to keep going forward . . .

  I step out of Cole’s grasp and hurry toward Blaze, sending a silent thank-you to the inventors of concrete as my high-heeled feet touch solid ground again. Aware of our audience, I give Blaze a kiss on each cheek. It’s something I’ve never done to anyone in my entire life, but it works out well.

  “I love your dress.” His eyes widen with appreciation as he steps back. Thank you, Camila and Lara! “Who’s it by?”

  “Oh . . . um . . .” I look down at it like that might jog my memory. Then I laugh. “I have no idea, to be honest.” Do guys care about that sort of thing? I’m kicking myself for not reading the label. I could have impressed him with my fashion prowess.

  “It suits you. It’s the perfect silhouette for your body type.”

  “Thank you,” I say, flustered by his genuine compliment.

  Then Blaze sees Cole coming up behind me, and his entire demeanor changes. He blinks a half dozen times, like he’s about to lose control of his bowels. “Oh, hello, sir.”

  I swear he’s about to salute Cole. They’re like the same age!

  “Relax, you’re not on the clock,” I tease Blaze with a playful laugh.

  He’s still flustered, so I offer an explanation to help put him at ease. “I happened to bump into Cole on the way here. He’s just going to order something to go while he enjoys a glass of wine at the bar. Don’t mind him.”

  Blaze—probably aware that he has the opportunity to impress his superior—shakes his head. “No, no. You can sit with us while you wait for your food.” He looks to me for backup. “Yes?”

  I don’t know why he bothers asking. He doesn’t wait for my reply, which would have been a hard no. He’s already leading the way toward the front door so he can hold it open for me and for Cole.

  Much to my dismay, Cole follows right behind me. So he’s really going through with this? Absurd. I can’t wait to turn the tables on him one day. If I so much as see him eyeing a woman, I’ll be sure to sabotage it the same way he’s sabotaging this for me.

  At the hostess stand, Blaze explains the situation to Sabrina. “We’ll have one more dining with us. Hope that’s okay.”

  Sabrina—who was slouching and looking at her phone before we walked in—now stands to attention once she sees Cole is in her midst.

  “Mr. Clark, you guys, right this way.”

  I narrow my eyes and glare back at Cole as we begin to follow her. Is this how everyone treats him? Am I supposed to treat him this way? That ship has sailed.

  We’re being ushered to the best table in the house, the one with views of both the bustling kitchen and the sprawling ocean. Smith’s is built up off the ground, high enough that you can see for miles, which is a fun little topic of conversation I could bring up with Blaze if only Cole weren’t still here.

  Once we reach the table, Cole pulls out my chair for me. Or he starts to before I yank it out of his grasp and finish the task myself. Blaze is talking to Sabrina, completely oblivious.

  “Do not sit down,” I hiss under my breath. “Cole Clark, if you take that seat—”

  He takes it and then rudely sets his leather bag on the fourth, unoccupied chair.

  Great, now I’m on a date with Blaze, Cole, and that leather bag. It’s like a cheesy ’80s dating show. Contestant Number One, what’s your idea of a fun night out?

  Desperate for this charade to be over, I raise my hand and wave it wildly overhead until a waiter sees me. His eyes widen with worry, and he comes running over.