Chapter 2
The nine-thirty flight departed on-time but when it landed in Bermuda, my luggage was nowhere to be found. Then, standing at the resort’s reception desk sometime after midnight, my voice tripped into a high, squeaking register when I was informed that my reservation had also vanished.
"That's not possible," I protested, handing my online confirmation to the nervous agent behind the desk. "Here. I have a reservation. It's right here. See? Here. Here."
He glanced to the near-empty lobby at my back and offered a lopsided frown. "I don't know what to say, Miss Spivey. I think it might have been a glitch in the system. We're booked up solid for this conference."
"It's Dr. Spivey," I whispered. "I'll take any room you have."
"Um, yeah, that's part of the problem that I'm trying to explain to you here," he replied. His gaze scanned the lobby again. "It’s kind of like we don't have any more rooms."
"What?" My shriek bounced off the polished granite floors. I took a few cleansing breaths and ordered the muscles in my fingers to relax. "Anything. It doesn't matter. I'm presenting at this conference. I'll take the suite Taylor Swift stays in, I don't care what it costs."
"Really, I'm sorry Miss Dr. Spivey. But we're booked up. There's nothing available. Even for Taylor Swift." He made a face at his screen. “Well, no. We’d kick someone out for Taylor Swift but I don’t think I can do that for you. Sorry.”
A rough chuckle sounded at my right. I gritted my teeth, frustration burbling up from my depths as I glanced over at Jay Acosta.
“Not your night, is it?” he mused.
I watched him, my lips pursed to the point of pain, while he tucked some papers into the inner pocket of his suit coat.
That he paired the suit coat with dark jeans annoyed me.
Everything about him annoyed me. Especially that he was inarguably attractive—which I could admit while loathing his continued presence in my life.
He stood well over six feet tall, his shoulders broad and his eyes dark. I knew from Sowelby that he trained for triathlons and it showed. Also annoying. And rude. There was no need for someone to achieve so much, so thoroughly.
His skin was in amazing condition for someone who spent that much time in the sun—and had turned fifty in the fall. Unlike some of our colleagues, he wasn’t completely pickled off injectibles. That rare bit of restraint was the one thing I admired about him.
"I beg your pardon," I said, my fingers wrapped tight around the strap of my bag. They’d be numb soon but I refused to fidget in front of him.
A smile forced itself across his face as he eyed me up and down. "Sounds like you could use some help."
“I’m handling this situation, thank you.”
“How is it that you’ve thanked me four times tonight,” he said as he ran the back of his hand over his scruffy chin, “but you haven’t let me do a single thing for you?”
This was why I avoided confrontation. Comebacks eluded me and I knew for certain that I was letting his comment hit me too close to the heart.
As if giving my talk tomorrow in the clothes I’d traveled in today was a consequence I’d accepted by being too damn independent.
As if the airline wouldn’t have lost my luggage or the resort my reservation if I’d gone to the lounge with him.
As if I’d created these disasters with my own two hands.
I turned back to the registration desk. To the agent, I asked, "Would you help me find a room at another hotel? Is that something you can do?"
The agent nodded, murmuring, "Sure. Probably not totally impossible this week," and bent his head to his screen.
After a moment, Jay said, "I’m looking forward to your talk tomorrow.” He glanced at his watch—something glittering and garish, of course—and he laughed. It was a rich, husky sound, and I resented how much I liked it. “Today, rather.”
I glanced up at the man who’d thrown my career into a massive tailspin. The one so high on his own self-importance that he’d rather destroy his practice than pass me in the halls. "As you can see, Dr. Acosta, I have this under control."
"Under control," he repeated. "Then you're not stranded?"
I glanced at the agent, willing him to find me something, anything. I wasn’t above broom closets. "Why on earth would you assume that?"
"I must've misheard," he said.
The agent cleared his throat. "Miss Dr. Spivey? I'm not finding anything. Between the PGA event coming up this weekend, the skin cancer conference, and several big corporate retreats, everything's booked."
"What about the other side of the island?" I asked.
The agent’s expression was pained. "I checked all sides of the island."
Jay leaned against the reception desk, a bright, knowing smile pulling at his lips like he loved watching me suffer. His eyes were the deepest, darkest espresso brown in this light. He inclined his head toward the agent. "I don't believe I misheard that."
"Your gleeful enjoyment of my predicament is unnecessary," I said, shoving my wallet back into my bag.
He tapped his chest. "You think I'm enjoying this?"
I blinked down at my bag to prevent him from seeing the tears gathered there.
I needed to find a place to sit for a few minutes and figure out my next move.
Maybe an Airbnb or some other rental situation.
If I could get on my laptop, I could scroll through my med school contacts.
I had to know someone here for the conference who had an extra bed for the night.
Or friends of friends. The surgical world was small.
To Dr. Acosta, I asked, "Do you have another explanation for your tone?"
"I have a two-bedroom villa."
"Felicitations on your abundance. We should all be so fortunate." I glanced around. "What? No camera crew today? Unusual for you, no?"
A tight grin stretched across his face. "I only film six weeks out of the year."
"Ah. Well. How convenient for you." I turned away from the reception desk and marched across the lobby, even though I had no idea where I was going and it was the middle of the night.
There was a gift shop and a coffee bar on one end—both closed for the night—and doors leading to an expansive patio and pool area on the other. I looked back and forth several times as decision fatigue settled over me like a wet cloak.
Maybe I could just plop myself on a chair in the lobby and…wait. The guy at the front desk probably wouldn’t kick me out and I didn’t think anyone else was around to notice. I could wait here until the morning. It would be fine. And maybe my luggage would show up too.
Jay caught up with me, saying, "You're certain you have this under control?"
"Completely."
He let out a quiet laugh. "Stop playing this game with me, Elizabeth."
"And which game would that be?"
“The one where you insist you don’t need any help.” He dropped his hand to my elbow and steered me out of the lobby. "It’s been a long day. You were in surgery at six which means you were up at four—”
“How did you know that?”
“—and you have to be exhausted after all these delays. I have an extra bedroom and there’s no reason you shouldn’t take it. All I’m asking is that you be reasonable.”
“Pardon me,” I snapped. He led us down a dark, winding walkway that snaked between the resort’s buildings. “But I’d like to point out I’m being quite reasonable.”
“You have a big day tomorrow. You need to be prepared for your talk.” His fingers flexed on my elbow and I wanted to shake him off yet I couldn’t get my brain to fire that command. “I’m sure as hell not letting you wander around the resort until you find a cabana to crash in for the night.”
“I would not.” I mean, not unless the lobby chair plan fell apart.
“You'll stay with me."
“But I made a reservation,” I said, a pathetic little whine in my words.
“I know you did, darling. It’s their mistake. We’ll see about straightening out those issues in the morning.”
If it was just one night…that wouldn’t be so bad.
I didn’t want to say yes but I didn’t have the strength to say no, even when that meant willingly sharing space with a man I disliked in a significant way.
But I was tired and quietly panicking over the work I had to do before my presentation, and a wedge of tension had wedged its way into the base of my skull since my argument—breakup?
—with Grant this afternoon. Yes, breakup.
We’d broken up. Finally. One of many things I’d left on the shelf long past its expiration date.
"Dr. Acosta—"
"Please," he said with a crooked smile that reached up to those intense brown eyes, "you’ll call me Jay."
We stopped walking though he didn’t release my arm. “I’m not going to be very good company,” I said. “And I want to pay for my share of the villa.”
That earned me another crooked smile and a soft laugh, as if I'd said something amusing. "Understood."