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What? What’d I miss?
This has been a long meeting—there’s a lot of ground to cover during these things because we don’t have them very often—and my caffeine isn’t cutting it this morning.
Cole worked late last night preparing for today. By the time he got home, I was already in bed, asleep. He woke me up by stringing a line of kisses up my stomach, starting at my navel as he pushed my nightshirtslowlyup as he went. It was that delicious half-asleep, half-awake sensation that had me absolutely crazed for him by the time I came to and realized he was crawling on top of me while unbuttoning his shirt.
The moonlight was streaming in through the drapes on either side of our bed, the cool light highlighting his sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes. He slid into me slowly while he watched my reaction, feeding off my soft moans. I pulled him down to me and kissed him, and he whispered against my lips.
“I missed you today.”
And so, yeah, your girl ish-a-p-p-y.
But also highly distractible.
“What’s going on?”
I feel like the entire ballroom is looking at me, and upon further inspection, they totally are, even Cole.
“Paige, would you mind coming up onstage?” he asks me, his tone brimming with barely restrained excitement.
Oh god.
This feels ominous, and my first thought is that Cole is about to propose. Which is absurd. We haven’t even been dating all that long,andwe’ve talked about it. I’ve told him that I would rather my future fiancé—we both agree it’s him—pop the question to me somewhere private, just the two of us. I don’t want it to be a spectacle. Oh my god, if he proposes to me during a staff meeting, I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him—resuscitate him—and then kill him again.
I know that’s not what’s about to happen, but still, I feel woozy as I get to my feet.
Why on earth is he calling me up onstage?
It’s dead silent in the ballroom as I ascend the stairs.
“Woo! Go, Paige,” Lara calls out, trying to help cut the tension, but it’s not enough.
Camila follows this up with a resounding whistle.
I scurry up the last few steps as fast as I can, hoping to get this over with swiftly.
“What is this?” I hiss at Cole as I reach him.
His smile widens. “A promotion.”
I stutter to a stop.
Then he turns to address the audience. “Over the last few months, we’ve conducted a random survey to get a baseline for what our guests value most here at Siesta Playa”—he turns back to me—“and your excursions ranked as one of the top resort activities ... right after our beloved buffets.”
The crowd laughs.
Meanwhile, I’m close to tears. I have to look away and collect myself. It’s one thing to love what I do and to give it my all day in and day out, strategizing how best to lead a rowdy group through a sailing trip or being my most chipper self during a hike even when I’m not feeling up to it. It’s another thing to actually be recognized for it. I always hear the complainers and the squeaky wheels. The guests who hate every minute of the torture I subject them to shout the loudest and therefore stick in my mind the most. Sure, every now and then someone will make a point to stop and tell me they had a great day or they enjoyed a particular activity. But I had no idea I was a fan favorite around here.
There are other employees who work excursions who’ve been here longer than I have, but none that care about the job like I do. For Camila and Lara, this job is a means to an end. They enjoy having a carefree island life; they aren’t looking to move up in the company.
“A promotion has been long overdue,” Cole tells me.
“In front of everyone, though ...?” I whisper, giving the massive audience the side-eye, like,Hello! You can see them, too, right?
Cole shrugs off my concern. “Everyone will find out eventually. This way we all get to celebrate with you.”
I hate him.
That is ... until he tells me my new title. Right into the microphone, nice and loud, he knights me “Paige Young, director of excursions within the entertainment and hospitality department at Siesta Playa, a subsidiary of ...” Yada yada, you get it.
