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Chapter Two
Three Days Later
The Bahamas indeed. Might as well be a desert island rather than a hundred miles or less from the coast of Florida.
Arabella jogged up the path, hopped the low gate, and threw herself into one of the loungers outside her beachfront room. Huge yellow hibiscus blossoms lined the fences to the left and right.
Her seat on the patio offered a million dollar view of the beach with its white fringed breakers blending with endless sky. The resort offered kayaks, Jet Skis, and all manner of other toys to set on that water. Also, guided snorkel and diving excursions. Just not this week.
She’d trade it all for an Internet connection anyway.
Her laptop sat gathering dust on a shelf in the credenza opposite her bed. How could she function without being able to, at the very least, check daily numbers? But the front desk had informed her no wireless was available and, in fact, offered to store her cell phone during her stay. So nobody from the mainland could bother her. What kind of insane person would give up their only connection to reality?
A call to her office had resulted in a firm order to her not to phone again until her two weeks were up under pain of termination. Harley got on the phone and said so himself. “We’re counting on this to help you work even harder, remember?”
She doubted he’d really do it. But if he did, she’d never make president, a goal she’d worked toward since joining the firm. He mentioned that before telling her to “get some” and hanging up, laughing.
Old bastard. Serve him right if she did it, took the money and opened her own company. She’d planned on it. All through college and grad school. Staying up late, laying out her ideas. Her thesis had been based on a variation of her dream company. If she’d stayed away from that job fair, she might have done it, too.
It would have taken her years to earn an annual income like the one Harley’s firm offered to start. And a lot longer to make what she did now, with the security of a Fortune 500 company and a contract renegotiated each year to her advantage.
Who needed dreams when they could have opportunities in an established company? She’d never liked having to report to someone else, but with her steady climb, fewer and fewer held the right. Now, only Harley. Next year, nobody.
Except stockholders. But that was part of the game, right? And if she still had to operate the way those stodgy, old-money investors wanted, she could do that.
Her dad had left a Wall Street brokerage to follow his dreams and ended up so broke, she had to send him a check every month or he’d have to give up cable TV. No, she’d made the right decision. She only thought about it because of her anger at being forced to take time off and because doing so gave her time for idle wonderings.
Stuffing them into the back of her mind, Arabella tried to focus on the waves. Endless, rolling waves. Thousands of them. Over and over. Blue water. White foam. The same thing all day, every day.
Eleven more days. On an island slightly bigger than a bathmat. The “resort” was nearly deserted. Off season, few tourists visited such a small place. The stoner guy in the gift shop—open a few hours every day—had stuffed a joint into his pocket the few times she’d come in. She kept waiting for smoke to come out of his pants. And hating herself for considering that the highlight of her day.
To keep her sanity, she’d taken up running. Morning, noon, and, as now, late afternoon. Around the island. A full loop each time. At home, she barely found time to visit the company gym on the floor below hers, but here, she took up her abandoned college habit. In the dining room, she’d met a couple from Indiana, a pair of happy honeymooners from California, and an up-and-coming attorney from Miami who had been hitting on her since her arrival. Not bad looking, if you liked tall blond guys with six-pack abs. Why wasn’t she interested? Every time he made a move, an image of tall, dark, and handsome smiling at her before he boarded that plane flashed in her mind.
But no more thinking of absent men, as of tonight. She’d agreed to have dinner with the attorney. Arabella wasn’t looking for a relationship, so any hunky guy should do.Earl Hardway, tonight is your lucky night.
Then, maybe, the dreams disturbing her sleep would stop. She woke up every morning in a sweaty, horny heap. But someone who wasn’t there couldn’t do anything about that. And of course Emily had not bought her a BOB…her battery-operated boyfriend had become her best friend as well, of late.
As the shadows lengthened and the sun lowered toward the lapping waves, she glanced at her phone. Useful as a clock and a camera, at least, unlike her laptop, currently useful only as a paperweight. Data did not work, either. The check-in clerk could not explain why.
The dining room would open for dinner soon, and her sweat-slicked, bronzing skin required a shower before her date. At least their cook turned out some tasty food. Amazing how many ways conch could be served.
Arabella rose to her feet and headed inside. She occupied a very nice house where French doors and large windows caught every breeze. Tile floors, thick stone walls, and fans in the high ceilings kept the temperature comfortable, and the bathroom…so amazing she’d snapped pictures for a remodel at her Manhattan apartment.
Arabella stripped off the shorts and hot-pink bikini then turned on the shower, which offered a view of glossy pink beach and aquamarine water through a floor-to-ceiling window. The first day, she’d been nervous about the openness but soon realized as long as it was brighter outside than in, no problem. Now, at night…someone standing on the dark beach would get quite an eyeful. So far she’d turned off the light when showering after sunset.
Standing in front of the mirror, she eyed her sandy skin. When she got home, she’d make an effort to work out some. Her legs ached and she’d had a few charley horses send her flying out of bed, but, man, did her calves look toned. Good enough to wear that cute and very short sundress her assistant had picked out for her. Give Earl a peek at the show for later.
Stop grimacing, reflection.Nice enough, and certainly attractive. Successful, too, to hear him tell it. Now the mirror showed her eyes rolling. “I getcha, sister!” she told Mirror Arabella.
If not him…the couple from Indiana. They’d let her know they would not be averse to her joining them in their room some evening. Maybe she should use this time to try something new and adventurous. She tested the idea in her mind, but the grimace in the mirror got even worse. So not a swinger!
At least she had choices. Why were none of them appealing? Life was much less complicated when she spent all her time working.
Someone was going to die when she got home. Slowly. Painfully. And with full knowledge of why. Since when did a strong work ethic become a crime?
How hard would it have been for the travel coordinator to find a place with a pool, a casino…a bar! To be fair, this place had a bar. It just hadn’t been open since she got there. A drink could be had in the dining room, open only during mealtimes.
Sometimes, a girl wanted a lemon drop martini in the afternoon. On vacation.
