Chapter 3
THREE
Vida
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Peggy asks for the third time.
It’s five o’clock in the morning and I’m on my way out the door for another day of cleaning at Reserve. Normal, uneventful cleaning.
Nothing like yesterday.
That can never, ever happen again.
In fact, I’m half convinced it never happened at all. If it weren’t for the soreness between my thighs and the light bite mark on my neck, I’d think I dreamed that whole encounter with Tripp Sterling. But no. It was very real.
So real that I lay in bed all night thinking about it.
How could I not?
I’ve never even kissed a boy, let alone been touched by one in such an intimate manner.
I’m pretty sure yesterday’s accidental tryst is what they call diving into the deep end.
Not only does Tripp appear to have a lot more experience than me, but he asked me to do something I couldn’t have imagined. Never thought I would…like.
Something that confuses and reluctantly fascinates me.
Run from me. So I can chase you down.
My face floods with heat, and I hunker down, pretending to tie my shoe so Peggy won’t notice my flushed cheeks. “I’m just stressed because lots of college kids arrived yesterday. You know how messy they can be.”
Peggy groans. “They are the worst, it’s true. Never had to clean up after themselves a day in their lives, those trust fund babies!”
“Uh-huh.” I try to swallow my curiosity, but I don’t manage it. “Have you ever cleaned up after the Sterling family? Or do you know anything about them?”
“Oh yes. The Sterlings are the richest of them all. You know, the jewelry brand.”
Shock hits me like an arrow to the forehead. “They’re those Sterlings?”
My aunt giggles at my outburst. “Yup. Their son is only twenty, but he’s a big-time investor in Reserve, among other ventures.
From what I hear, he isn’t content to live off Daddy’s money.
He started his own investment firm at eighteen.
I overheard some of the hotel managers talking about it once.
” She hums. “I’ve never set foot inside a Sterling’s in my entire life and I likely never will.
But it’s fun to look at the diamond necklaces in the window, nonetheless. ”
“I’ve done that plenty of times myself. Not that I need a diamond necklace to be happy, but it’s impossible not to stare at something so pretty.”
Peggy claps me on the shoulder when I stand up, handing me my backpack.
“Someday, sweetie, you’re going to graduate from Dartmouth summa cum laude with a degree in astronomy. You’re going to have the kind of job that allows you to buy your own damn necklace.”
“Yes, I am,” I say, smiling over at my beloved aunt. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t. Yale is going to kick themselves for not accepting you.”
My face scrunches at the reminder. “Here’s hoping,” I manage, slinging my backpack onto my shoulders. “I better go before I’m late.”
“Okay, sweetie.” She walks me out the door, hobbling more than usual thanks to her arthritis flare-up, leaning against the porch rail as she calls after me. “And be careful around those rich boys. They’re not used to hearing the word no.”
Inwardly wincing, I wave to let her know the message has been received, then I hop on my bike and start pedaling in the direction of Reserve.
Peggy isn’t wrong. I’ve heard a lot of horror stories from employees at Reserve about the entitled behavior from guests, not to mention experiencing quite a few inappropriate propositions myself.
I should put Tripp Sterling in the same category as those offenders, but…
I can’t quite seal him into the spoiled rich boy box.
For one, he’s not a boy. He’s a man. And older than me.
Second, as soon as he realized he’d made a mistake and I was not a call girl, he took his hands off me and apologized. His regret couldn’t have been more authentic, too. And yet…
He wanted to chase me.
Catch me.
The way he threw me up against the door and touched me with such proprietary hands is a memory that still lingers on my skin now, a whole day later.
How am I going to face him at the resort for the entire length of his stay?
I’m probably going to melt into a puddle of humiliation every time we cross paths.
Has anyone ever told you how utterly stunning you are?
That gruff statement stays in the back of my mind the entire fifteen-minute bike ride to Reserve.
When I arrive, I stop to breathe in a giant lungful of ocean air, then take the long, sloping driveway down to the staff entrance, locking my bike into the rack.
I enter the employee quarters, donning my maid uniform in the locker room while chatting with some of my fellow maids.
On my way out of the lounge, I check the day’s schedule, breathing a sigh of relief that I’ve been assigned the gym/pool section of the resort.
Surely Tripp Sterling will be out on the beach all day with his friends and not inside working out or swimming in the Olympic-size pool.
It is another beautiful day on the coast, after all, and there are activities aplenty planned for the influx of college students.
A live DJ, masseuses, dancing, caviar, and champagne.
I set loose my wild ponytail and secure my hair in a strict braid before taking my personal employee clipboard out of its rack to begin the journey across the sprawling resort to the state-of-the-art gym, complete with a Pilates studio, trainers, and award-winning day spa.
Reserve is the kind of place where I can’t even imagine myself going on vacation. It’s far too decadent.
If I had the money to travel, I would visit the Atacama Desert in Chile, where the night sky is clear and ripe for viewing the stars. Or maybe I’d go explore the Jokulsárlón Glacier Lagoon in Iceland.
Reserve is beautiful in its own way, but not the kind of beautiful that steals my breath.
No, I’ll discover those places someday. After college. Once I find my place in the world and pay Aunt Peggy back for her kindness.
As expected for a Saturday afternoon, the gym is rather full. Influencers film videos working out and it’s a challenge to stay out of the background, but I do my best, trying to remain invisible while replacing towels, replenishing the lemon water and cups, and cleaning off machines and yoga mats.
Next, I go to the indoor pool and make sure all the lounge chairs are facing the exact same angle, clearing away bottles and breakfast cartons guests left behind.
One guest complains that the enclosure is too hot, so I radio Guest Services to adjust the thermostat.
Another male guest in lime green swim trunks asks if I’m wearing a bathing suit under my uniform and, if so, if I’d be willing to give his child a swimming lesson.
His eyes roam over my body suggestively, but somehow, I manage to keep the disgust off my face and politely explain that I have been assigned my duties for the day and can’t deviate.
Wanting to keep my distance, I return to the gym for another round of cleaning…
And I draw up short at the entrance to the facility because Tripp Sterling is there.
He’s deadlifting an enormous amount of weight in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but a pair of loose, black sweatpants and those oversized headphones he was wearing the first time I saw him.
His brows are drawn together in deep concentration, his broad chest, back, and arms in an unholy trinity of flexing that twists my tummy into a knot.
I step back and hide myself partially behind the door frame, observing as two friends approach Tripp, slapping him on his sweaty back when his set is over.
“You’re putting us to shame, man,” a young man with golden blond curls says. “But I guess you’ve got to put in the work to retain the captainship this year.”
“Yeah,” the second guy, a man with deep brown skin who is currently flexing in the mirror, agrees. “Yale lacrosse is fucking cutthroat. Someone is always angling to take your job.”
Yale.
Tripp Sterling goes to Yale.
My dream school, which rejected me.
“If someone makes a better captain than me, they’re welcome to it,” Tripp says absently, crouching down to grip the bars and begin his next set.
“Ah, come on, bro. You know you’ve got that spot locked down.” More backslapping. “Our fearless leader!”
Tripp flashes them a grateful smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Right.”
I can’t put off entering the gym any longer.
Oh God. I force my jelly legs to start moving, but I keep to the wall, scurrying behind influencers and gym bros, beelining for the towel discard area that has begun piling up.
Grabbing an armful of white, sweaty terrycloth, I turn on a heel and break for the hidden laundry room on the other side of the wall.
But not before I make eye contact with Tripp in the mirror.
He ceases all movement, his chest heaving, a thick lump moving up and down in his strong throat. His friends follow his line of sight with raised eyebrows, punching each other when they see who Tripp is looking at.
I don’t wait around to hear what they’re going to say about me, though. Or how Tripp will respond.
I simply close myself in the laundry room and lean back against the door.
Trying not to think about how his fingers felt tucked inside me.