5. Isla
ISLA
“That guy is staring at you again,” Davy purred from beside Isla, her head leaning back against the booth.
Isla cracked an eyelid open and scanned the casino floor, then saw the man in question—a bearded guy wearing a cowboy hat and a hockey jersey. Quite a combo—Nashville meets slap shot. Looking over had been a mistake, though, as the guy saw her staring and winked.
Isla tore her gaze away, straightening in her seat.
“You should totally go for it,” Piper said from Isla’s other side. “He’s kinda cute.”
“I’m not that desperate, but thanks.” Isla laughed and finished her drink. She needed to slow down, but the moment her glass emptied, another one always magically appeared. She adjusted the “bachelorette” sash around her torso with discomfort.
They were nearing eleven, and dammit , when she’d lived in London, this had been the time of night she frequently went out. But after living in Costa Rica for so long, she was ready for bed.
Mornings at La Hacienda started before sunrise, preparing the inn for the guests—those already there and those arriving later.
Then, after a long and often brutal day that ran the gamut of helping the guests with anything they needed, playing a pseudo concierge, managing all the staff, and fixing travel emergencies—all with a smile on her face—she usually collapsed into bed early with aching limbs and depleted energy.
“Who’s ready for the Eiffel Tower?” Kelsey asked, approaching the table with Blair. Each of them carried more drinks for the table. They set them down in the middle since only Isla had an empty glass. “It closes in an hour, so we need to hurry if we’re going to make it.”
Great.
“Wait, that’s tonight?” Davy groaned. She shook her head, looking a bit ill. “I thought we were doing that during the day tomorrow.”
“Yeah, but Megan thought it would be more fun at night,” Blair said, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. “I mean, I’m not sure it’ll be that impressive, considering Bobby and I went on a private tour of the real tower last summer.”
Megan’s smile faltered, a mist of insecurity in her eyes. And there it was—the Squad’s signature move—subtle status assassination.
Isla leaned forward and gripped her friend’s hand.
Coming to Vegas had been Megan’s idea, and Isla wasn’t about to let their other snobby friends make her feel bad about it.
“I think seeing it at night sounds amazing. Actually, I’ve always thought it would be so fun to visit all the Eiffel Tower replicas.
There are like twenty towns named Paris in the US alone. Wouldn’t it be wild to visit them all?”
“Oh, that would be fun,” Davy said. Then her eyes widened, and she grabbed Isla’s hand. “ A Tour of Paris. Oh my God. Isla. That’s perfect for a pitch!”
“What’s perfect?” Piper asked, leaning over Isla to peer at Davy.
“Um—” Isla glanced at Davy. Her friend wouldn’t want everyone else knowing about the job situation. “It’s nothing. Why don’t you all go on ahead to the Eiffel Tower, and I’ll catch up? I have to run to the loo. Want to come with me, Davy?”
“What about all the drinks?” Kelsey asked, setting one of the new glasses in front of Isla.
“We could chug them all.” Isla shrugged and took a sip.
“I think we should take it easy.” Davy gave Isla a pointed, warning look.
“Oh, just leave them. I’m sure we’ll get more. I’m with Isla—we can start toward the Eiffel while Davy and Isla go to the loo. I love the way you still keep some of those English terms and accents when you talk,” Kelsey told Isla with exaggerated eyebrows. “It’s so cute.”
Crap. Isla hadn’t even noticed she’d let that slip.
She normally tried to use English expressions and terms around her English friends and American ones around Americans, but when she was drunk, all bets were off.
And even then, it wasn’t an exact science.
The only reason she probably even had an English accent was because she’d lived in England until she was seven.
Isla smiled tightly. “Thanks. It’s not an affectation.
It’s just...how I speak.” But sure, let’s exoticize the British/Costa Rican hybrid like I’m a novelty at the zoo.
Going to boarding school in Connecticut after living in Costa Rica with Mum for years had been the hardest transition.
Her English father had moved there to be with his new American wife, and her mum had managed to convince him to let her stay with her for grade school.
But once the pressure of “getting into a proper Ivy League” became more pressing to her dad, Mum had finally relented and sent her to Connecticut. Holidays were split between England at her grandparents’ and Costa Rica with her mum and her partner. Talk about culture shock.
She nudged Davy to exit.
Davy climbed out of her seat on wobbly legs. “Actually, why don’t I sit here and drink as much water as possible while you go to the bathroom? I’ll wait for you, and everyone else can go on ahead.”
“Are you sure?” Megan asked, worry creasing her brow.
“Yeah, go on. We’ll be right behind you.” Isla winked at Megan, then hurried off in the direction of the bathroom.
The alcohol buzz settled into her limbs as she walked, her legs feeling oddly bouncy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out like this. Back home, most of her drinking was with Sergio, her friend and the manager of the inn.
Thank God for Sergio. He was the only thing keeping her sane at the inn. He’d started as a full-time tour operator and then seamlessly transitioned to manager when the inn booked out and work had gotten busy.
She smiled to herself, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. For the first time on this trip, she felt relaxed. No drama or forced laughter. Just warmth and a buzz in her bloodstream. Maybe this trip hadn’t been a total mistake after all?—
A hand clamped around her elbow.
“Hey there,” a male voice said in her ear. Too close.
Isla turned to find herself only inches away from Cowboy Hockey Man. She froze, her stomach roiling at the strong scent of beer coming from his breath.
“Uh...” She shifted her elbow, but his grip was firm. Uncomfortable.
Shit.
This was why she always went to the bathroom with a girlfriend.
“How’s about you and I get out of here?” Cowboy Hockey Man said, edging even closer.
Isla’s eyes narrowed. “How’s about you take your hands off me?” She pulled her arm away forcefully, but he still didn’t let go.
“Don’t play shy. I saw you eye fucking me from that table.”
Oh my God. So foul. “Yeah, never. I prefer real men to wankers.” She yanked herself free and turned to go, but the man was still too close behind her.
A cold spike of fear slithered up her spine. Fuck. She should have brought pepper spray.
“There you are,” a male voice came suddenly. She knew that voice. And those eyes. Ice-blue and currently trained on her unwanted shadow with surgical precision. His hand gripped hers, and she turned, the familiarity of him flooding her with relief— Aiden Camden.
What in the hell was he doing here?
There is a god. Not Aiden, of course, but the one who’d sent him here like a guardian angel.
“Aiden,” she managed.
His eyes flicked toward the man following her. “I believe my wife asked you to leave her alone, didn’t she?” He tilted his head in challenge.
Wife? Never had that word sounded so unbelievably sexy, even if it was from one of her brother’s best friends.
Cowboy Hockey Man took a faltering step back, his gaze swiveling to Isla. “Oh sorry, man. I didn’t know she was married.”
“That really shouldn’t have made a difference. She said no. Now get the fuck out of here,” Aiden snapped, drawing himself to his full height. Which was over six feet.
Had he always been this tall? Or broad-shouldered? Or was that just the adrenaline talking?
“Go back to England,” the guy slurred, his face red. “We don’t need more of your tea-drinking bullshit.”
Isla relaxed, then hugged Aiden. “Wherever the hell you came from, I’ve never been so happy in my life to see a Camden.”
“I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment,” Aiden said with a chuckle, then released her. “What are you doing here? I’m in town for a conference.”
“Bachelorette party.” Isla threw her hands up. “Obviously.”
“What else?” He smiled. “For a moment, I thought maybe I’d had one too many and hallucinated the scrawny girl who used to trail us, begging and whining to play tag.”
She slugged him playfully with a roll of her eyes. “You’re quickly wearing out your welcome.”
He gave her a charming smile. “Just teasing, of course. But I really didn’t expect to see you here. How’s Costa Rica?”
“Not too different from when I saw you over Christmas in London.” She shifted with discomfort. “But actually, I was on my way to the loo and then I have to run to catch up with my friends—we’re going to the Eiffel Tower. Though I’d love to catch up?—”
“Why don’t I hang around? In case that fellow comes back. I can walk with you until you’re safely reunited with your companions.”
She gave him a grateful look, then smiled. “Thank you.” She hurried into the bathroom, feeling thankful already. Aiden’s sudden appearance had been not only wonderful—but she was truly glad to see him. He was safe—felt like home—someone she’d known her whole life.
She grinned at her reflection as she passed a mirror.
Vegas, you sneaky little minx .