2. Emma
CHAPTER 2
EMMA
“ F or you, madam,” says a woman with soft, dark skin and a lovely smile, dressed in a hotel uniform and holding out a glass to me.
I blink in surprise. “Pardon me?”
She gestures to the drink again. “Sangria, madam. Or I can get you something else, if you would prefer?”
“No, no,” I say, taking the drink. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
The customer service at this resort is really something. As soon as I landed at the airport, someone was there to greet me, pick me up and take me to the hotel. It’s one of those properly exclusive, all-inclusive resort kind of hotels. The swimming pool is clean and clear and huge, and the dining room smells divine.
The woman smiles at me and presses a key card into my hand. “You’re in room four-oh-three.”
“Great. Thank you.”
I drag my suitcase to the elevator and make my way to the fourth floor. The bag is heavy, but not with clothes. I don’t really feel like spending all my spare time by the pool — I don’t do relaxing very well, so I brought some journals with me to read through.
But for tonight, I’m super tired from the travel, and all I want to do is flop down onto a luxuriously soft hotel room bed and sink into the down feather pillows. Plus, Phoebe talked me into staying for a few extra days after the training course is over, so I’ll have plenty of time to lie on the beach then.
Until then though, my aim is to work.
I wander along the corridor, counting the rooms as I go: 397, 399, 400, 401… 403! I swipe the key card on the lock and… nothing happens. I frown at it, annoyed that these things are always finicky, then try again. The little red light flashes and beeps and keeps the door soundly locked.
I try a couple more times and still nothing happens. I sigh deeply, then return to the elevator to head down to the front desk. This isn’t exactly what I want to be spending my time doing, but I guess these things happen.
Once I reach the desk, I wait patiently for the receptionist to become available because he’s busy on the phone. He smiles when he faces me, finally.
“Hey,” I say, stepping forward. “I’m sorry. I think there’s been a mix-up or something. I can’t get into my room.”
“Do you have a key card?” he asks.
I nod and hand it over. “Four-oh-three,” I say.
“One moment, please.” The man looks down at his computer and starts typing and clicking frantically, trying to figure out what’s wrong.
I’m still waiting for the receptionist to fix the mistake when suddenly, a tall, well-dressed man shoves his way next to me. He looks a little older than me, maybe mid-thirties, and he has the sourest expression I’ve ever seen. His brown hair flops into his face, and his eyes are sparkling green under his furrowed brow. His jawline is strong, drawing my attention to his neck, his cheekbones, and for a second, I find myself swooning until he opens his mouth.
“What the hell’s going on here?” he snaps. “I paid good money to stay here, and I can’t even get into my room. What the hell kind of organization are you running here?”
“I’m so sorry, sir,” says the receptionist, smiling even though he can’t mean it. “May I see your key card? You do have a key card…”
“Yes,” he glowers. “Four-oh-three. I was told it should work.”
“We’re very sorry, sir,” says the receptionist again.
“I guess we must have been double-booked,” I say, doing my best to break the tension of the situation.
But the man just rounds his fury on me. “Well, if some incompetent fools weren’t running this place, we’d both have been able to get into our rooms by now.”
“Hey,” I say, my hackles rising. “They’re doing their best.”
“Clearly not,” he scoffs, shaking his head so his bangs flop against his forehead. If I thought he was handsome for a split second, his attitude has ruined any of that for me.
“Dude, chill,” I say. “It’s clearly not their fault.”
“It’s all right, madam,” says the receptionist, trying to diffuse things.
“No, it’s not,” I say, feeling defensive. “He has no right to speak to you like that.”
The rude man glares at me, but neither of us says anything else. It doesn’t feel worth my time or energy to argue with him. It’s not like I’m ever going to see him again.
I’m not going to let one asshole ruin my trip. Even if I do feel bad for the receptionist. He probably has to deal with people like this all the time.
We stand there in an uncomfortable silence for another five minutes or so. The receptionist vanishes into the back room, presumably to break something before he deals with this jerk again, then returns with his very best pacifying smile.
“We’re deeply sorry for the double-booking. Please accept our sincerest apologies.”
“Sincere, my ass,” mutters the floppy-haired guest under his breath, and I shoot him a glare.
“And a fifty-dollar credit to your drinks tab for the duration of your stay. Your rooms are now all set, and you won’t have any more issues.”
“Thank you very much,” I say brightly. “You’ve been very helpful.”
Floppy Hair just grunts.
“Will you allow me to show you both up to your rooms?”
“Please,” I say. “I’m really excited to get unpacked.”
“Me too,” says the guy.
The receptionist hands us each a key card and gestures for us to follow him to the elevator. We do and head back up to the fourth floor.
“I have also upgraded both of your rooms,” he says as we head down the corridor, “as a courtesy for your trouble.”
“Wow. Thank you,” I say. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy the guy rolling his eyes, presumably sickened by how nice I’m being.
The receptionist draws to a halt. “This is you, madam.” He gestures to room 415. “And this,” he says, gesturing to room 416, “is for you, sir. Please let me know if I can do anything else at all to help you.”
My heart sinks a little at realizing I’m going to be right next door to the grump. This means the chances of me seeing him again are not as slight as I’d hoped. Still, we’re all set now, and I’m not going to let this get me down.
I enter the room and shut the door behind me. The bed is truly enormous, and the bathroom is polished and clean. But the most exciting thing about being in a suite is the vast balcony attached to the window. I place my bag down, then head straight for it.
There is a gorgeous view of the island beyond us, trees of the forest stretching for as far as the eye can see, all swaying in the sun, inviting and friendly. I slide the door open, step outside, and take a deep breath. The air is slightly salty from the sea and fresh — so fresh it stings the back of my throat.
I could get used to this.
Then I happen to glance to my left and notice that the asshole is doing the exact same thing that I’m doing, standing on the balcony and taking in the view.
“Hey,” I say awkwardly, not knowing how to recover from the eye contact.
He grunts in response.
I can hardly believe this. I have to share a balcony with this guy.
Quickly, I slip back inside, not wanting to share the company with a man who can’t stand me. He is not going to ruin this for me. I won’t let him.
Instead, I decide to unpack a little, to hang up my dresses in the closet and put my toothbrush by the sink. That seems productive. I unzip the bag and pull my papers out, dropping them on the floor with a thud.
And that’s when I hear the muffled sound of a raised voice from behind the wall. Slowly, I grab my papers and creep towards the wall by the bed. Nobody is watching to question me, but I still feel like I have to have a cover story for why I’m eavesdropping.
It’s the guy, yelling about screwups and refunds. I put my papers on the bedside table and sigh before returning to my bag. Guess I’m not going out on the balcony again until he calms down. It’s not exactly relaxing background noise to hear a guy yelling.
This trip isn’t going to plan at all. At least from here, it can only get better. Right?