Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
LEXI
Istare at my computer screen and steel myself. It’s after six in the evening, and the only thing left to do is to check in with guests during their sundowners. I can finally say we’ve found our stride. Weeks in, I have my finger on every pulse in this place and know how everything works.
Jem and I are cordial, sort of, and she’s been a big help as I got up and running.
But now I’m not sure what the hell is up with her.
Ever since I became aware of the handy reflection of the glass door behind me, which allows her to see what I’m doing on my computer when she’s sitting at hers, I’ve become even more cautious around her.
My fingers hover over the keys. All I want to do is type Mia Reed sex tape in the search bar, but Jem’s still at her desk, shoveling papers. For fuck’s sake.
Our eyes connect over the short expanse of the office, and she hitches her brow at me.
“What are you waiting for?” she asks, as her gaze drops to my fingers where they rest featherlight on the keypad before looking up at me again.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
No, I don’t. It’s a bit late in the day to be adding riddles.
“You’ve had no response from Nathan Beaumont or anybody in corporate as regards the spa’s changes, have you? I know because Nathan or corporate would’ve copied me in.”
My shoulders sag. No, I haven’t. Deshni and Sarika’s spa changes have been in full swing for a few weeks now, and although Jem didn’t say a thing, her square shoulders and thin-pressed lips when she realized we went over her head said everything.
“Well, now that they’re up and running, I might pull the numbers and we’ll see that the spa is already making more money week on week.”
“You still didn’t follow procedure,” Jem says. “Never mind head office, Nathan won’t like that.”
More like you don’t like it I want to huff out, but I bite my tongue for a second. “I’m sure the spa on Ne’emba Island is the least of Nathan Beaumont’s concerns. Honestly, I think as CEO he has better things to do with his time.”
Jem harrumphs. “Don’t for one second think Nathan doesn’t care about Ne’emba and what happens here. He’ll fly over in a wink if he thinks anything remotely dodgy is happening on our spot of paradise.” She stands, switches off her computer and gets ready to leave.
Anything remotely dodgy? What the hell? This is why I can’t relax around this woman. It’s like she’s watching me for the tiniest misstep so she can bask and glow in her own glorious superiority. I’m fuming, but not a whiff of smoke bellows out of my ears as I keep my poker face in place.
“Aren’t you going to meet the guests for sundowners?”
“No. I’ll go later,” I bite out. “I’m going to take half an hour to check my private email and send messages to my family and friends. I do have a life beyond this place, you know.”
Dang it, that was mean, but she keeps on pushing my buttons. Ne’emba is Jem and Mike’s life and it’s nothing to scoff at. She doesn’t respond, and when she walks out, I call out after her, half in apology, “Have a good evening!”
I lean back in my chair, close my eyes, and take a few calming breaths. I’m not in the right mental space for this shit, but I can’t stop myself either. I type Mia Reed Sex Tape into the search bar and wait for a good minute until the screen fills with links.
Since she refused to pay the hackers, Mia Reed’s video has made the rounds on porn sites, and now it has finally slipped into mainstream social media. For real. Not just a little bit. More like, in an apocalyptic bang. And probably not the way anybody intended.
Rumors of it being a deep-fake ran thick as molasses, but then there’s me. Who’d bother to deep-fake that idiot in the video?
I scroll through the search engine, being selective in picking my poison.
There’s so many to choose from. Seems the world isn’t exactly enamored with Mia Reed’s performance during cunnilingus.
Neither do they care for the suckerfish between her legs.
It’s me who’s making my way down the highway to social media hell or heaven—also known as fame—whichever way you look at it.
I’m the woman who walks in on Mia, eyes going like saucers as I freeze on the spot, then retreat like a freaking weirdo, hands in the air, horrified.
I’m caught in perfect profile, my head tilted just enough that most of my face shows.
It’s creepy as I don’t blink once, but the rest of the world thinks it’s funny as all fuck.
I feel like a complete idiot. I’m pretty much a laughingstock in the States as the current trending meme overlay: That moment when I… Add your own video and fill in the blanks. I’m the face of fake human horror and surprise, and people are having a field day.
The fact that I’m shrugging my jacket’s arm sleeve back up and that my hand, which for a millisecond rests so close to my breast, drops away in a second, has gone over the world’s head.
Nobody seems to interpret the video for what it really is.
Me walking in on my ex servicing a movie star.
No, all they see is a woman, reversing out in horrified shock, beep-beep-beeping like a truck would.
It works in my favor, but still, I’m a freaking wreck. I open one social media site and type in the hashtag most people use. Short videos pop up. God. Some of them have been watched over a million times since I looked yesterday. Now I want to puke.
At least in this sleepy corner of the world, I’m still incognito, and I thank God for that.
Not that anybody out there seems to know who I am, or actually care.
Or if they do, they have no easy way to reveal my identity.
Since doing that social-media liposuction session with Evan when this whole shit show started in November, I’m kind of hard to find and tag.
No posts, to my knowledge, have included my name.
Dammit. I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry.
All I know is that I’m grateful to be here on Ne’emba Island, where life goes on with dubious WiFi in a different time zone, everybody ignorant of my current status as joke du jour.
I couldn’t have planned this better. We’re not in the eye of the storm yet—I mean, this could still swing way more out of control—but at least I’m far away and so thoroughly distracted by Tristan that I can bear my brief stint of ludicrous internet fame.
And it will be brief. I know that. Soon there will be another meme or trending sound or video to distract and amuse the hordes.
This will blow over, and I will weather the storm.
“Lexi?” Tristan’s shadow falls in the door. “What are you still doing—ah, babes.”
There’s a slight reprimand in his tone, but it’s sweet and caring. I lean back in my chair and wait for him to round my desk. Fuck, he’s hot—tanned, tousled hair, five o’clock shadow. I want to lick him.
And yes. I’m in trouble. Big, fat, hairy trouble.
When he left for Hawaii after that frat-party night, I convinced myself Tristan was a stupid teenage crush. Turns out there was more to it than a crush, because it didn’t take much for my feelings to resurface. And this time, they’re so much stronger.
I don’t want to think the words because they will manifest my emotions in a way I can’t backtrack from.
So much for all my little rules. Yes, I got into bed with Tristan with my eyes wide open, on my own terms, but I underestimated my heart’s capacity to fall in love again.
I’m going to hurt so badly when our time here is done.
The mere thought makes me feel as if I were about to skydive out of an airplane without a parachute.
“It’s getting out of hand,” I tell him, reminding myself to focus.
“Really?” Tristan comes to stand next to me and drops a kiss on my head. “Show me.”
I’ve been clutching my mouse as if it will run off if I let go. I indulge my masochistic streak and click so the short starts to play.
It doesn’t take long for Tristan to break out in a deep guffaw. “Babes…I’m sorry, but you have to admit, that’s goddamn funny.”
I bite my lip, wanting to laugh but sulk too, and glare up at him. “It’s totally cringe.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I told you, when I first saw the original video I almost pissed myself laughing.” His hand slips over my back to my shoulder for a soft squeeze. “Come on, Lex, have a good laugh too. It’s the only way forward.”
I sink my head to my desk with a chuckle of despair. He’s right. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“So don’t torture yourself.” He touches my hand, and I already know what that means—that’s how much we’ve gotten to know each other over the past weeks.
He takes control of the mouse, and with a few clicks, he closes all the sites.
“Feeding this beast isn’t good for your mental health.
We came here to escape exactly this, and by sitting here doomscrolling, you’re bringing it home. ”
“I know.” Being me sucks. I’ve never been happier in my life, and it’s all because of Tristan. He gets me. The intimacy is next level. He is next level. At the same time, my whole life seems to be unraveling into a pile of shreds even I don’t care to salvage.
“You’re done here?” Tristan asks.
“No. There’s another wedding next week, and I need to go over a few details.
” I shrug. Jem won’t let me touch the wedding plans, but I’m committed to learning everything I can while I’m here, even if it’s on the sly.
“And I want to run the spa’s numbers. Sarika mentioned this morning that they’ve been fully booked with the new changes.
We’ve had no word from head office, but we’ve had two five-star guest reviews recently that mentioned the spa and their excellent services. ”
When I showed the reviews to Deshni and Sharika, they glowed with happiness. If I’ve achieved nothing else here in my time, at least I’ve done that for them.