Chapter 8
BERNADETTE
Sebastian moved to a different seat about twenty minutes into the flight. I told myself I was relieved. Sitting next to him was too much. The man smelled like candy. Man candy. What did man candy smell like? Sex.
No. I was thinking about sex. He smelled like vanilla bean in leather with a splash of spice. I didn’t know what it was, but it flipped a switch inside me. I felt feral. I wanted to pounce on him. I wanted to rub my body against him like a cat seeking attention.
Holy shit. What was wrong with me?
Pheromones. That’s it.
I needed to cool my jets or the next two weeks were going to be very uncomfortable. I couldn’t be lusting after a man I was supposed to be watching like a hawk.
I pulled out my phone and queued up my audiobook.
It wasn’t one of those erotic novels that so many of my coworkers listened to.
I had tried a couple and realized I was blushing in my own apartment.
No way in hell was I going to try and listen to that on a plane full of people with one of those people being a man I would absolutely love to plug into the role of the male main character.
Instead, I’m going to listen to A Social History of Knitting: From Ancient Craft to Modern Revival.
I reclined my seat just a little bit and settled in for the long journey. The narrator had a soothing voice, perfect for long flights, and the subject matter was genuinely fascinating. At least to me. I knew others would find the book as exciting as listening to a phonebook.
I woke up to the captain’s voice crackling over the intercom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve begun our descent into Miratoa. The temperature is a beautiful eighty-six degrees. We should be on the ground in about fifteen minutes. Flight attendants, please prepare the cabin for landing.”
I blinked, disoriented, and wiped what I sincerely hoped wasn’t drool from the corner of my mouth. My neck ached from the angle I’d been sleeping at, and my audiobook had progressed through to the end without me. So much for the fascinating history of Fair Isle patterns.
Around me, the cabin stirred to life. I pulled my seat forward and glanced around to see if I was the only one that had fallen asleep. A few of them yawned. Some of the models were putting on makeup.
I pushed up my window shade to take a peek. And forgot how to breathe.
The ocean below was an impossible shade of blue and turquoise. The island featured lush green mountains, white sand beaches, and coral reefs visible beneath the crystal-clear water.
For exactly three seconds, I forgot about falling coconuts and environmental protocols and all the things that could go wrong. I just stared at the paradise below us and felt something like wonder. I had never seen anything so perfect.
Then reality crashed back in.
That pristine beach could have rip currents.
Those lush mountains probably had falling rocks.
The coral reefs were fragile ecosystems that could be damaged by careless swimmers.
Or sunscreen. That reminded me I had to make sure everyone on the plane had brought the appropriate and approved sunscreen.
A tropical paradise meant tropical diseases, venomous creatures, unpredictable weather patterns, and a whole host of potential problems.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
I turned to find Sebastian standing in the aisle beside my seat, looking out the window over my shoulder. He must have gotten up to stretch.
“It’s nice,” I said, my professional mask firmly back in place.
“Nice?” He laughed. “That’s like calling the Mona Lisa ‘a decent painting.’ Come on, Bernadette. Even you have to admit that’s stunning.”
“I admit it’s visually appealing. I also admit it presents numerous safety challenges that we’ll need to address immediately upon landing.”
He shook his head, still smiling. “You’re something else, you know that?”
Before I could figure out if that was a compliment or an insult, he walked back to his seat for landing.
The small airport was open-air, designed to blend with the environment rather than dominate it.
Warm, humid air hit me the moment we stepped off the plane, carrying the scent of exotic flowers and the general scent of wet soil.
Bird calls echoed from the nearby trees, making it feel like we had stepped into paradise. It was gorgeous.
We loaded into the vans that would take us to the resort. When we arrived, it was nothing like I’d expected.
I’d been picturing something like the hotels in Manhattan—tall, imposing, modern.
But this was different. The main building was only one story, a sprawling structure with a thatched roof and open sides that let the breeze flow through.
Behind it, I could see bungalows scattered among the palm trees and tropical plants.
There was another long building that reminded me of a roadside motel.
“Welcome to Paradise Cove Resort,” our driver announced cheerfully. “Your home for the next two weeks.”
The crew piled out of the vans, everyone talking over each other about the amazing views and the warm weather and how this was already the best shoot ever. I hung back, letting them go ahead while I surveyed the property with a more critical eye.
I followed the crowd into the main building to check in. While I waited in line, I went through a mental checklist of things I would need to do right away.
I gave my name to the woman at the check-in desk and let my eyes drift to where I could see the beach with the ocean beyond.
“Ms. Simmons?”
“Yes?”
“I’m having trouble finding your reservation. Can you confirm your booking number?”
“I don’t have it with me, but it should be under Simmons Insurance Group. They made the reservation.”
The hostess tapped on her tablet, frowning. “I’m not seeing anything under that name.”
It was fine. Just a clerical error. They’d find the reservation and I’d get my room and everything would be fine.
Except they couldn’t find the reservation.
“I’m so sorry,” the front desk manager said after ten minutes of searching. “But I don’t have any booking under your name or your company’s name. And unfortunately, we’re completely full. The Blackwell production has taken up all our available rooms and bungalows.”
“That’s not possible. My company made this reservation weeks ago.”
“I understand, and I’m very sorry. But without a confirmation number or any record in our system…” She spread her hands helplessly. “There’s nothing I can do.”
My father. That bastard had forgotten to actually book my room. Or more likely, he’d delegated it to someone who’d forgotten, because God forbid he handle logistics himself.
I stood at the front desk, feeling the eyes of curious Blackwell crew members on me, and tried to figure out what to do. I could call my father, but that would just result in him yelling at me for not confirming the reservation myself. There was not another resort on the island.
What the hell was I supposed to do for two weeks?
“I hear you’re looking for a place to stay.” Sebastian’s voice, smug and amused, came from behind me.
I turned, drawing my shoulders back and jutting my chin out, defensive anger flooding through me. “Oh, I suppose you’re going to offer me a spot in your bed? Get over yourself, Sebastian. I’d rather sleep on the beach!”
Several people turned to stare.
Sebastian just looked at me, his expression somewhere between surprised and entertained.
“Easy there, tiger. I was going to ask if you wanted to room with Annika. You two seemed to hit it off at the fitting. But fine. Sleep on the sand. Just watch out for night crabs. They’re aggressive little bastards. ”
He turned and started to walk away.
I felt like a damn fool. He’d been trying to help, and I’d jumped down his throat because I was frustrated and tired and hated not being in control of a situation.
“Wait,” I called after him. “Hold on. Is Annika okay with this?”
He stopped and shrugged. “Let’s ask her.”
We found Annika directing the unloading of garment bags from one of the vans. When Sebastian explained the situation, she didn’t even hesitate.
“Of course you can stay with me,” she said with a smile. “I have a two-bedroom bungalow. The second room is smaller, and I’m using it to store some of the makeup supplies since Mary Jo’s team filled up their space. But there’s still a bed and you’re more than welcome to it.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not imposing. I’d enjoy the company.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate this.”
“No problem at all, darling. Come on, let’s get you settled.” She led me along one of the winding paths through the resort grounds. I pulled my bag behind me, loving the beauty of the place.
The bungalow Annika had been assigned was charming, with modern amenities like air-conditioning and a surprisingly spacious bathroom.
“Your room is through here,” Annika said, opening a door off the main space.
I realized that while I was waiting for my reservation to be found, Annika had already had all of her stuff delivered to the bungalow.
The second bedroom was indeed smaller, and yes, it was packed with equipment. But there was a double bed, a small dresser, and a window that looked out onto the jungle.
It would work.
“I’m sorry it’s all crammed in here,” Annika said.
“It’s fine. Thank you for letting me use your spare room.”
“Mary Jo’s team will come get most of this tomorrow once they organize their own space better. It won’t be so crowded for long.”
I set my suitcase on the bed and took a deep breath. It wasn’t what I’d planned but it was fine.
“You okay?” Annika asked gently.
“I’m fine.” If I said it another fifty times, maybe it would come true.
“Why don’t you get settled, maybe take a shower?” she suggested. “We’re supposed to have a welcome dinner in about two hours.”
“That sounds good. Thank you again.”
“Stop thanking me. We’re roommates now. Partners in crime.” She winked and left me alone.
I sat on the bed and looked around the cramped room filled with makeup cases and garment bags. Through the window, I could see palm fronds swaying in the breeze. From somewhere nearby, I heard laughter—probably some of the crew already enjoying the resort’s amenities.
This wasn’t how this trip was supposed to go.
I was supposed to have my own space, my own sanctuary to retreat to at the end of the day.
I knew I was going to need it after spending long days with Sebastian and his chaos.
Instead, I was crammed into a makeshift storage closet, dependent on the kindness of someone I barely knew.
I pulled out my phone to text my father about the reservation screwup, then stopped. What was the point? He’d just tell me to figure it out myself. That’s what he always did.
And I would figure it out. I would be fine.
As always.