“Sounds good,” I say.
We both step out into the steamy tropical air, and I laugh as a pair of tiny lizards skitters by and into the bushes. Their tails are held aloft, forming jaunty little o-shaped curls.
Rob slides into the rear seat beside me.
“There’s a big BBQ dinner tonight for all of us. You’ll want to use the next couple of hours to copy any essential contacts into this new phone.” He hands me a brand new iPhone in the box. “We had these configured for you, and you should know we may be monitoring messages. We’ll store your phone in a lock box for the duration of filming.”
The lush scenery rolls by in a green blur of oversized leaves and brilliant blooms.
“Are you kidding me?” I groan. I shouldn’t be surprised, there was something about this in the contracts. But I was hoping they would forget about it.
“It’s only for the week, and you’ll still be able to call and text friends and family. But we do need to keep all the talent, including our experts, off of social media for the duration of the taping,” Rob shakes his head. “I’m sure you of all people understand that. We’ll be confiscating phones at the BBQ. Laptops, too, if you brought one.”
“I’m in the middle of a manuscript!” I protest. “I have a deadline.”
“Okay. I’ll make an exception for you, Isla,” Rob considers this and looks sternly at me. “As long as you promise to delete social and stay off the wifi. Think you can do that for me?”
“Sure. It’s only a week. Piece of cake,” I breathe a sigh of relief, grateful that I’ll still be able to write. “It might actually help me focus,” I point out.
“Good for you, Isla! I don’t think I’m that strong!”
The golf cart lurches to a halt in the breezeway of a multi-story oceanfront block of rooms. The entryway is tiled with a colorful mosaic floor, accentuated with bits of shell and pebbles.
“This way!” The porter jumps out and removes my bags, then leads us to the open-air corridor and the elevators. He hits the up button. “Top floor,” the porter says. “The best view.”
“Thanks,” Rob says appreciatively.
“What about you?” I ask Rob. “Are you giving up your phone?”
“No,” Rob looks apologetic. “I know it seems unfair, but Rory and the folks working on the technical side need to be able to keep tabs on the outside world. If it makes you feel any better though, the wifi on the island is pretty spotty. Probably good for people though. Forces them to do things the old-fashioned way. Face to face. We want everyone to have that kind of wholesome experience here.”
“Totally - I get it,” I say as we step into the elevator. “It’s just another source of noise that messes with your mind, right? It’s important to set up filters.”
Of course, they want the participants to stay off social media. If anyone gets that, it’s me. But what about Jackson? I cannot picture the tech mogul taking kindly to this rule. I bite my lip, picturing how he’s going to react to this news when Rob breaks it to him.
But Jackson’s not my problem, is he?
He’s just another distraction I’ll need to filter out this week. During our conversation at Goodfellow Productions, he seemed so determined to get a rise out of me. I’ve met his type before. Closed-minded, smug, logic-thinkers who feel like they need to break me down, just so they can continue to cling to their narrow-minded beliefs.
His face when I’d read his mind! I only sensed a snippet of him relating to that funny singing crab fromThe Little Mermaid, but it was enough. It was clearly a direct hit. I’d seen the crab, and I’d felt his disgusting sense of superiority. He had the nerve to feel sorry for me? Pretty ridiculous when he’s the one being set up to fail here.
I was almost feeling sorry for him, up until the moment I unintentionally read his arrogant mind.
Sometimes my gift really is a blessing. For a moment there I’d considered it. I’d thought about my mum’s proclamation. Maybe she was right. Maybe I do need to get laid. I’m a grown woman. Would it really be such a terrible thing to have a little fling while I was in the tropics? Don’t I deserve to have a little fun, too? I finish my bellini in the elevator on the way up.
There was something achingly familiar and magnetic about Jackson Porter. Even though I’d wanted to wring his neck all day. I’ve wanted to wring his neck ever since the Lupercalia episode of his podcast. But I’ve also wanted other things. And I know he’s thought some of those things, too.What else had he been thinking?I guess it’s not all ones and zeros in that hard head of his.
I have to quell my curiosity before it drives me crazy. The things I do know instantly rule him out.I’m not sleeping with someone who feels sorry for me and who thinks I’m a crackpot.
“Look, Isla, you’ve been such a great sport, and I know I’ve said it several times but it bears saying again. So many of the cast members look up to you. Idolize you even. And I think they’ll be taking their cues from you with regard to this digital detox. I’m so glad that you’ll be here to help them with it. It’s always one of the hardest things for the cast members to get over, those first few hours of being unplugged. But by day three, everyone always feels better,” Rob says as the elevator doors open.
The porter leads us to my room and uses his card to open the door to a large, airy sunlit suite. It’s practically a whole apartment! I am quite literally blown away by the cool, ocean-scented breeze that rushes out to greet us. From the entry door, I can see a wall of glass with sliding doors that lead to a large patio. And beyond that, the shocking turquoise water of the Caribbean. Brighter than the saturated color of my favorite lucky dress. So intense it almost looks computer-generated.
“Wow!” I exclaim.
A crack of thunder rumbles behind us, and rain begins pouring down in sheets beyond the covered corridor outside the hotel room door.
“Looks like you got here just in time,” the porter smiles, leaning on the doorframe. “Lucky.”
