Chapter 1 #2
But why did he want it? And did I care that much to question him? Nope. This money was a drop in my debt ocean, and right now I was unemployed, living on William’s couch and cramping his lifestyle. Anything was welcome.
“Don’t do it,” William whispered to me. “It’s some pyramid scheme.”
“I don’t think you understand how a pyramid scheme works. And don’t you want me out of your condo?”
William peered over my shoulder. “You’ll need to Venmo it to her account.”
I twisted around and faced my brother. “You said you liked our bonding time.”
William made a puppy face. “We can still bond. Only at the end of the night, you can go back to your own place.”
My eyes widened with pretend hurt. “Let me remind you”—I poked his arm—“I came with a case of very expensive wine.”
“More like overpriced wine, and there’s now only one bottle of it left.”
Dr. Jones cleared his throat again. “Please provide me with your contact information to complete the transaction.”
“Who are you exactly?” I gave Dr. Jones a once-over, trying and failing to find anything incriminating about him. Instead, I found myself admiring his fine-cut features and downright intimidating confidence, which I found impossibly sexy in men.
“I’m an associate professor and academic director of Archaeology at the University of Cambridge.”
“That’s a lot of big words people shouldn’t say during happy hour.” William pushed my shoulder, sliding a cocktail napkin with my name, phone number, and Venmo username on it across the bar.
“William! Seriously?”
I exhaled an irritated breath, but my left hand went to the bracelet. I twisted it a few times but it was impossible to find the fastened clasp among the intricate engravings of serpentine vines, which now looked more like jagged lines than scrolls.
“How do I take it off?” I tugged on it, trying to pull my hand through the band.
“May I try?” Dr. Jones said, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.
I held out my arm to him.
His feather-light touch on my skin sent shivers down my spine and made me exceptionally aware of his closeness, the heat radiating off his body.
He carefully rotated the bracelet, pausing a few times to examine it.
While concentrating, he chewed his bottom lip, his eyebrows drawn together as his fingers applied pressure on the stones.
Being so close to him, I couldn’t help but take a deep breath and enjoy the lingering scent of the hotel’s lavender and lemon soap mixed with a hint of sunblock.
It had been too long since I’d felt a man’s weight on my body, enjoyed the smell of sweat and sex, or been touched in the way no battery-operated boyfriend can.
Dr. Jones cleared his throat. He rotated the bracelet some more, then pressed on the largest blue stone. Nothing happened.
“Hmm.” He raked his hand through his hair.
“Hmm, what?” I stared up at his face. The man was taller than I’d initially thought. I was five eleven, and he must have a good six inches on me. “You don’t know how to open it?”
“I need more time.”
“Let me try to pull my hand through it again.” I broke our eye contact and tugged hard on the bracelet. Why in the world did I put it on? Embarrassment crept up my neck and then morphed into hot anger. I took a deep breath, seized the stupid golden thing in a vice-like grip, and yanked it.
“Stop.” Dr. Jones grabbed my arm. “You could damage it.”
“Maybe if we put some lube on it, it will slip off?” William chipped in.
“I didn’t bring any,” I hissed through my teeth.
“I did,” William said. Of course, he did. “Lube will work. Let’s go to our room and try it.”
“It’s worth an attempt,” Dr. Jones agreed.
In awkward silence, we rode to the third floor and walked to the end of the hall. When we entered our suite, William disappeared into the bedroom, and I made my way to the bar, selected a mini tequila bottle out of the refrigerator, and found a glass.
“Do you want a drink, Andrew? Or do you prefer Dr. Jones?” I asked the handsome stranger who stood in the middle of my suite, typing on his cellphone, the right side of his mouth quirked in concentration.
“No, thank you.” He glanced at me and gave a tight-lipped smile. “And Andrew is fine.”
I studied the liquor bottle in my hand, thought better of it, placed it back, and grabbed a club soda. Years ago, a man like him—highly educated and striking—was my heart’s Achille’s heel. But, once bitten, twice shy, and now I was immune to his type.
“How did you know where to find me?” I asked.
“When the bracelet didn’t arrive, I checked with the receptionist, and we quickly figured out the issue.” He regarded me for a moment. “You are a very memorable woman. After a brief investigation, I was directed to the Triton bar.”
William returned, holding a box of Kleenex and a large bottle of lubricant.
“Let’s do it.” He poured a generous amount of liquid onto his palm and massaged it over my wrist. “Okay. Try now.”
I gripped the bracelet and tugged it as hard as I could. My skin wrinkled, turning red. “It doesn’t want to come off. We need to cut it.”
“No!” Andrew barked so urgently that my insides performed a backflip.
“Jesus, don’t give me a heart attack. You can pay me half of the money and take it to a jeweler to fix it.”
“It’s worthless if it’s damaged.” He glared at me as if somehow this was all my fault.
I yanked a couple of tissues out of the box and vigorously wiped my wrist and hand. “Why don’t we find a jeweler who can help us open it?”
Andrew walked to the floor-to-ceiling glass door that opened on to a terrace with a view of white sand and turquoise water. He linked his fingers together behind his neck and groaned.
“It’s not so simple,” Andrew muttered. “Christ, why would you put it on?”
“Um, because it was a gift for me?”
Andrew stared at the vast view. “No, it wasn’t.”
“It was delivered to my room with my name on it,” I said, incredulous.
“It had my name on it.” He turned. “Someone delivered it by mistake to your room.”
“You’re wrong, and I can prove it.” I strode to the powder room and fished the package out of the garbage bin.
“See, right here.” I pushed it into Andrew’s hands.
“It says Ms. Adriana Jones. That’s my name.
” I pointed at the smeared writing with the first part of the name mostly gone, leaving only an “A” somewhat visible and only the last part with the surname Jones recognizable.
Andrew’s eyes flicked to me, then again at the writing on the paper. His smirk spread into a shit-eating grin. “Look closer, and you’ll see my name,” he said. “Dr. Andrew Jones.”
“No, I won’t.”
With confidence, I turned the package around and concentrated on the name.
Andrew pushed the torn paper edges together.
My stomach sank low, realizing that I was a total dipstick.
It was Andrew and not Adriana. And what I thought was Ms. now looked more like Dr. I let go of the box, lowered myself onto the couch, and leaned my head back, closing my eyes.
“Okay, maybe it does say Dr. Andrew Jones. I really thought it was for me. There was no note.” The sting of embarrassment burned my nose, and I scrunched up my face, not wanting to cry. “I tried it on, and then William texted me…” The tears streamed down my face. “I’m such an idiot.”
My pity party must’ve been too much for Dr. Jones. One moment he was by my side, the next he was headed for the door.
“Let me think more about how to unlock it. I’ll be back.” Andrew started to leave, but then he ducked back inside, a warning on his face. “No matter what, do not cut or damage that bracelet.”
* * *
By dinner time, the bracelet was still an embarrassing weight on my wrist. The television was on but muted, showing an overly dramatic soap opera.
I sat on the couch and flipped through a resort magazine full of advertisements, my foot tapping to the distant sound of Latin music coming from the direction of the pool.
On the balcony, William Facetimed with someone.
Multiple notes in Andrew’s handwriting were scattered over the coffee table and Andrew himself was slumped in a chair, his head clutched between his hands, his elbows pressing into his knees.
When Andrew had returned to our suite, he’d asked for a quiet moment so he could concentrate.
That moment had stretched into sixty long, boring minutes as he held my hand while turning the bracelet repeatedly, pressing four stones in different sequences.
Other than his name and profession—and the knowledge that he must have an abundance of money, to offer so much to me for this bracelet—I knew nothing about this stranger.
At some point, he had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing cords of taut forearm muscles.
On his left wrist, he wore a banged-up Swiss Army watch with an age-softened espresso leather strap, its metal bezel and crystal glass showcasing numerous scratches.
It wasn’t enough to know someone, but somehow it made me like him.
I found myself wondering if he was a sentimental man as a fancier wristwatch would have suited Dr. Jones better.
With a groan, Andrew leaned back, tipping his head over the back of his chair and extending his long legs under the coffee table. The fabric of his pants hugged his thighs, outlining firm muscles. Was I ogling? I wasn’t. I was just observing.
“Christ.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “You’ll have to come with me to Colombia.”
WTF? Did he just say Colombia?
One look at his face told me he wasn’t kidding. I bit back nervous laughter. “Excuse me?”
“Please hear me out.” Wide-eyed, Andrew sat up. “It shouldn’t take long. One day there, and one day back. I’ll reserve the best hotel.” His hair was disheveled, making him look boyish. It was cute, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Good, you’re smiling, so you agree.”