I don’t realize in my panic to get to the first event I’m required to be at that it’s a shit plan from the start.
Instead, I rush out of the room, head down to the ninth floor, run down the hall to my room, change quickly, don’t bother brushing my teeth, and run to yoga, which is on the beach by the iconic Coast Tower.
I’m out of breath and missed the very beginning. I meant to get here early so I could take a few pictures, but I didn’t. It is what it is. I snap a pic of the class, mostly the backs of guests and only the face of the instructor, and then I shove my phone into the pocket of my yoga pants and get into the downward dog position.
An hour later, I’m sweating and feel a bit like I’m going to throw up when class ends, and that’s when I spot Diedrick Pinder, the manager, standing on the sidewalk not far from where class is taking place.
“Ms. Monroe, good morning. I take it you had a nice yoga session?” he asks as I walk toward him.
I nod. “It was lovely. Quite the workout after the night I had.” I stop when I arrive in front of him, but he starts walking toward the Coast Tower.
His brows dip as he tilts his head. “I didn’t see anything on your tab from last night.”
“No, someone actually treated me to dinner and a few drinks last night.”
“How nice,” he says. “I’d love to remind you to keep your focus on the resort.”
“Of course.”
He smiles tightly. “And I take it whoever treated you for dinner was why you were late to the yoga session?”
Well, damn. I didn’t know I was escaping to paradise to have a goddamn babysitter. “No, sir. I didn’t hear my alarm.”
“Perhaps turn the volume louder, or take advantage of our wake-up calls.”
“Will do,” I say brightly. We walk into the tower, and he leads me toward the diner, where he bypasses the hostess stand that’s actually pretty quiet at eight in the morning. He leads me right to a table where two glasses of water and menus are already awaiting us.
“We have many VIP guests staying in the Beachfront Tower over the next week or two, so I’d like your focus when you’re not participating in hotel events to be at the private adult pool,” he begins while I’m still staring at the menu.
Is he talking about Archer? When he says VIP, I have to assume he means celebrities, and it sort of feels like he’s subtly telling me to definitely feature them in my content. Even if I get one of them walking by without naming them, it has the power to go viral.
“Are you trying to say that if I see Taylor Swift in the VIP area, I should film some content of her walking by in the background behind me even if I don’t name her?” I ask quietly.
He shakes his head and glances around. “I would never suggest such a thing.” He nods as he says it, though, a clear and not so subtle signal that yes, that’s exactly what he’s telling me to do.
I mean, if I go live and someone is walking behind me, I can’t help that. Right?
The way he’s suggesting feels like an invasion of privacy. I don’t know how I feel about that.
Iwasplanning to go live while I’m by the pool, so I guess if someone is exposed on vacation, that’s on them. It’s an adults-only retreat by the Beachside Tower, but it’s still a public space that doesn’t come with an expectation of privacy.
We switch gears to some of the amenities he’d like me to feature, and I chow down on my eggs, bacon, and hash browns, hungry after my rather strenuous night.
As soon as breakfast ends, I head back to my own room to finally brush my teeth, and I see I have a missed call from Jackie.
I give her a call back.
“How was your first night?” she answers. “And did you get our list?”
I giggle as I walk over and pick up the sex bucket list. “Well, I managed to check off numbers one, three, seven, and ten, so I’d say it was a successful first night.”
She gasps. “You had a one-night stand?”
“Babe, I hadtheone-night stand.” I sigh dreamily as I think back.
“What are the other ones?”
“Three was sex with a toy. I also knocked off shower with a friend and sex against the hotel room window, if my palms up against the window counts,” I say.
