Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
The front door finally flies open, interrupting my thoughts, and the naked Adonis emerges, fully clothed. His dark hair is wet but towel dried and slightly curled. He’s wearing board shorts and a T-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders and hard chest. And he’s tall. Much taller than I realized while sitting on the toilet. That man’s got to be six-four or -five. A full foot taller than me, at any rate.
“Did my friends send you to be my boy toy?” I blurt.
He shoots me a crooked grin. “I’d say you’re a bit young to be my sugar mama, wouldn’t you?”
I blush crimson. I’m such a dork. He looks several years older than me. So, yeah, “boy toy” was probably a ridiculous choice of words.
When I’m too tongue-tied to respond, the man folds his arms across his broad chest—a maneuver that incidentally emphasizes the sculpted, tanned beauty of his biceps and forearms—and says, “Let’s start over. How did you get into my bungalow?”
“I . . . I’ve got it reserved for the week.”
“You should double-check the unit number on your reservation. I’ve got this place reserved for the week, starting today, and I paid in full.”
“Unit three. I have a confirmation email from two days ago.”
Mr. Beautiful furrows his dark brow. “Hmm. Yesterday, they let me extend my stay in unit three for another full week. They said I was in luck because someone had just cancelled at the last minute.”
Shit. That makes me think Brandon definitely managed to screw me over somehow. “Did they say when this supposed cancellation occurred?”
He shakes his head. “All I know is they said the unit was available when I asked to extend my stay yesterday afternoon.”
I rub my forehead, trying not to hyperventilate. Left to my own devices, I won’t be able to afford even the smallest room at this swanky resort, let alone this huge, fancy bungalow. My credit cards are maxed out, my savings account is nonexistent, and there’s no way I’d ask my father for help after everything he’s already paid out.
“I never got notice of any cancellation,” I say, with far more confidence than I feel. “The last thing I’ve got is a confirmation email that gave me an entry code for today at three.” Granted, the entry code didn’t work, but I see no reason to admit that in this moment.
The man frowns. “It sounds like the hotel messed up. Let’s call the front desk to get this straightened out.”
I motion toward the closed front door. “My phone’s inside.”
With a tap of his keycard, he opens the door for me with a wink. “After you . . . Sugar Mama.”
I roll my eyes as I pass him in the doorway, and he chuckles heartily.
Once inside, we sit on a couch and compare the key paragraphs of our respective emails from the hotel. Quickly, we conclude this unit has, indeed, been double-booked. At least, as far as Mr. Beautiful knows. At this point, I’m fairly certain Brandon figured out a way to end my vacation before it started.
“There’s no need to panic,” the guy says, probably reacting to my panicked facial expression. “We’ll tell the front desk about the mix-up, and they’ll give you another bungalow. Easy peasy.”
I say nothing, since I’ve got a hunch it won’t be nearly that simple for me. Unfortunately, we used Brandon’s parents’ card for the reservation, since the honeymoon was their wedding gift. At this point, I’m fairly certain, despite my present state of sleep deprivation and fogginess, that card being on file made it possible for Brandon to unilaterally cancel my reservation without the hotel providing notice to me.
The man picks up his phone, plainly intending to place a call. But I can’t have that. I don’t know what’s happened for sure, but the last thing I need is for this man to become the third person on this island to find out about my embarrassing shit show of a busted wedding yesterday.
“No, don’t,” I blurt quickly. “I’ll call them. You’re the one who’s already checked in.” I run a hand through my hair. “Sorry if I’m a bit frazzled. I’m exhausted from my long day of travel.”
His features soften with sympathy. “Why don’t you take a seat and relax for a bit? I’m not doing anything, so you can hang out as long as you need while we straighten this out.”
“Thank you so much.”
“Are you hungry? I was about to make myself a big sandwich and a tall spiced rum punch. I’d be happy to make both for you, too.”
His offer feels like a much-needed hug, the same way that nice lady’s kindness at the airport did. “Thank you. I’d love both, if it’s not too much of a bother.”
“Not a bother at all.”
While he busies himself in the adjacent kitchenette, I call the phone number listed at the bottom of my confirmation email, and sure enough, a full refund was sent yesterday to the credit card on file—Brandon’s parents’ card.